In Rememberance - Greyhounds that have crossed the rainbow bridge

Remembrance

Death can happen on any day of any year. I try to love as hard and well as I can, while I can. When loved hounds leave me, I believe they do so, so I can love another - because there are always more hounds needing love. And love makes the world go round.

To continue to give love, I feel, honors the love I received.

To help honor the love of a hound, the Greyhound Gang respectfully offers the following ideas with the passing of a loved greyhound. Do click on them to learn more.

Ceramic Medallion

To contact others that understand your grief - join Circle of Greys. They are a support group of greyhound lovers, that help each other through sad times.

This is a poem that helps me continue to love because I believe.

CREDO by Maxine Kumin

I believe in magic. I believe in the rights
of animals to leap out of our skins
as it is said in the Tlingit legend:
That instant a bear appeared where a boy had been

as I believe in the resurrected wake-robin,
first wet knob of trillium to knock
in April at the underside of earth's door
in central New Hampshire where bears are,

though still denned up at that early greening.
I believe in living on grateful terms
with the earth, with the black crumbles
of ancient manure that sift through my fingers

when I topdress the garden for winter. I believe
in the red strings of earthworms aroused out of season
and in the bear, asleep now in the rock cave
where my outermost pasture abuts the forest.

I cede him a swale of chokeberries in August.
I give the sow and her cub as much yardage
as they desire when our paths intersect,
as does my horse shifting under me

respectful but not cowed by our encounter.
I believe in the gift of the horse, which is magic,
their deep fear-snorts in play when the wind comes up,
and the ballet of nip and jostle, plunge and crow hop.

I trust them to run from me, necks arched in a full
swan's S, tails cocked up over their backs
like plumes on a Cavalier's hat. I trust them
to gallop back, skid to a stop, their nostrils

level with my mouth, asking for my human breath
that they may test its intent, taste the lure of it.
I believe in myself as their sanctuary
and in the earth with its summer plumes of carrots,

its clamber of peas, beans, masses of tendrils
as mine. I believe in the acrobatics of boy
into bear, the grace of animals
in my keeping, the thrust to go on.