Comet's Tale: How the Dog I Rescued Saved My Life
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Comet’s Tale is a story about a friendship between two former winners, both a little down on their luck, who together stage a remarkable comeback. A former hard-driving attorney, Steven Wolf has reluctantly left his job and family and moved to Arizona for its warm winter climate. There he is drawn to a local group that rescues abused racing greyhounds. Although he can barely take care of himself because of a spinal condition, Wolf adopts Comet, an elegant cinnamon-striped racer. Or does Comet adopt Wolf?
In Comet’s Tale we follow their funny and moving journey as Wolf teaches Comet to be a service dog. With her boundless enthusiasm and regal manners, Comet attracts new friends to Wolf’s isolated world. And finally, she plays a crucial role in restoring his health, saving his marriage, and broadening his definition of success.
averted her head from them. Then I had explained her past. I gently lifted Comet’s ears, displaying the numbered tattoos that still made my stomach lurch a little. The girls’ expressions had been solemn as I talked about Comet’s early life and how racing greyhounds were routinely mistreated, then abandoned or destroyed. My daughters were now acutely sensitive to Comet’s feelings. “Dad, she’s going to have to be a little wet when she comes in. I’m not going to force her to let me dry her head,”
these sights and smells, much less done so just the day before. After all, something could have changed! I’m convinced Comet pitied my inability to notice. Regardless of the enticements, Comet would not yank on the lead. She would not sprint ahead to a neck-jerking stop but instead loitered at each scent. She pounced at fleeing rabbits with no forward motion and allowed ducks to swim unimpeded. In short, despite her excitement, Comet refused to instinctively hunt the morning in normal greyhound
whenever we came to a stop. Good thinking, Comet! We also developed a game plan for restricted traffic flow, especially in areas crowded by stacks of breakable items. On our final trip through IGA before Freddie’s departure, we left Comet parked between cardboard display columns while we decided on a bottle of wine to accompany Freddie’s planned rack of lamb. Comet wasn’t quite sure of the protocol for times when I wandered away from our groceries, and as she edged closer to us, several stacked
“Wha—I mean, what did he . . . How? I need to know everything Kai said. Everything from hello to good-bye. Don’t just sit there like a dead mummy, tell me!” “He said that the doctor, and I quote, ‘thinks he can at least significantly reduce your pain. I was calling to set up a time when you could talk with him’—unquote.” Freddie sat on the bed and grabbed my hand. “Wolfie! That’s great news! Aren’t you excited?” My first impulse was to tell the truth—I wasn’t sure. I revised that thought as I
times a week for an after-school walk. My only role involved paying Emily a stipend. At the first scheduled walk, I tried to explain to the excited ten-year-old the unique qualities of a retired greyhound. “Comet is a racing dog—she’s been bred to chase things, especially animals that are running away from her.” “Got it.” “If there’s a sudden quick movement down the block, she’s going to be off like a rocket, so you’ve got to hold on tight to that leash.” “Got it.” “She doesn’t know how to