Kira was a blonde: sweet, clueless, pretty. And I say that meaning no offense to any blondes reading this blog, it’s just how she was. Every day was a new day, full of adventures…probably because she would quickly forget whatever had happened the day before.
She was a fawn. I tend to think of that coloring as the canine equivalent of a Siamese cat. Like most greyhounds who have a colored mask, she turned grey early, and spurned any attempts at using Miss Clairol.
Like our other greyhounds, Kira was a rescue from the dog track. She broke a hock at 18 months, and came to live with us.
She was always happy for a walk. Or a Whopper – hold the onions! She liked her squeaky toys and to play with her furry companions, or by herself. She was a master at digging holes in the backyard dirt, and taking dust baths when the holes were suitably large enough.
She hated wind, thunderstorms, and almost any severe barometric change, meeting them with panting and pacing.