Comet's Tale by Steven Wolf Read Free Book Online

wondering how Comet is going to adjust to the family and how they’ll adjust to her.” Varying scenarios, none good, had been playing like movie trailers in my head all week. Now we both watched Comet as she nosed through the rocks and shrubs along the fence. Sensing our attention, she glanced up and trotted over to Freddie.
    â€œShe’s going to do just fine, aren’t you, sweetie?” my wife cooed, scratching behind Comet’s ears. Freddie beamed at Comet, but looking up at me, her eyes were serious. “I won’t lie to you. The girls are acting like you’ve lost the rest of your mind. They talk about Comet almost as if we’re divorced and she’s the new young girl-toy who’s coming to meet the family. They haven’t seen you in a while, and now they have to share you with a new dog that you talk about every time you call. They think the goldens, especially Cody, will be even less enthusiastic.”
    I’m sure my laugh sounded a little harsh. “Then I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”
    It was probably true that I spoke about Comet and greyhounds too often when I called the girls. Because I had no job and few friends in Sedona, I had a chance to observe Comet more closely than I had ever observed another creature, human or canine. Living with her and learning about her background as a racer spurred me to research the breed itself. What I discovered was fascinating.
    Greyhounds are the only breed mentioned by name in the Bible. Greyhound cousins appear everywhere throughout history: in myth and scripture, on Roman vases and Greek coins, on the walls of Egyptian tombs and the tapestries of French castles. King Tut kept greyhound-type dogs, as did Cleopatra. Even the gods prized these swift and graceful animals. They were valued in ancient times for the same reason they are today: their astonishing speed and agility.
    Greyhounds are sight hounds, meaning that they hunt using vision and speed, not scent. It was the Romans who first taught them to chase hares, primarily for the pleasure of watching the dogs run. They called this formalized hunt “coursing.” The point was not to kill the hare; it was really a race between hare and hound. The dogs didn’t compete against one another. Around 1500 BCE the first greyhounds arrived in what is now England. By the eleventh century they had found their way into the upper echelons of society—only noblemen were allowed to own and hunt with greyhounds. Five hundred years later, Queen Elizabeth I established official rules for greyhound coursing, which again involved the pursuit of hares and did not pit the dogs against one another. Coursing required not only speed and sharp vision but also intelligence and flexibility. Over the centuries, greyhound owners cultivated those traits in the breed.
    â€œThey’re the fastest dogs on earth! They’ve been clocked at forty-five miles per hour,” I gushed to Lindsey during one of my calls to her.
    â€œCheetahs can do sixty-five,” she instantly responded. Lindsey, who wanted to become a marine biologist, was no slouch about her animal facts. If I had listened to her tone, I might have noticed the wounded feelings beneath that comeback. The whole time they were growing up, I could recite my daughters’ class schedules by heart, as well as their extracurriculars and the first and last names of their friends. Now my wavering health and Comet consumed nearly all of my attention.
    THE TOP OF Bell Rock was just reflecting the vague eastern light when Freddie and I left Sedona, the few things I was bringing home loosely thrown behind the front seat. Comet was splayed across her bed next to the rear hatch, luxuriating in the bright sunlight that splashed through the window. A CD of Native American music provided the soundtrack as we drove from Arizona through western New Mexico. After a few hours, Freddie glanced in the rearview mirror at the