My daughter had lost her lurcher, Nella,  to the Bridge while stationed at Lakenheath Air Force Base in the UK.  She adopted Bo, a grayhound, from the local greyhound rescue farm and Bo become my first grandhound.  The divorce was easy. The custody fight for Bo was not.  When the smoke settled and my daughter and grand-dog were coming home, I set out to find a playmate for Bo.

My trip to the kennels was interesting to say the least.  Debbie had just recieved a dozen dogs from Ft. Myers, Fl.  I stood in the middle of a large fenced area and one hound at a time was let out.  The first five dogs immediately went to the tree to pee, ignoring me, then to the fence to pee, still ignoring me.  Then maybe they came to investigate me.  Number six however, stood in the gateway, looked at me, made a beeline to my side, sat on my foot, leaned on my leg and HIS decision was made.  I was his!  He came home with me on 12-8-1997.  He is my heartdog, my companion, my confidant and my child.  

He is the elder statesman, always diplomatic in a dissagreement and is kind to a fault.  He is the polite child, always asking permission before begging a cookie or sticking his nose in a visitors crotch.  He knows when we are sad, sick, tired or lonely.  He loves us no matter what.

He is old now, thirteen and showing his age in the way his rear end wobbles, his grey muzzle and the hesitancy of his gait at times.  He tries to play with his brother and sister but is careful not to get knocked over.  My time with him is getting shorter and my heart cries at the thought of being without him.  He is my heart, he is my soul, he is RYCE.