aka Shallow • February 28, 1996–November 13, 2005
I remember the day we met you. You were a bounce, times 2 or 3 or 5. You absolutely hated riding in the car. Hated it! And everybody in Salem knew it too. But the acre, that was a whole new ball game and it quickly became your queendom. You found your treasures, you loved your stuffies, fresh fallen apples from the trees, and recycled dog food. You were Karen’s first experience as a foster and you taught her well, she failed. You came to us as Shadow, your racing name was Shallow.
When Karen knew you were a permanent edition, she renamed you Edie after her all-time favorite singer Edith Piaf. Little did we know that you would spend your next years as the Greyhound Gardens choir leader. Everyday I looked forward to the low trill in your throat that got louder and louder and eventually you coaxed everyone to join in. Rooings are daily treat around here for Karen and I, and you my sweet girl led the choir.
Your favorite throne was our bedroom, and there you remained content.
I heard you cry last night. At first I thought you were impatiently demanding your dinner, I went to tell you it would be soon. When you crawled to me dragging your hind legs I knew we were in trouble. Karen and I got you to the e-vet as fast as we possible could, but you were already on your way to the bridge. We hoped you heard us when we told you how much we loved you and how much we’ll miss you. Your beauty, your grace, your trill. You had all of the right stuff.
Good night sweet one. We love you.
Your mommies, Karen and Terri
Oh, and Edie honey, you got the last laugh. Can you imagine what the vet and her techs thought when Karen and I drove up in the old Volkswagen bus with tears streaming down our faces and our matching jammie bottoms?