Lucy and Mal share a blanket at the ballpark
I had a great Christmas but came home from family gatherings to find out that my dear friend Tracy lost her greyhound Mal early Xmas morning. I am so, so sorry Trace. :o( Mal was such a wonderful boy and it was such devastating news; although he had suffered problems since breaking his back and pelvis while racing, he truly made the most out of his retirement years given the health complications he faced. Trace said it, and I agree: He was probably the most perfect and saintly greyhound ever born on this earth. He was a very, very special guy.
Mal and Lucy rest at the Dewey Fun Run
I know this is totally anthropomorphizing, but after talking with Trace I knelt down next to Lucy and told her that Mally passed away. She met my eyes and then turned her head away, refusing to acknowledge me for almost a minute. It made me feel so bad. I sat next to her for a few hours after, and we watched TV without really watching. How awful to lose a dog ANYWAY, but on Christmas? How shitty is that? Why do things like this happen? Why did God give dogs such short lifespans- I mean ten? Eleven? Thirteen? Fourteen? TOO short. It just isn't fair.