She was a stunning dog with a svelte figure, kind-hearted face, and gentle

nature. I had pined for a dog throughout my childhood, and after years of being
turned away, my parents finally agreed to bring a dog into our home. Dory was a
retired racing greyhound, 8 years old when I first met her. She was a beautiful
striped combination of brown, grey, and black, with big eyes and the happiest
doggy smile. Quiet, friendly, and sweet at sugar, she quickly made herself right
at home in my heart.
I was 13 when she came to live with us. Awkward and naive, I realize now that I
needed a dog to help me grow up. I was trusted with full responsibility of her, but
in reality, we ended up taking care of each other. I taught her the things most
dogs already knew; how to climb stairs, meet new dogs of different shapes and
sizes, and deal with changing seasons, but she taught me so much more about
living life. Walking around the neighbourhood twice a day meant I truly became
friends and developed real relationships with the people living around me.
Everybody loved Dory's quiet and patient nature, especially the kids waiting for
the bus in the mornings, who would always love to give her kisses. Skipping and
strolling for miles along creeks and city streets with her was the best
We got lost often, and experienced many memorable situations throughout our
years together. My navigational sense as a young teenager was poor, to say the
least, but with Dory by my side I never felt alone. We would ask kind-hearted
strangers to point us the right way, but also found people stopping us for help, or
just to chat. I truly realized that strangers were not the evil villains that were to
be feared, as I had always been told growing up. Rather, I learned through our
adventures that kindness lives within every person, and is often eager to be
drawn out. I can trust that people are inherently good because of all the
wonderful people I met along our trips together.
Being outside no matter what the weather was like also toughened me up.
Sheltered in our cars, offices, and houses, I feel that many of us today are
disconnected from the environment, and it shows in our health and happiness.
Hot summer walks through fields, coming back with bags of wild raspberries;
joyful winter sprints through a fresh blanket of powder on sunny weekend
mornings; quiet grey strolls along trails as rain dripped down from heavy clouds;
our morning and afternoon walks were the constants in my life that kept me
sane. Jingling her collar at the front door always set her off galloping towards me,
hopping about like a puppy. She was always game to go out for another, even
when I had to carry all 65 pounds of her over icy patches or big puddles when
the weather was bad. If we were lucky, we would spot deer, or snakes, or
colourful birds that made me stop in awe. I developed an appreciation for nature
of all kinds, even just the wildlife in my suburban neighbourhood, because of my
year-round exposure to its beauty.
Dorys ability to find joy in every little bit of life was an inspiration, and she
served as a role model for me throughout my life. At breakfast time, she would
eagerly accept a half-empty yogurt cup from me, running to her bed with her
prize in her mouth to lick it clean. Car rides were an adventure she always loved,

and even just sleeping in the back of the van as it sat in the driveway made her
content. Even in mean, howling winters, she would patiently wait as I bundled
her in 2 coats and boots to prance in the snow like a deer. She showed me that it
is our own reaction to a situation that matters, and that a positive attitude draws
happiness to you like a magnet.
Knowing how happy Dory would be to see every day kept me coming home on
time throughout high school. High school can be a difficult time for a lot of
people, especially those who feel they are being stretched too thin. However, for
me, my dog kept me grounded, and that security brought me a lot of comfort
and happiness. Whenever I was upset, I would continue to take her out for walks,
brush her, and give her hugs, and she would continue to follow me everywhere
and keep me company. Her presence alone was enough to make me feel right
again. Going on family vacations by plane meant having to leave her at the
kennel, and life without her just didnt sit right with me. I missed her comforting
presence and funny antics, her velvety soft ears and the sound of her quiet
breaths at night. I knew I would have to live without her someday, she being an
older dog from the time we first got her, but I just hoped and hoped she would
continue to live alongside me for as long as she could.
When she began to limp, it was spring after her 11 th birthday. She often sprinted
too fast and showed it the next day, hobbling along from one bed to another. But
this time was different. In the next few days, instead of getting better, Dory got
worse. A day-long appointment at the vet subjected her to X-rays and testing
which confirmed the suspicion which was sitting in my stomach like lead: She
had cancer. Advanced osteosarcoma in her shoulder would not get better with
any treatment other than amputation. Our vet told us honestly how she was
hiding an incredible amount of pain, and nothing other than euthanasia would be
fair to her.
How soon? I remember swallowing dryly and thinking, I cant believe this is the
end. She was to be put down in two days.
When the vet knocked at the door, my heart dropped to the ground. The whole
night before I had stroked Dory, not wanting to miss a second with her,
whispering how much I loved her and would miss her. I had painted her foot pads
and pressed them onto paper, not wanting to leave that part of her behind.
Those feet won many races in her early days, and walked even further with me,
by my side throughout the time in my life when I needed her the most. The vet
walked into the house and kneeled beside her bed in the main hallway. It was her
favourite spot, with a clear runway for her to run to the front door, as well as
vantage points to the fridge and her food bowls. There she lay on her side, her
tired body breathing slowly gently quietly.
One shot into her legs sent an overdose of anaesthetic through her veins, and
soon she had breathed her last. My Dory, who had filled my life with purpose,
joy, and freedom, had left our earth. I was numb with pain, that night and many
nights afterward. I cried hot, wobbly tears for weeks, not knowing what to do
with myself, not having my Dory there to help me through it. In a way, I felt like

the timid 13 year old I had been when I first got her. I struggled with my desire
for her to be there with me; I knew she had had a wonderful life and that her
time had simply run out. It would have been selfish to ask for her back, yet I
would have done anything to squeeze her tight on the nights I cried alone.
Life continued, not the same, and not as joyfully. Her loss was a loss to the entire
community, and we received card after card in the mail with words of how much
Dory meant to people. Children, old friends, and residents in the nursing home
she visited all missed her and wrote about how wonderful she was. To a person
who has never owned a pet, it may seem unbelievable that one dog could cause
such an impact to my life, but Dory really did change my world for the better.
Even the process of moving on was another opportunity she gave me to learn.
We often have no control over how long we will get to live, among many other
things, during our time here. At the end of the night, what matters is being
happy with the things we could control.
I know now that every heart has a huge capacity to love. Dory was a special dog
that lit up my every day, and I still miss her in my daily routine. The memories
we made are stories I will continue to tell for the rest of my life. She was a gift
given to me to brighten my days and changed the way I saw happiness. One day,
I know another dog will be there to inspire me and teach me more life lessons,
and perhaps even children of my own.