My last Blyss Borzoi, Paris, is still with me. Yet, every day for him is a challenge. If it is not due to heavy panting, or gasping for breath, it is due to weakness in his hind quarters as he tries to walk. He no longer enjoys a walk, and the distances he can go have significantly shortened. Even squirrels can run by him in close proximity and he either does not see them anymore or realizes he is unable to chase them.
I know there will be no end to the tears I will weep when he dies. The reasons are many. He has been so stoic and so brave throughout his life. Of all the borzoi, his life has been the most traumatized and difficult. I have made every mistake that could possibly be made with a dog with him, and my only comfort is that in the end I am making it up to him in any and every way I can. Still, I know I caused him great suffering. Even if I had not, it is he who suffered the loss of Opal the most, a loss I know from which he never recovered until Mikhailya’s puppies arrived. Only then did I see something akin to that look of bliss and joy on his face. He is far more than any other borzoi I have ever known a prince, a good dog, a hero….. so many accolades can be applied. Yet, when he leaves me there will be no counting the tears…..I can never cry enough of them to compensate for his loss, to assuage my grief.
I know he may be my last borzoi, for I myself am not the same person I was in 2003 when Bob and I established Blyss Kennels at Blyss House on Summit Lane, on the border of Watchung Reservation, at the top of the first ridge in the sky. Little did I know then how close I was to perfection, for that was my high point in life. Until Opal died in July 2006, I was giddy with joy for my borzoi and all that we were doing with them. Somehow along the way, I simply forgot they died.
So there can never be enough days that remain for Paris. He is allowed to be as needy and demanding as he pleases, to have a reverse body-clock, to be up 24/7, and a finicky eater. Yet, he is very clean with his personal habits and never has accidents. He remains an aristocrat in his profoundest decline, and one could never take him for any other breed of dog.
If I wish him many long years at ten, it is because I am selfish. He is an “old” ten, a very debilitated dog. Yet, his heart, lungs and spirit are strong. He does not let go of life, as the profound words by Dylan Thomas:
Do not go silent into the night, Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
Perhaps the spirit of Opal has lived on in him all these years and has granted him strength. Perhaps she has been there all the while and I overlooked her. Whatever the reason, there is a will of steel to remain with me that is almost supernatural. We are only their keepers while they are here with us on Earth. We can never truly know them, and we are not privy to their inner world and its governances. I learned the hard way many years ago that we never truly own them either…… and we don’t always get to hold the leash….. “…… even at Blyss Kennels…..
Blyss Paris, ” ….You are a Hound of the Steppes! …”