Homer

“You know our favorite one’s going to be brindle, right?”

On December 3rd, 2020, Megan and I drove out to Greyhound Pets Inc. We had just moved into our home, and for years had discussed getting a dog, somehow settling on a Greyhound after discussing Pugs, Borzois, Weimariners, and Shiba Inus. We had only planned to meet a few dogs and come back after making a decision, but when Beast ran out and leaned against our legs, we knew we had found our dog.

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Major Force was born on August 19th, 2017. Unlike his father, SH Avatar, he was an unremarkable runner, racing for 3 years with a peak in Grade B. On September 19th, 2020, he ran his last race, breaking his hind leg in 3 places. In the dying days of Greyhound racing in America, someone decided to fix his leg instead of putting him down like so many others. He was placed on a truck, traveling from Florida to Washington, and after 3 months of recovery, was put into a 2013 Honda Civic and given a new name.

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Homer’s first days in our home were a learning experience. He had never known what it was like to live in a house. Spinning around in our hallways often involved doing a three point turn, and it took a month of training to get him to go up and down stairs on his own. He would frequently trap himself in the basement, knowing how to go down but not how to return. In the kennels, he was used to being fed frequently, and would vomit out of hunger - we started giving him a piece of bread every night to avoid this, a treat he coveted so much we had to throw it to him to avoid getting our fingers bitten.

Weeks went by, we settled into a familiar routine, and it was like he had always been with us.

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In an early morning in September, we welcomed Will to our family. When we brought him home, the first one to greet him was Homer. Our routines changed but included him - sliding past him at night to feed Will in those early days, taking long walks around the neighborhood with a stroller for the first time. Will grew alongside him, crawling towards him as he learned to move himself, walking and climbing as we stopped at parks along Homer’s walking route, and eventually running far ahead of us as I pushed his new sister.

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Every room in our house is unintentionally planned around his presence. Blankets lie on our couch and on the floor of our bedroom to put over him when it’s cold. Rose and Will’s chairs are placed next to the window on the far side of the table, denying Homer easy access to their food. The office’s decor is compromised by a massive stack of beds next to a vent that blows warm air onto his head.

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Two and a half years later, Rose joined us. While Homer was clear in his displeasure at dealing with another newborn (he slept downstairs until Rose moved out of the bassinet and into the nursery), he spent his waking hours laying with us, licking Rose’s feet. When Rose first started speaking, her first two-syllable word after “Mama” and “Dada” was “Homer.” When she started to become more independent, she would often spend time just sitting in between Homer’s legs and petting him. He always got a hug before she went to bed.

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Every weekend, Rose and Homer would race to the back door to go on our morning walk. On one of these, Homer started walking much slower than normal. An injury-prone dog, we took him to the vet to see what muscle he had strained this time. We found the two lumps that would take him from us.

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Eternalism is the theory that every moment in time is always happening, the past and future fixed, and the present is just the way we experience these moments.

Somewhere else, he is standing next to me in a park as we watch Will practice climbing up a slide. He’s sleeping on the couch between Megan and I as we watch a movie. He’s laying patiently as Rose sings him a song and pats him. He is racing in Palm Beach, a victory given the note that he “cannot be denied.” He’s outside on a cool summer night in July, sleeping as fireworks go off overhead. He is running through a door, and I see him for the first time.

I love you, Homer.