Bianca, 1996-2007...
It was a sad day on which I had to take our white greyhound, Bianca, to the vet for her final walk. We acquired her when she was two years old from a person in the Pittsburgh area who placed retired racing greyhounds in good homes. She lived with us and at least three other of our hounds (two now deceased, and one still lounging by the fire at this very moment).
And, Bianca had a good home here. She was a good dog, too. Never once did she perform an aggressive act. No biting. No growling. No underhanded deeds. No stealing the bologna when no one was looking. Grandchildren slept on her without a wiggle from her in return. You dog owners know how rare this is.
To be sure, Bianca was fearful of things. Thunder. Loud, sudden noises. Shouting people. Just like people are. But, so few moments bring real sadness. Good, crunchy food, topped by a dollop of gooey, soft meat: That's the way to happiness. Long naps in a cool breeze or beside the hearth, all warm and glowing. A sharp, playful bark. A run and a tussle in the yard. A stitch or two. Just like the rest of us sentient beings.
Sentient beings.
Dogs are, don't you think, the great Zen entities? They place great importance on moment-by-moment awareness and seeing deeply into the nature of things by direct experience. Dogs as Zen masters. Look deeply into those inscrutable eyes. Do you see fear? Is there attention and interest? Is there being and nothingness? Well, maybe nothing so deep. I always felt that dogs had three wires in the brain: sex, food, sleep. All else is just there.
In the end, it was an osteosarcoma in her leg that did her in. Metastasized to her lungs. Yesterday or the day before, she probably experienced a pathological fracture of the leg. She could not walk well at all. She was awake all night panting and restless. She slept most of today under pain medication.
As we had planned with the vet weeks before, now was the time.
This is the seventh dog I have taken to the vet to be put down. The first time was when I went with my father to have my first dog, Duke, put down. The vet wanted me to leave. My father had the wisdom to tell him I would stay. It became so important because I was sure, as only a silly 12 year old can be, that the vet was really just faking it. He would take my Heinz 57 Variety dog, who I thought was the most beautiful big brown dog in the world, and give him to someone else. The dog had arrived two years before, and, as an only child, he often was my only companion. The experience since has never been easy, but it has been necessary.
As with most of the others (Duke, Cookie, Dolly, Sparky, Sophie, Lewis), it was just I in the room with the Bianca and the vet. I held her head in my hands in my lap and reminded her that every dog has its day. And, then, she folded into the cold and damp night to a sleep so quiet that all air and light seemed to freeze around me. The last walk through the door, my companion. Feel free to canter ahead gaily.
Here is a picture that my daughter, Ann, took recently as Bianca slept in the bright sun, in her favorite spot, in the back yard, in the snow:
And, here, another just a few minutes before I took her to the vet: 
So, in honor of my dear little white dog, Bianca, and all of her four-legged friends of men, women, and children, I offer my reading of Lawrence Ferlinghetti's, Dog: http://emerge.educ.psu.edu:1026/movies/dog.mp3
"You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us." ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
There is no coffee here tonight.
