Di and the TornadosI grew up in Oklahoma, and have lived most of my life in "tornado alley". Tornado chasing is probably less appealing to those of us who are more accustomed to being chased BY the tornado. Which reminded me of one of the closest calls I ever had. It is one of those stories that you can look back on and laugh. Greyhounds, especially dogs who spent most of their lives racing or living in a kennel or farm situation, have problems with stairs. A young dog, like Rhythym (who was only six months old when I got her) can eventually learn to negotiate them, but often the older dogs never do. Such was the case with our beloved Lady Di. Di was a big, white with a bit of brindle freckle girl who had been a very successful racer and retired for a life at the brood farm. Unfortunately, probably because she was on the hormone to stop her from coming in heat for too long while she was racing, she never did come into heat. The breeder who owned her was very fond of her, but you know how it is. You just can't keep them all. So he reluctantly began looking for a home for her. Di was a sweet, quiet, beautiful dog when she came to us at 10 years of age. She was never comfortable on the couch or rug. If the door to the kennel was open, she would rather be there. So we left it open for her with a pile of soft blankets inside and she would relax in serene security and watch life go on around her. Until the tornado came. The day the tornado came we were living in a house that had a basement - but it was at the bottom of a long, narrow, steep flight of stairs. I had been listening to the radio and watching outside and when the funnel was reported headed our way, I started running dogs and cats down the stairs. Rhythym made it down with some supervision. Di took one look and sat down. Did I mention that Di was a BIG greyhound? Have I mentioned that I am a SMALL (if strong) woman? At the last moment, imagine me gathering Di into my arms by wrapping one arm under her chest, the other under her rump and sort of scooping her up. Turning sideways, unable to see the stairs, the railing too rickity to support me, I edged one foot at a time down that narrow stairway with a moaning and trembling hound. It seemed to go to the very depths of the earth. (I think it was about 10 feet) I don't know who was more relieved when we got to the bottom of the stairs, Di, or me. I put her down and she stood, shuddering, rolling those beautiful big brown eyes at me, plainly saying "I don't know why you did that, but you must have had a very good reason." We squatted at the foot of the steps, three dogs, about 20 cats, and I, listening to the radio's minute by minute tracking of the funnel cloud. It did finally passed only a few miles away from us. Leaving Di and I at the foot of the stairs looking at each other... I ran everyone else up - Rhythym always found up much easier than down and scrambled right up. The Sheltie trotted up in his businesslike manner, giggling at the silly hounds and of course the cats just streaked up like it was nothing. Finally, I stood at the foot of the stairs again, my hand on Di's trembling shoulder. She looooooooooooked up the stairs. Raised one paw. Put it on a step. Loooooooooked up the stairs. And then looked up at me. I swear, she had tears in her eyes. She just couldn't do it. With a sigh, I bent down and gathered her again. She draped her head over my shoulder and down my back and sighed. And I wobbled my way back up the stairs one careful step at a time, again. Several more times that summer we heard the siren that meant "take cover". I'd run everyone else down, and Di would wait patiently at the top of the stairs, big brown eyes glowing as she trembled and waited for her ride down in my arms. I was sure glad when that tornado season was over. I'm sure Di was, too. There must have been an angel helping us up and down those stairs, because I managed to never once stumble and fall with my heavy armload of dog. Di's shining eyes always said she trusted me absolutely, that I would let no harm come to her. I will never understand how someone could betray that trust.
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