By Neena Strichart
Last week was a very emotional time for Steve and me.
There had been little warning when our vet called to say that our beautiful greyhound Rose was in critical condition and needed to be rushed to an emergency animal hospital in Tustin. Wasting no time, Steve, Barbie (our friend/co-worker and resident dog expert) and I high-tailed it to the Orange County facility. There the staff did their best–but within hours, our Rose had passed away. She’d had a fatal heart attack.
Saturday would have been her ninth birthday. Not that we had any special plans for that day before we lost our girl–but with her gone, Saturday seemed especially empty.
Dear Rose became part of our family the summer after the resurrection of this newspaper–approximately seven years ago. Steve was still working for the city of Long Beach as a police detective. Knowing he would be retiring in just a few months, I begged him to wait before getting a dog. My words fell on deaf ears (yes, that was before he got his nifty hearing aids–but I don’t think that was why he ignored me).
While at a Friends of the Long Beach Animals membership meeting we met a group of greyhound rescuers called Greyhound Pets of America (GPA). They brought several dogs available for adoption, and we were amazed at how well the dogs got along. Steve got himself all wound up when he saw the dogs, and I knew I was in trouble.
Like a young man struck with spring fever, Steve spotted “her” across the room. It was love at first sight. He took her over in the corner away from the crowd and stroked her pretty head while feeding her bits of cheese. It was all over. That was the dog for him. There and then he decided he would name her Rose.
When Steve approached Joyce from GPA he informed her that he wanted to adopt the pretty little reddish-colored female. Joyce let him know that adoption would be a bit of a process that would include a rather lengthy application as well as a home check. Not to be discouraged, Steve filled out the application and e-mailed it to Joyce that night. Within days we set up a meeting. Joyce gave us her blessing–our cats seemed indifferent to the proposition–and before we knew it, we were the proud owners of an ex-racing greyhound.
We had nearly seven blissful years with our Rosie–and she will never be replaced in our hearts. As they say in GPA, “Until one has known and loved a greyhound, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” May she rest in peace.
