“A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours… He taught me to appreciate the simple things - a walk in the woods, a fresh snowfall, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. And as he grew old and achy, he taught me about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.”
John Grogan, Marley and Me
On June 6th, 2024, Naomi and I had to make a hard decision, one that had been a long time coming. We had noticed the difference over the last year: the gradual decline, the struggles, the obvious pain, and the inevitable march toward old age. We had talked about it, even prepared for it, but we weren’t truly ready when the moment arrived. It was sad and upsetting, but ultimately it was the right thing to do. But before we get into that, let’s look back on the life of our wonderful dog, Bray.
For us, it began on September 2nd, 2015, when we adopted Bray at the age of 5, but he’d already had an exciting life even before then. You see, Bray, known then as Trey, was a racing greyhound. He spent the first five years of his life travelling across the U.K. under the racing name Burden of Proof, competing in front of crowds of people. He even won a couple. Not many dogs can say they’ve done that! For those who met him, I imagine none of you can believe that such a lazy dog could compete like that, but he did, and, from the videos we’ve seen, he loved it.
There’s not much longevity in dog racing due to the wear and tear, so his time as a competitor was ended and then, with the help of the fantastic Greyhound Trust West Yorkshire, he was ready for his next adventure: finding his forever home.
Meanwhile, Naomi had spent the previous weeks and months researching dogs to match our lifestyle. We were looking for a low-energy, calm dog that we could leave at home during the day while we were at work, and greyhounds were the first to appear on the list. Of course, it helped that we lived in Yorkshire, where there’s a greyhound on every street corner and in every rolling field. I wasn’t so sure I wanted a dog, being that I was (and am) exceptionally lazy, but Nay sold it to me with promises that greyhounds didn’t shed – which, of course, turned out to be nonsense. I expect to find Bray’s little white hairs all over the house for years to come – so I quickly relented.
We contacted the Trust and showed up with our tiny Toyota Aygo – a reliable but small car, wholly unsuitable for a large dog, which I couldn’t even drive at the time - and picked one out. In a kennel filled with graceful, friendly dogs, Bray caught our eye because he rooed his lungs out – a greyhound version of a howl – when it was dinner time, making us laugh in the process. You could say he stole our hearts from the start!
So, before we, or even he, knew what was what, we bundled Bray into the tiny Aygo and went home. And bam, we had a dog!
Looking back on it, we had absolutely no idea what we were doing. It took a while for us all to adjust. We had to teach Bray how to be a house dog, including simple things like how to get on the sofa and climb the stairs. Remember, he had lived in a kennel up to then, so these things were unforeseen obstacles. Even the T.V. – which he stared at curiously when he first saw one – and hot cups of tea that had been left on the floor – which he dipped his nose in - were strange, new things. He was also inexplicably terrified of tiny dogs and would run away when he was confronted by one, however friendly. But he persevered, tackling his fears in Bray’s usual way: first panic, whining, a failed attempt, a little more panic, more whining, and then mastery. Laminate floors, on the other hand, he never quite got the hang of, hence why we always had millions of rugs all over the house.
We all settled into a routine… or thought we had. After weeks of Bray waking us up at 5 am whining downstairs and pooing on the rug downstairs, we eventually yielded and let him sleep in our room upstairs with us. Clearly, he learned quickly to trick his humans into doing what he wanted. He was a clever one when food and sleep were involved, which, of course, were his favourite pastimes. You could expect a nose under your armpit at the dinner table every day and to find him sound asleep in his bed (or anywhere really, especially if it meant you had to step over him to get somewhere) any other time.
So far, so good. We were happy in our little terraced house, taking Bray for walks in Rothwell Country Park, St. Aidan’s Nature Park, and along Woodlesford Canal, where he could chase rabbits, have at least four poos – his record was five - and occasionally mistime one of his many, many sprints and fall into whatever body of water was lying around. He loved to walk, but he adored to run. He was made for it. If there was even a sniff of an open space or field, he was off. Nothing could stop him, even the weather. He would sprint in a circle, and you’ve never seen a dog happier. Of course, being that he was unbelievably clumsy, he would often run into a bush or thicket and cut himself, (famously across his forehead while we were away on holiday), but he didn’t care. He was outdoors, he was running, and he was happy.
It could easily have continued like that for a decade, but then things abruptly changed in 2016 when we moved to Houston, Texas with Naomi’s work. Even for us humans, that was a big deal. But for Bray, it was huge! He went from racing across the U.K. to living with a family, and then, suddenly, we packed up and flew him across the Atlantic to live in another country, miles from the mild temperatures of Leeds. We were worried that the 10+ hour trip might be too much for him. We anxiously waited for him to land in Houston, panicking that he might have been scared or hurt on the way. But Bray just popped out of the crate and ran off to a bush to have a giant two-minute pee. He was scared of laminate floors, but flying for thousands of miles was no problem, apparently.
So, Bray, retired racer and international jetsetter, was now an expat in America.
Once again, he took it with his usual aplomb and carried on as if nothing had happened, even when the heat rose, and kept rising, in the summer. As before, we settled into our new routine of early morning walks to avoid the ascending temperature and visits to the Surfside Beach on the Gulf Coast, but we curve-balled the poor guy again, just as he was getting settled.
Bray was quiet, calm, and sleepy. But Hank, the Texan street dog, is the exact opposite. He’s loud, he’s brash, and he’s energetic. You’d think they wouldn’t get on together, but after one small “disagreement” over a ball, they became best of friends and then brothers, who loved each other dearly. They were inseparable from then on.
Adopting Hank really brought Bray out of his shell. They would often play together while we were out, even in recent times. We would come home to find pillows, toys, blankets, and dog beds strewn all over the lounge. Bray was happy to follow Hank, especially when his little brother wanted to bark at the stray cats at the back fence. They were opposites in appearance and temperament, but they made quite the pair.
Once more, we settled into a routine in Houston with early morning walks and time in the garden. Bray, now with Hank, got to see a lot of the U.S. We drove across Texas, visiting some of the many state parks and taking trips with our “Texas family” group of friends. We took the dogs down to the Gulf Coast and to the Hill Country. We even drove them to Colorado on a giant road trip during Covid. So, you can add traveller to Bray’s already bulging C.V. Bray made a plethora of furry friends in our five years in Houston, (and when we came back to England), who would visit often to play with both Hank and him, especially their “bitches.”
Our time in Texas came to an end in 2021 after five amazing years where we lived through some turbulent times – Trump, Hurricane Harvey, and Covid. We flew the dogs home, and Bray completed the trip once more without batting an eyelid. We were back in England again, a little older, a little wiser, and, in mine and Bray’s case, a little greyer.
So, Bray, retired racer, international jetsetter, traveller, and former expat was back in the North of England. The Yorkshire-hound had returned home.
It only really occurred to me when I started to write this blog just how many important events in our lives that Bray was part of. When we first bought a house in 2015, there was Bray shortly after. When we moved to the States, Bray came with us. When Covid changed the world, Bray lived through it with us. When we moved back to England, Bray returned with us. When we moved into a new house in Sherburn-in-Elmet, Bray came with us. During the whole of our thirties, Bray was a massive part of everything. You could say that we grew up together.
Time is a funny thing. It flits by in the blink of an eye. One minute, you’ve adopted a daft rooing bean head, fresh off the tracks, and the next, it’s nine years later, and that same loving greyhound has slowed down. It’s been hard to watch him decline over the last year. We’ve done everything possible to make it a happy final twelve months. He couldn’t walk that far anymore. He didn’t roo as much. He couldn’t run. But he still loved to be outside. He still loved dinner time. And he still loved to unleash awful, stinking farts while you watched T.V. Yes, he weighed a ton when you carried him up and down the stairs for bed because he couldn’t climb them anymore. But he was always waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, patient and loyal, with his tail wagging away despite the pain he was in.
And that’s the thing with Bray. He never, ever complained about anything. He once trapped his tail in a heavy door, losing the tip in the process, which must have been excruciating. But he didn’t even yelp. Instead, he just carried on with his walk, peeing, pooing, and sniffing as much as ever, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He was a trooper, our Bray, stoically enjoying his life, no matter the circumstances. So, when the time came and he could barely move, walk, or even eat, we knew that we had to let him go.
On that last day, we spent the time in the garden in the sun. He ate a little bit of chicken and enjoyed his strokes. It was peaceful, he was surrounded by his family, and he was happy. You couldn’t ask for a better and more perfect time for him to move on.
So, I’ll close this emotional blog by saying we’ll miss you, Bray. You were such a good boy, and we loved you.
Rest in Peace.
Bray “Burden of Proof” Harper
May 2010 – June 2024
Please consider donating to West Yorkshire Greyhound Trust. The work they do bringing these wonderful, dozy dogs into our lives is fantastic. Your donations will be much appreciated.
I would also like to thank Hayloft Mobile Veterinary Service for coming out to help Bray’s passing. They were so thoughtful and supportive, and it really made a tough situation much easier.
Thanks for reading.
Elliot J Harper
Author of New Gillion Street, published by Fly on the Wall Press.