Today Bingley and I were walking in the park with Marilyn and her pack--Franklin, Hattie and Ruby. From across the parking lot, a man who was preparing to play tennis shouted "Where's Portia?"
I told him that Portia had been killed. She had been attacked by a loose dog, had fought for her life for six days, but had lost the fight. He expressed his condolences and spoke of her beauty.
I was touched that he not only remembered that I had had another dog, but that he actually remembered her name.
As we walked away, Marilyn and I, both close to tears, agreed that Portia was one of those really unusual creatures who made a lasting impression on just about everyone who ever met her. If she had been human, Portia would have been a Supermodel or a Movie Star, an Audrey Hepburn or a Jacqueline Kennedy.
I will never forget a scene from a day or two after we adopted Portia. I was walking her about a block from my house, when two of my friends approached in their cars from opposite directions. Simultaneously, both slammed on their brakes, parked hurriedly, and came running over to Portia and me, and said--in unison--"She is beautiful!"
Portia didn't bat a lash. She thought that was how people said, "Hello."