In Memory of an Animal Lover

Over the past couple weeks I've been emailing a Pet Tales contributor to let her know her story would run next month and to send photos, but --odd -- she hasn't responded. Most people are thrilled to hear their story will be used and their beloved pet immortalized in print and online. 

Finally, I called the number she provided. When I asked for Laurie Campbell,  the stranger at the other end hesitated, then told me that Laurie passed away. Just last week. It was unexpected, she told me.  I didn't ask any more because it wasn't my business. 

But I feel so bad for this stranger I've never met, this lover of dogs who wanted to share her pups with Chronicle readers. And I've been wondering about her dogs--what's happened to them with her sudden demise? I've also been kicking myself for not using her essay earlier. It would have been one nice thing for her to experience before her untimely death. 

But I can share it here. Laurie wanted her story told and that's the least I can do for this stranger I never met, this lover of dogs.

Needle Nose Love

Years ago, Laurie Campbell read an article about a group of greyhounds that had been rescued from Letterman Army Hospital at the Presidio. The dogs had been used by military doctors to experiment with limb amputation and replacement. She was transfixed by the "before and after" pictures of one of the hounds: in the first picture, he was the canine personification of misery, and in the second photo, he was a laughing, relaxed, happy dog. Campbell thought, “If any breed of dog is this resilient, I’m definitely interested.”

Honey was a 55-pound brindle female that had spent the first eighteen months of her life in abusive circumstances. She was afraid of everyone.  She didn't know how to go up or down stairs and wasn't housebroken.  To top it all off, she was terrified of being left alone.  It was an understatement to say that Honey was different from the other dogs I'd had.

I abandoned what I thought I knew about dogs, and focused on what she was trying to teach me. The most heartwarming milestone came after about a month when she first wagged her tail. That motion, however slight, marked her delightful awakening. Her only fault was that she was an inveterate food thief. I remember her once walking daintily past someone and very calmly, with the utmost delicacy, swiping the sandwich from their hand while they were busy talking.

When Honey was 13 she became incontinent, a common problem with older spade females. I always thought that this would be my line in the sand; when I'd make the hard decision to let her go. Instead, I found myself washing dog beds on a daily basis and hoping that when I got old, no one would dismiss me for the same reason.

However, that day did come, a pain that is understood by all who have walked that path with their beloved companions. I sat on the floor, holding Honey and talking to her so that she would take my scent and voice with her across the Rainbow Bridge.

Five months later, I read an article in the San Francisco Chronicle about Golden State Greyhound Adoption and soon found myself in the living room of the group’s founders. There were two available greyhounds to choose from.

I selected Kaze, a 3-year old brindle female. My gentle girl came with a fear of open drawers, trucks, and plastic bags, but she soon evolved into a loving companion.  We moved to Texas several years ago and lived for a while near the Franklin Mountains.  Often I was transfixed by the eerie howl of nearby coyotes, but Kaze seemed unconcerned about their proximity; after all, at 45 mph, my ex-racer could certainly outrun them!

Eventually I adopted a companion for Kaze, a spunky three year-old blue brindle female named Luna.  Today “The Girls” are inseparable, trotting shoulder to shoulder when we take our walks. Kaze, now 10, has blossomed with her younger companion and is experiencing a second puppyhood.

With each new dog, I can't say that I knew what I was doing. All I know is that I extended my heart and each greyhound took it gently, I promised to make their lives as safe and happy as I could, and in return they've given me a life of needle-nose love.