In Memory of Jack

June 27, 1999 - April 6, 2007

Jack came to me in March 2001 — he was not quite 2 years old, and was only a few weeks off the Tampa Greyhound track, where his racing name was TW Josh. My daughter and I chose Jack for his "forever home" name, and before long he responded to his new name. Jack was sired by Wigwam Wag and Riever Doon. I adopted him through Greyhound Rescue & Adoptions of Tampa Bay, Inc. They told me that Jack's track owner never had his animals euthanized when they could no longer race, but gave all his dogs to the greyhound adoption group. I happened to speak with his track owner a few days later, who informed me that the entire litter of which Jack was a part were simply not good racers. They were all retired young.

Retired? No, Fired!

People would always ask me if Jack was a retired racing greyhound. I would respond, "No, he didn't retire, he was fired!" I understand that the tracks generally start racing the greyhounds at about 15 months of age. Jack was "fired" 3 months later, and was adopted by me just a couple of months after his disgraceful track career was summarily ended.

During the time I was blessed with Jack's companionship, I came to understand why he was fired so young. We live on acreage, well away from any roads, where it's safe to allow a greyhound to run. There are many rabbits on the property. Occasionally, while Jack was doing his daily one-minute sprint, a frightened rabbit would go hopping across his path. He usually jumped over the rabbit and kept on going. Once he diverted to chase the rabbit, for about 4 steps, then lost interest. Poor Jack simply had no prey or chase instinct.

Jack Took Time to Blossom, but Blossom He Did

When Jack first came to live with me, he didn't know what a treat was — but he learned that awfully fast. He didn't understand stairways, either, but he eventually mastered those, too. During the first year I had Jack, my daughter, my husband and I were about the only people who could get close to him, and we were certainly the only people he would approach on his own. But he soon came to understand that people were nice, and he decided he liked people. He even liked people who didn't have food for him.

Within a couple of years, Jack would willingly approach any stranger, and he loved attention. Jack loved everybody, and everybody loved Jack — even my brother-in-law, who doesn't like dogs.

A Limp That Came and Went — But Finally Stayed

In April of 2006, Jack had developed a limp. It came and went intermittently. When it first showed up, I thought he had perhaps suffered a minor sprain, particularly when the limp went away after a day or so. But it came back. I took Jack to the veterinarian, who diagnosed bone cancer in his left hind ankle. The vet told me Jack would likely have about 2 to 4 months, if he received no treatment other than pain management, or possibly as much as a year if I had his leg amputated and put him through chemotherapy. I would have gone for the amputation if that would have saved his life, but according to the vet, it would only buy him a few additional months. So, with a heavy heart, I opted for the pain management only, and tried to prepare myself for losing this loving, gentle creature.

Two months came and went. Four months came and went. Jack's limp gradually grew worse, but he would still run — although not as fast as before — and he still had great enjoyment of life. He continued to go on our nightly walk down to the river. He would still go bouncing around the yard when he was excited. He still napped long and hard, just as before. Meanwhile, over the coming months, his ankle swelled from its normal svelte, racing-greyhound-style ankle until it started looking like he had a golf ball in there. And by the first months of 2007, his ankle was starting to look like there was a baseball in there. He continued to go on walks, but he had entirely stopped putting any weight on that leg and favored it very carefully.

Finally, in early April of 2007, the pain control pills were simply not effective anymore. Jack would roll over during the night and wake himself up in pain, and he had trouble lying down or getting up again. I knew I had to give him a peaceful end before he suffered a misstep or a fall that shattered the ankle. The veterinarian and the veterinary nurses were very kind and gentle, and helped us give Jack a painless, peaceful end to a full and happy life. He lies now in an honored spot under an oak tree in the backyard, permanently retired. But I know he's really waiting impatiently for me at the Rainbow Bridge, looking forward to another walk to the river and another leap over a lucky rabbit.

Good-bye, old friend. See you at the Rainbow Bridge.

 

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