Cyrus

Our beautiful puppy Cyrus died Tuesday afternoon. He escaped from the deck where he enjoyed basking in the sun on cool afternoons and, on the recent warmer days, sprawling in shady spots. For some reason that only he knows, he did not seek out the girls and me laying mulch in the front yard, but instead he ran for the woods behind the house and charged down the long, steep slope to the Metro North train tracks where I found his body. His end must have been sudden and, we pray, painless: he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. I am deeply grateful to the sympathetic Metro North track workers who arranged for his dignified removal.

During our circuits around the neighborhood, everyone in Manor Woods smiled at Cyrus, apparently impressed by his regal bearing and charmed by his exuberant, sometimes overly-friendly, behavior. Although he had grown to almost eighty pounds, he was still a puppy, not yet eleven months old. We looked forward to his aging and mellowing as he grew into adult dog-hood, but we also relished his puppy curiosity and verve. We delighted in his playfulness, continuing to kick tennis balls or chase him around the kitchen at his insistence often late into the night. We marveled at his rapid development in intelligence and size, as he grew a luxurious, long cream colored coat that we could never resist stroking. From the day of his arrival, he ensnared our hearts with his inexhaustible affection, as he cuddled and nuzzled his family at every opportunity and rewarded each hug with a lick. We think we reciprocated by providing him with a loving home for eight treasured months. We miss him terribly.