Today, my dog was put to sleep. It’s devastating and it stings, but I have to say I take solace in knowing that he is no longer in pain.
You see, Sam was an ex-racer who suffered from severe arthritis. The kind of arthritis that comes only from kicking way too much ass on the racetrack. A true competitor and a winner, Sam was a Kelly from the start. We adopted him and took him home, so he could say goodbye forever to a life in a cage.
As a retired man, he spent most of his days laying on pillows and staring at stuff. He liked giving people paws and playing funny games like, I-spy-your-dinner-and-now-I’m-going-to-eat-it. He was notoriously crafty. This adorable little thief was into cheap thrills, like forcing me to take him on cold walks, and then shitting on rich peoples’ lawns in front of them. He was a jokester and a charmer; the kind of guy who would look you in the eye and then fart, just to keep you on your toes.
Sam was a massive greyhound who would jump up on the bed to lay with you, then pull a Genghis Khan, and take over the entire bed. He wasn’t afraid to stretch out his wings. He was a sucker for tummy rubs, but had a creepy bald stomach which made things interesting. Sometimes he would burp through a closed mouth and measure my reaction. He was always thinking. Sometimes, I would imagine what his voice would sound like if he had one, deep down I knew it would sound something like Patrick Stewart’s.
There are so many things I’m going to miss about my guy: his tiger stripes, the way he used to lean on me when I’d pet him, the awkward look in his eye when he was mid-dump, the ceremonious neck scratches, the walks, the car rides, the howling fits, the bones, the bald stomach, the dangerous tail-wag after the word, “WALK,” the one-sided conversations, and most of all, the unconditional love of a friend.
In the end, Sammy was an enormous greyhound with an enormous heart; a true blessing who never once forgot that he’d been rescued.
I love you Sam, and I’ll miss you always.