Back in 1996, my husband and I had been living together for a couple months, when he started talking about getting a dog. Now, I'm more of a cat person (which we already had), but he persisted until I gave in, although there were a couple of conditions: 1. it had to be a big dog and 2. it had to be a greyhound. I'd seen lots of TV shows about the breed, and I really liked what I'd seen. Greyhounds were, on average, quiet, lazy and extremely appreciative of having a good home.

We drove to a greyhound rescue up in Escondito Canyon, where they had 4 dogs available for adoption. I had given the hubby one more condition: I wanted a female. I don't know if it's a porn thing where you see more dicks than shoes, but I just did not want to see a big shlong wagging underneath it when it walked. Of the four dogs, two were male and two were female. The dog also had to be "cat-safe". A lot of greyhounds are trained to chase a bait on the track by having them attack live kittens...a horrible practice that is mostly banned now. But since we had a cat, the dog had to be cat-safe. Of the two girls, only one was: a gorgeous two-year old blonde brindle-coated dog. My husband entered her pen and knelt down beside her, petting her. Now the dog, who's name was Legacy, because of her long legs, had had a very short racing career. No one seemed to know why she was retired early, just that she had been. The dog was very nervous as CVK petted her, standing still as a statue and water dripping from her nose. She would do this every time she got nervous. I asked CVK if this was the one he wanted, and he said yes. I looked at her and noticed two little worn places on the backs of her legs. The woman told me that the dogs were generally kept in very small cages, and the worn spots were where the bars had rubbed the fur off her legs. Fucking greyhound racing!

The lady interviewed us (we passed, obviously). We signed the paperwork, paid the adoption fee and left with the dog, which we re-christened Brazil, for three reasons: 1. her coat reminded me of a brazil nut, 2. BRAZIL was one of my favorite movies, and 3. the cat was named Blakk, so I wanted another "B" name for the dog.

We took her home, and for the next ten years, she was the sweetest, funniest, most wonderful dog I'd ever had in my life.

About five weeks ago, we noticed her limping on her left front leg. The vet, a large middle-aged woman with terrible bedside manners, told me that it was arthritis and gave us two medicines for her. They worked—for three weeks. Then the limp came back. Only it was worse. Brazil was limping so badly that she could only walk two steps before lying down. Another trip to a different vet resulted in a series of X-rays which brought a depressing diagnosis, and it was on the last night's shoot of BONESAW that I got the phone call. I stepped into the bathroom of the location and received the awful news. It was cancer. Bone cancer. Osteosarcoma, to be exact. It hadn't spread to the lungs, but it was only a matter of time.

We were given three options: we could do nothing except give her painkillers, but at some point, the bone would deteriorate to the point where it would simply break. She would live about four months. Option 2: amputate the leg, which would relieve the pain immediately and permanently, and do nothing else. I was told she would manage quite well on 3 legs, and it would take about two weeks for her to adjust. With this option, she would live another four to six months. Option 3: amputate the leg and do chemo, which would slow down the spread of the cancer and give her another six to eight months. Chemo doesn't effect dogs the same way it does humans, so the treatment wouldn't be as harsh on her as it would on a person. BUT chemo is expensive. It would have cost us around $6000, which CVK and I didn't feel was worth spending for another couple months of life. So we opted for the amputation to relieve the pain, with the intent of spoiling her rotten for her last few months with us.

The vet called yesterday and said he wanted to do the operation later that day, so I took her in around 3pm, hugged her, kissed her, then watched a technician take her to the back. I went home and finished eiditng the BONESAW trailer, which JEREMY SPENCER said they'd like right away so they could put it on their latest release. I ran it over to him, chatted a bit, then returned home, where I began making dinner after my husband came in. I still had not heard from the doctor.

Around 6:30pm, the phone rang. It was the surgeon. He said my name, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I could hear it in his voice. "Yes," I answered. There was a pause, and he said, "Something terrible has happened." I held my breath, waiting for what I knew were going to be his next words. Sure enough: "Brazil passed away."

"No!" I shouted. "I'm afraid so," he continued. "She came through the operation fine. She was perfect. It could not have gone more smoothly. She was recuperating and sat up on her chest. She had an oxygen tube, which we took out, and a few minutes later, she simply collapsed. Within two seconds she was surrounded by technicians, who put the oxygen tube back, but she wouldn't respond. We then began artificial respiration, but she wouldn't start breathing again." He went on to explain that in older dogs, sometimes surgery can result in blood clots, which is apparently what happened. A clot lodged in her brain or her heart, causing a stroke.

By this time, CVK had heard me shout and came into the kitchen to see what was going on. "Is it the doctor?" he mouthed. I nodded. He looked at me, and I looked back. "Did she die?" he mouthed. I paused, then slowly nodded. He leaned against the kitchen counter while I continued to listen to the surgeon, who said they were still working on her, but getting no reaction. I asked him to hold on, then told my husband what he had said. "I think he's asking us if we want them to continue," I told him. CVK lowered his head and shook it back and forth. I went back to the phone and said, "It's okay, you can let her go."

I hung up, and we hugged and cried throughout the rest of the evening. I've said many, many times that pets are like children to gay people, and we feel like a part of us has been ripped out. I told TY HUDSON about our loss, and he, being a pet lover and part Sioux indian, performed a native american ceremony for us and her to bring us peace. I thanked him for that sweet gesture.

So my sweet big girl is gone. She brought us lots of laughter and love, and I can only hope she knows how much we loved her. For those of you who have pets...after you finish reading this entry, go and give them a big hug and say a prayer for my wonderful Brazil.



JBK