When he came off the track in late July of 2010, his foster mom, Becky, called him Mister and wrote in her foster report that he was "a sweet, beautiful, tender boy." He was also a big boy at about 100 pounds, which is huge for a greyhound. Becky noted that he was the gentlest of giants and a bit shy. She also noted that he was truly very special and she would like to know where he ultimately ended up. Clearly he made an impression on her. I have been in touch with Becky over the years and she was, of course, added to my ever-growing Christmas card list.
He joined us on December 31, 2010, and became Fog the Dog, the center of our family, and my own personal teacher, my zen master. Becky's description had left out one key quality of this magnificent creature - namely, that he was wise beyond imagination, and over the years I have learned so much from him.
Some of his favorite running was in snow. During Snowmaggedon, in February 2010, that dog was like a kid on Christmas morning, which was oddly amusing coming from a Florida boy who had never even seen snow, much less had to plow through it chest-deep just to go to the bathroom. But he was so happy during that storm and every year after when snow came. He would run - well more of a hop reminiscent of rabbits or foxes bounding across the surface of the arctic snow. His speed allowed him to almost skim the surface, but his size made him sink ever so slightly. He attacked the snow, biting at it and flipping it into the air, keeping his face up, eyes closed, letting it fall back onto him, enjoying the moment. He even laid down on his back and flailed his legs in the air as if he was making snow angels. My take-away lesson from his sheer joy of snow, unfamiliar things can bring you surprising happiness. Never be afraid to try something new.
Fog enjoyed digging in the kids' sandbox and lying in its coolness on hot summer days. And he dug in Jim's freshly-turned spring vegetable garden soil. Unfortunately, that meant that he was constantly dragging sand into the house and disrupting seedlings struggling to get a start, so we put up barriers to the sandbox and fenced the garden area. I sort of feel a bit guilty about that now, but that's not how he would want it. He was perfectly content to find another place of pleasure, to lie in the soft grass and soak up sunshine instead or contort himself into pretzel-like positions on the thick cushy dog sofa that my mom made for him. Other than the soft, fluffy mediums of sand and highly-improved soil though, he never dug in anything else. The hard work of digging Virginia clay soil held no appeal. I guess maybe he was really onto something -- namely that sometimes it is okay to take the easy way, not try to make something what it is not; to give yourself a break and just enjoy the softness of life. And also to be flexible and not let disappointments get you down but instead move along and find something else that brings you happiness, another soft place to land.
"Outdoor treats" of dog ice cream from Dairy Godmother and pig ears were his favorite treats. He would gingerly take them from you in the kitchen and when you said the words "outdoor treat" he would trot to the back door and patiently wait to be let out. He never ate an outdoor treat in the house. Once our trusty dogsitter gave him a pig ear which we found, untouched, in the center of our livingroom floor when we got home from our trip; she hadn't realized he wouldn't eat it in the house. Lesson learned - know the rules, follow them, and you will be rewarded, but no cheating. Also, be patient and good things will come your way.
Fog was not into dog toys, and trust me we tried them all - rope toys, food related toys like Kongs, squeeky toys, balls, frisbees, soft huggable lovable toys. He had a treasure trove of untouched toys. He just wasn't interested. Like zero interest. What made him happy was a good scratch behind the ears; hearing you talk to him, with those big brown eyes looking as though he was hanging onto and understanding every word; being brushed, endlessly; and a good howl fest, which he would only do if instigated to by one of us and then he would join in and keep going until we quit first. But mostly he was happy just being in the same room with his people, often literally touching me as he laid at my feet. His shared wisdom was simply that a good life is not about things, but about spending simple times with those that you love.
Yesterday, September 29, 2017, we held him and simply loved him as he slipped into another world, a world without the pain that he had endured for weeks now (probably much longer as he was always a stoic guy) from the bone cancer in his leg. He went out with his usual grace and dignity. It made me realize that is how we all should be allowed to go. And to me, he will always be a true winner for the beautiful soul that he was and the things that he taught me. Thank you, Fog, you were a great teacher.
