When Hershey needed anything he just came and looked at me intently; I’d run through the list till I hit what it is he wanted. Supper? Water? Outside? Running? Does Sally have your toy? Oh no, let’s go get it!

He was a squirming and playful pup from a large litter of 13 non-show quality whippets. I got him when my daughter was a senior in high school, insurance that her leaving for college would not leave me all alone and lonely. Jessie swore she’d never love my dog if she couldn’t pick him out, but she took one look at him and ate her words.

He was an awful pup, nearly drove me berserk the first year. Wilfull, disobedient, unwilling to compromise. One fateful day I broke down and told him that’s it, I was returning him to his breeder. For some almost inexplicable reason he shaped up immediately.

Boy he loved to run. That was Hershey’s purpose in life. No word tantalized him more than the word “running” or even spelling “R-U-N?” Not even food, toys, or anything else that makes dogs happy. We ran thousands of miles together.

Running got him in so much trouble. His legs were even faster than his brain, and occasionally I’d hear an”ARRRP!” in the trees and after a while he’d limp slowly to me, a huge gash in his paper-thin whippet skin. He had countless stitches, and I am sure he kept several of the local veterinarians in business.

The lump just appeared on his side one day a year and a half ago, like a giant mosquito bite that oozed a little blood and would not go away. I was in denial for months. He also had lots of little red dots like moles. Finally, Patrick took him to the vet and he operated, removing the lump and as many of the red dots as he could. It was hemangiosarcoma, a cancer that attaches to the blood vessels hence the bleeding. It doesn’t go away, but it can take a while to do its business.

I always swore I’d not keep a pet alive by extraordinary means, but I slowly descended down that slippery slope. After a couple more surgeries they said they just couldn’t do it again, there wasn’t enough tissue to sew TO.

I tried valiantly to let go of him, but it’s horrible standing by knowing they could suffer less. Finally the doc convinced me to try chemo and I was shocked at how it seemed to push back the clock. After a day of looking like death he bounced back, better than before. Tumors visibly shrank or stopped getting bigger. We bought weeks, months of pain-free time being together.

He’d always had a heart murmur though, and in the end that’s what limited his chemo to five doses in 10 weeks, and it’s what finally gave out.

I got to bring Hershey to one endurance horseback ride with me, my first 25 mile ride. He was in a good place from chemo and as spunky as ever. Most people who didn’t know him or look closely didn’t know he was sick. He didn’t like me leaving him at the horse trailer during the riders’ meeting, so chewed through the rope I used to tie him and showed up at the meeting looking for me, one eye bulgy from cancer but beautiful to me. He jumped out the Jeep window despite my prediction that he was too old and tired. I’ll always remember sleeping in the moonlight, his sweet whippet face on my pillow silhouetted by the moon. It was his goodbye present to me, passing of the torch to my horse Pico and I cried for two hours in the night with happiness and sadness rolled into one.

The vet had told me I’d know when the time was right and he was correct. His last night he was gasping for breath – a loud, hoarse, wretched moan – as his heart pumped less and less efficiently. When he stood up he seemed fine, but he couldn’t sleep standing up. From here on it was a freight train to absolute misery, or The End.

Hershey died the best death possible, encircled in my arms while the vet gave a huge dose of barbiturates, his face emoted sheer and total bliss, pain-free at last as he relaxed and fell asleep. Go to the light, my love. The pain is over.

More best of well-laid plans, I couldn’t bear to leave him to be cremated. The vet found a big cardboard box and we got it into my car for his last car ride home.

Love doesn’t stop just because someone dies, I know that now. I loved his little body just as much as when he was alive. I brought him to the grassy area near our barn and gave him his last shampoo, trimmed and filed his toenails. His tumors didn’t bleed anymore, so he cleaned up better than he had in years. He just looked like he was sleeping; a clean and well-loved dog sleeping. I petted him and sang to him. The other dogs sniffed him and didn’t seem perturbed at all that he was dead, like, “aww, okay it’s Hershey, bye pal. I’m moving up the food chain now.”

That was our private little funeral, then Patrick came home to help. He built a rustic little pine box. We solemnly placed Hershey in the wagon of our lawn tractor and drove him to the grave site. Patrick then used his excavator to dig a hole next to the grave of his dog Rocky.

While he was digging a sound came from or below the wagon, a “whap! whap! whap!” like a dog’s tail hitting it. I looked in and around the wagon but couldn’t find anything that was doing that. A minute later it happened again. What? We couldn’t see anything. It happened one more time. Probably the cart just creaking from heat or something.

The sound has never come back since that day, so I may never know what caused it. I’d love to believe it was Hershey telling me he’s happy now. He’s running forever across fields that never end, never gets tired, just runs and runs and runs.

My horse has earnestly told me “this is what heaven is like” while we are in an endurance ride, just running and running forever and never getting tired. Just like Hershey would have wanted. Farther and farther and faster. How I’d love to believe that. I’m a little too pessimistic and fatalistic to believe that. But while I’m on earth, endurance riding is just like heaven to me.

“Tis better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all.”
- Tennyson 1850

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This marathon was not just about me, though; I did it to raise funds for the Leukemia Foundation. They sponsor a program called Team in Training, or TNT. They trained me to run a safe and successful marathon, and I raised $1500 for them. The money I raised went for a little girl with leukemia named Kyla Martinez. I heartily recommend this program to anybody who has ever considered running a marathon!

At 5 a.m. waiting for the race to start, with my running buddy Alice.

After months and months of training, I ran the whole San Francisco International Marathon Sunday morning for the Leukemia Society. The weather was perfect, and I was in the top physical condition of my life. I had logged over 500 miles of running and 100 hours of time preparing for this moment. I had shed about twelve pounds when I started running longer distances, and feeling really buff! I was perfectly prepared for the challenge! Little did I know how hard –and how easy– it would be.

It was cool and misty at the starting line, the Sausalito side of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was hard to get stretched out since it was so cool and early and there were so many people–over 5,000. Luckily I ran into my running buddies Alice and Francine at the starting line, and we ran the whole race together. It took us six minutes to shuffle up to the starting line after the starting bell went off. Finally we were running, and it was so exciting that we had to pace ourselves. But our coach’s words rang in our minds, “go out fast, die like a pig!”

The first ten miles were a piece of cake–we had done them several times before on our training runs. We ran across the bridge, through the edge of the Presidio, across Marina Green, and along Fishermen’s Wharf. We smiled and waved to the many well-wishers. We headed towards the Bay Bridge, and then I got separated from my friends for several miles when I stayed at a rest stop for six minutes. But I stretched the whole time, and was so refreshed from the rest that I was able to quickly catch up to them. Those must have been about eight minute miles! They were all pretty flat up to this point.

Just starting up Haight Street.

Alice, Francine and I ran together for about another half a mile, then we were at about the halfway point–Mile 13, at the bottom of the Haight Street hill, where my ex-husband Richard was waiting. He had fresh Gatorade to put in my pack (I had invented a camel-back waist pack for the event), plus towels to dry me off and more Power Gel. He took pictures of me running up the hill towards him. A kiss for luck and I was off running again, this time up the verrrrry steep Haight hill and through Haight-Ashbury. I walked up a lot of that, it’s just too steep. I caught my friends fairly close after the top of the hill.

Running through Chinatown.

Then we wended our way through some neighborhoods and Chinatown to Golden Gate Park close to the finish line. Unfortunately, there were almost 11 more miles to go! Through the park to the ocean, being careful to not get sand in our shoes, then up and back the long hill on Sunset. We were getting pretty tired by this point, so even though it was a gentle hill it seemed to be uphill both ways. We started taking turns waving at the well-wishers to conserve our strength. After a while, all we could do was smile at them. Although Alice, Francine and I had been running three abreast most of the way, by this point we started to get spread out a bit and having to talk ourselves through various aches both mental and physical. “Focus!” and “remember to relax!” were our main mantras. Also, Alice has asthma just like me, so we monitored each other’s breathing and made sure we used our inhalers when necessary. I also played what I call “arm games,” where I would swing my arms to “pull” me up a hill to break the monotony and boredom and give my legs a little rest–wow, it’s amazing what we can think up.

Mile 21 was pretty exciting, and scary too. It was a breakthrough milestone, since the farthest we had trained was twenty miles. Each mile thereafter was a breakthrough too, but less exciting and slower and harder to attain. We never “hit the wall,” as they say; it just seemed to slowly get harder. Luckily there were more and more people along the sides cheering us on. We managed thin smiles for them by this point, sometimes a “thanks.” But it meant a lot when we saw family and friends waving signs and jumping up and down, even though we couldn’t show it very well.

By Mile 22 my feet and legs were seriously hurting and if I thought about them too much, it could have put me out of the race. So I told myself that I couldn’t feel anything below my waist, and by denying the pain I was able to finish. It was amazing to discover what mental power can do. That and “that which does not break me makes me stronger.” It wouldn’t break me!

After Mile 23 and each mile thereafter one of our coaches was waiting to encourage us, run with us a little bit, and make sure we were okay. When our head coach, April Powers, an Ultra-Marathoner (100 mile racer), asked us how we were doing, Alice was the only one who could reply, and she barely got out the words, “it hurts.” But April got us pumped up again and we kept going–at this point, if we stopped, when we started running again it hurt a lot more for about two excruciating minutes, so we didn’t do any more stopping. That’s why I said it was both easy and hard to do—it was easier to keep running than to stop and have to start again.

By Mile 24 and 25 we could hardly remember how far we had gone or what the last milestone was. I had to plan to get around Botz’ Dots or other obstacles on the road, or I’d stumble and hurt my feet. Ow, ow, ow. Only the crowd and our coaches — and knowing that it hurt more to stop– kept us going. Finally we could see Kezar stadium through the trees! My eyes lit on it and pulled me towards it like a magnet. We knew it would be over soon!

Entering the finish, Kezar Stadium – I’m the third
person you can see in the distance.

As soon as I entered the stadium, I saw Richard with a group of my friends cheering me on. Great, because getting down the ramp to the track was really hard on the knees. We had to make it around the track, Olympic-style, to the finish line, and Alice and I were making little, “oh! oh! oh!” noises with each step. I kept going after crossing the line because my legs didn’t seem to know how to stop! And when I did realize I could stop, and tried, I almost fell but Richard caught me and held me upright. He and our friends Mike and Susan walk/carried me to the grass where I could lie down.

I realized that my denial of my pain had been so great, that I really couldn’t feel anything. I had expected to cry tears of joy, or accomplishment, from endorphins, or from sheer pain, but instead I felt nothing at all. It was quite a let-down, since in training I had cried from joy or pain or some combination each time I broke a milestone. It had felt so wonderful to cry each time. But this time I couldn’t feel my feet or legs or my feelings, they were just numb. A guy sat next to me bawling his eyes out, his shoulders shaking from the sobs, and I felt envious but there was nothing inside me. I was numb.

Richard rubbed my legs and feet, and slowly, very slowly, feeling began seeping back into me. After a while I could feel my lower legs, and then my feet. Then my emotions slowly started coming back. I began to feel how wonderful it was to have family and friends who supported me like that. My coaches. The people who had cheered me on. And the people who had sponsored me and believed that I could do it, even before I knew it myself. My honored patient, Kyla Martinez, whom I thought I was helping, but as it turned out she helped me get through the marathon. I’m the one who ran the marathon, but so many people helped me, were there every step of the way. Finally I could cry!

I had taken off work the day after the marathon, but I didn’t really need it. It was more emotional than physical. I had had a clear goal for almost half a year of my life, and my goal was over.

I stopped running for almost a month, then slowly picked it back up. I now run 10-12 miles a week, but have not had a great urge to go through a marathon again.

CSI Alert: There were no defensive wounds on his legs or mouth, so he clearly didn’t stick around to fight back. He just ran for his life.

When you run your finger along his spine it sounds like there are pop rocks underneath, that is air bubbles that got trapped when his skin pulled away. The vet says they will go away.

The vet called him Frankendog and said too bad it didn’t happen a week earlier, he could have won the Halloween pet costume contest.

Hershey ran a fever at first, but he’s getting better now. The pain medicine seems to be terrific and he mostly acts like he’s okay, just a little subdued.

The drains will come out three or four days after the attack. Stitches out in two weeks.

He was also a hyper-responsible boy she had known for many years. His mother was a **** ****** so he became the parent, working two and three jobs and four, buying a trailer for her when he was still in high school, buying a car, foregoing college so he could support her.

I think he just wore himself out and didn’t see any other way out. I had counseled him for years to lighten up, to let his mom stand on her own, to extricate himself from the bad situation, act his young age. He just couldn’t see any way to do that.

Jessie and Jon were born within 4 days of each other, and celebrated their 21st birthday with a big party at my house only a few months ago. Jessie felt she was his soul mate, and they were fast friends in the past few years. But it was always platonic, and she eventually helped him to realize that he was gay. It was one of the hardest things that ever happened to her.

Jon suffered from terrible depression. Jessie had to pick him up from the counselor last month because they would not let him leave alone, fearing the worst. He was trying different antidepressants but they take a while to work and in the meantime they were messing him up even more.

About a week and a half ago, Jon simply disappeared. His cell phone voice mailbox piled up. Jessie pinned a note to the door of his apartment telling him she missed his sweet face. The sheriffs say he was living out of his car in the woods nearby us. That is where he hung himself in the last 24 hours.

Jessie’s friends are all like family, and they are all gathered together last evening. This is a small town, and it will hit everyone like a brick.

When Jessie told me a couple of days ago that Jon was missing, I almost said to her, “he is too delicate for this world” but held the words back. Now I know it was true.

I thought Jon knew he was loved, but I tossed and turned all night because I never actually told him so. I so wish I had lightly said one time as he was leaving, “you are loved, you know.” It wouldn’t have had to be a big thing to say it.

I woke up this morning with a vow that I will tell people that, I will not take it for granted that they know. It doesn’t matter how they receive it, I simply must tell them. Simply loving someone is not enough. We must tell it, and we must show it.

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Human beings are hard-wired to need to form a close monogamous bond with another human being, and most people do that serially today. But hey, marriage was invented when most people died in their 30′s or 40′s, living that long with someone and having a kid each year really WAS forever. How many times have you rolled your eyes at a wedding when they said “till death do us part” because you KNOW that ain’t gonna happen unless they die on their way to or from the honeymoon?

But we are forced to choose between the fantasy of forever or snubbing our noses at tradition and pretending like that piece of paper is meaningless. It isn’t meaningless! It means they can make life and death decisions for us. It means they can visit us in the hospital if we are hanging by a thread. It means we trust them with our life. But to then load all the baggage of heterosexual marriage on top of it is like using the same losing plan over and over and expecting different results. That’s what they call craziness, people, doing the same thing over and over and expecting it to turn out differently.

Here’s a secret, gay people: fight for the right of ALL people to form a civil union with their partner, straight OR gay. More people on the bandwagon! The more the merrier! A civil union would mean “THIS IS MY PARTNER, THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE WORLD TO ME IN THE HERE AND NOW. IF I DIE, THIS IS THE PERSON I TRUST WITH EVERYTHING.”

Why drag along all that extra baggage from hetersexual marriage? Is that why they call them drag queens? Why force your round or triangular peg into the old square hole of marriage when you could just invent a whole new game?

This is your chance to do something entirely new and improved! It’s like making up a new word, but even bigger–you can create a new institution. While you’re at it, you could also make up a really good name for a partner in a civil union besides “partner.” Figure out something cool like MS., that now-common title invented in the 70′s that means “my marital status is NONE of your damn business.” Yes, a new word AND a new institution. A “relationship for the 21st century.” Civil Unions!

If you long for a traditional, patriarchal, religious or other marriage, you should have it. I’m not against that! I just think it’s time to also add an official status for what so many of us have been doing, gay or straight, that’s living together with someone with whom you do trust with your life. That’s a LOT of us.

Whichever you want, civil union or traditional marriage, I wish you the best and hope you succeed! If you do succeed, save some room for me on that bandwagon for me and my sweetie pie. Until then, we’ll just be living together and using the same old awkward phrases like “this is my–err, boyfriend.” Even though he’s way past being a boy, and he’s so much more than just a friend.

I had just pulled out of a no-name racers motel towards the racetrack and the light was red, so I pulled into the empty left lane to get a good start when it turned green. Some idiot races up behind me, whips around me, and swerves in front of me to jockey for the front position. I laugh, hey, I’m on my way to the track, but he’s hot, and furious that I would take “his” lane. When the light turns green, he starts, slams on his brakes, starts again, slams, starts, slams. I patiently hang out behind him laughing at his game, I don’t know why, I just felt really tolerant that morning. He gets so furious he throws his car into park and stalks back to my Jeep red-faced and with his hands on his hips. Traffic is swerving around us.

I compliantly roll my window down part-way to better hear his vitriol. Folks, you know how so many times you think of the good line only long AFTER a bad experience? For some reason I was just ON that morning! After exchanging a few mutual unpleasantries I demanded to know if he was on his way to the racetrack. He sneered “what business would that be of yours?” and I said “because you’re driving like you’re on one!” He’s getting madder and madder now, so I go for the kill. I said to him, “well I’m an instructor, and you’re… an AMATEUR! An AMATEUR! You don’t drive like that on public roads!”

We exchange another round of mutually affectionate “you’re a b**ch!” and “you’re an A**!” and he looks behind us and suddenly turns and whips back to his car—there’s a cop right behind me! I frantically wave the cop up beside me and said to him, “that guy road raged me! He slammed to a stop ahead of me and jumped out to yell at me! Didn’t you see him standing next to my window yelling?” He replied yes and I said “He thought I was… driving too slow or something. Well there he goes.” The cop took off after him and trailed him for an agonizing half mile or so and then pulled him over. Like I was going to drive TOO SLOW!

What JUSTICE!! It was on cue, just like in a movie or something. I know I shouldn’t have continued to provoke him, but you just can’t drive like that on public roads where you ARE surrounded by amateurs. That’s why we have the track, to get that out of our system. I am glad that I kept him hanging around long enough for the cop to catch him, but now I have to wonder why I was feeling so bullet-proof that morning. I guess it was that new set of Kumho race tires I had waiting for me on my car at the track. But that’s another story!

I spent the winter working on site at my long-term client Netscape in Mountain View, California. Hershey, now 4, had grown up at Netscape as a pup so he thought it totally normal to go to work with me every day. Here's one day in the life of this Netscape dog.

Pant, pant! There it is! Work, work, wonderful wonderful WORK! My ears perk up when I hear that great word. It's almost as good as R-U-N.

I'm a whippet, so I'm a natural born poser. Here I am at the entrance to my employer, where I supply much-needed love and affection for the hard-working folks there. I make it possible for them to work ridiculously long hours without going home to feed me.

I know the way, so I head over to the entrance even though my mistress is still messing around getting stuff out of the car.

Unfortunately I have to wait for a human to let me in--my badge doesn't work, it just has my mistresses extension on it in case I get "lost."

This is the elevator! If I sit down good like this, the doors will automagically open and transport me to the second floor.

From the elevator I run to my mistresses cube (if she'll let me)...

...because I know the next thing is fud, fud, fud!!!

Just a little drink to top off my fine dining experience, and if I hang around at the water cooler for a bit...

...some human will come along and love onto me. Works every time!

It's 10 am, so it must be time for a meeting. They usually make me sleep under the table. Nobody on that speaker phone knows I'm here.

I was good during the whole long meeting, so I get to run run run!

This is my favorite gimme ball. But you can't have it, I'm just taunting you.

Now for a nice long nap.

And it's time to go home, get up, and do it again. I can't wait!

I’m going to give her something to SMILE about! H-V can enlarge My manly unit 3+ inches! She want be able to get enough of me. I’M GOING TO INCREASE MY SEX DRIVE TODAY. Guys – Want more SIZE?? 100% GUARANTEED VIG-RX PENIS ENLARGEMENT PILLS. One Penis Enlargement pill a day is all I need to:

- Increase the length of my penis by 2 to 5 full inches
- Make my penis thicker, longer and harder
- Stop me from making an embarassing doctor visit
- Boost my confidence level & self-esteem, and
- Stop my Premature Ejaculation.

I’m going to ENLARGE my P@*is in WIDTH and LENGTH. Click here to enlarge my member! H-V can enlarge My manly unit 3+ inches 100% GUARANTEED TO WORK! Enlarge My Penis & Stop Premature Ejaculation. I’m going to break walls apart with my humungous knob.

90% of men are unhappy with my penis size & ability. Most men are interested in enlarging my penis. Most men currently believe the only way to “really” develop my larger penis is through surgery.

I can’t wait to increase my length to nearly 7″ and give a little extra to the love of my life. I want to be amazed at how effective it is at enlarging my penis and stopping my premature ejaculation problem in just three weeks! I want to be too shy to tell the world, but I won’t mind telling you that I went from 3″ to 6″. I will try for even more.

Sometimes it’s hell having a name like Kerry that could be a man OR a woman. Thank heavens there is no proof that life is serious.