Let me start by apologising to every poor sod who has ever displayed a polite interest in my pet greyhound (to which I have invariably responded by whipping out photo after photo of her)………pranked! NOT sorry. You should be thanking me. She was a blessing and needed to be shared.
Ruby was our constant companion for almost 9 sweet years before we had to say goodbye to her just a few days before Christmas 2019. She came to us at the tender age of 4, as an ex-racer. Dark Strategy was her racing name. In her youth, she was elegant and strong, but also a bit of an idiot. She was stubborn, goofy, and greedy to a fault. She really didn’t give a hoot about pleasing us, she just did what she did and if people loved her for it then all the better.
Hoovering up vom, turds, various dead animals, and grass were among her favourite past-times. This habit of wolfing up anything that smelled remotely edible and her naturally slender frame led to many pitying glances from passersby during walks. “Poor thing looks so skinny!” they tutted accusingly, as if we were starving her. How about you mind your own beeswax, Karen.
Ruby did not age gracefully. Advanced gum disease meant that we had to get all her teeth pulled out. This did not slow her gastronomic pursuits, but her toothlessness did result in her tongue permanently hanging out in a sort of derpy side blep. Her saliva drainage was affected so she also developed a jiggly sort of chin sac. Her silky black fur was gradually replaced by silver too. (Putting the ‘grey’ in greyhound. Ha ha! I do make myself chuckle.) But this all only made her more beautiful to us.
Less beautiful was her stench. Before her tooth extraction, she had incredibly foul breath, a lingering odour she bestowed on her toys and our hands. After the extraction, her breath was fine but what followed were eye-wateringly gassy farts which could empty a room. It seemed that as one end cleared up, the other began to act up.
By the age of 10, arthritis had begun to slow her steps. Despite this, she still heaved herself up to welcome me home every day and sniff me thoroughly. She craved company and, disregarding her aching joints, would follow us around only to be lulled asleep by the background noise of the telly or computer keyboards. Her last years were a nomadic existence between the study and the living room.
These moments of companionship are what I will miss the most. I feel a painful twinge whenever I think hear the phantom jingle of her tag, or the clip-clipping of her claws on tiles. The whisper of her, without her actual presence. That’s what really hurts.
Ruby was also an excellent muse, by virtue of having an absolutely bangin bod (as all greyhounds do). She inspired paintings, drawings, and even embroidery in her image. On one occasion, year 10 me submitted a poem about her for a writing competition. Since this blog doesn’t have much of a readership, I feel fairly safe in enclosing an excerpt of this outrageously shitty verse: “She hunkers down and/gazes at me. Twin amber orbs regard me hopefully/imploringly.” Slide into my DMs for the rest – that is, if I haven’t destroyed all evidence of it by then.
Here’s a nice tune that seems appropriate for the occasion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=le34ygtODfI
Anyway…see you up there, my long faced friend. Neither gone nor forgotten.
Come Get Y'all Juice-inta 