aka Bean Picker • August 3, 1993–May 19, 2007
Oh Mr. Picker,
Its a very sad day in the gardens, you have no idea how much we will miss you.
I’ll never forget the day Donna called and asked if we would take you. I was beside myself with excitement, without even asking your other momma, I said yes, knowing that it would be OK.
Even at 11 years old, you knew the drill for coming home. You loved your soft cushions and your treats. You figured out the perpetual water bowl and what going outside meant. I think your favorite activity was roaming around on the acre. I’m pretty sure you sniffed every corner and sampled every blade of grass. We made sure you had a modest selection of fancy collars and a bigger selection of coats because you always seemed so cold. The three stairs coming into the house were just a bit too much and your momma built you a ramp. You know what Pick? That ramp will be there for all of the greyhounds that come to the gardens.
You were one handsome hound dog, I think only you knew the secret that white and black cow dogs were my very favorite color.
Our memories of you will be the best. It only took you a few weeks to figure what a couch was. You were a riot, you ate on the couch, you shared your couch with Phoebe, and sometimes you just let your head hang off.
The back yard was your favorite though. You’d walk around and enjoy the smells, the kitty and rabbit sightings, you heard everything around you and you rolled and rolled in the fresh cut green grass. You were the happiest dog, you’d come running toward us a smile on your face every time. Did I mention how beautiful you were?
You were every pup’s friend, I don’t think there was a greyhound you didn’t like.
The stories from your racing days have always entertained us. You came with a love for hot dogs, and we kept them on hand just for that special treat.
Mr. Picker, I’m not going to say good-bye because something tells me that when we look out over the acre, we will see you running along with all of your old friends.