My dear sweet lovable Bullet came charging into my life almost 10 years ago. A big black rambunctious, scarred up boy with a broken toe and half a tail. He had previously survived an attack by 5 other greyhounds during transport and bounced a few foster homes along the way. He was the highest strung greyhound they had ever seen. But what did I know? He seemed okay to me. And he made it quite clear to his latest fosters that I was the mom for him. (That's what they told me anyway.)
Bullet adored living with me. Not once did I ever question that. He was the happiest dog I have ever met. He played with such reckless abandon that I couldn't help but continue to feed his stuffy (with squeaker) habit, only to watch him rip each one to shreds within seconds of their capture. I honestly have never seen a greyhound act like he did with a new stuffy. He looked like he was having an uncontrollable siezure that would not end until that stuffy was noiseless and flat.
Life at home was a constant party. One move, one noise from me, would bring him bounding through the house, screeching to a final halt within one inch of my face, just to make sure I knew he was ready to go. We had a lot of false alarms, but he never let it get him down. He was thrilled just to be in the same room looking at me with his mouth wide open and tongue hanging out as always.
I swore I would never get another greyhound after him. It took a lot of effort living with this dog! Calm? Hah! I'd been had! Not once did he even get the clue that yelling meant I was mad. He never knew what mad was. Silly me, I knew it only reved him up more. But how could I stay mad at that goofy face, adoring me like he did?
One day, I found him standing in the middle of the kitchen, obviously in a lot of distress, panting like he couldn't catch his breath. I knew something was wrong, so I grabbed my keys to take him to the vet. As it turned out, he was going into heart failure, but just the sound of those keys jingling got him so excited about going for a walk, he tried to do his happy dance in the middle of his heart attack!
What a wonderful dog he was to know for those 6 years. I never realized just how much he meant to me, until he was gone. I can still feel the pain like it was yesterday.
Bullet taught me how to really appreciate the simple things in life. How to be happy just by being with someone you love. And how anything more than that is icing on the cake. Thanks to him, I have a much higher appreciation for my dogs and make the best out of the time we have together. Bullet taught me how to be a better greyhound owner, just by being a best friend.
Jenn
Edited to add: This is not the type of dog to be waiting for anyone at the rainbow bridge. I gave up on that idea a long time ago.
