Vale, Billy.

Billy died yesterday after the very fast onset of a suspected brain tumour.

We adopted Billy from the Greyhound Adoption Program at age eighteen months.

He apparently would not run and we suspect he was treated cruelly, as he was afraid of most men.

Billy was white and fawn, the most beautiful colour, with a fawn love-heart shape on his side. He joined our twelve-year-old Brittany, Goldie, as part of the family. We had also adopted Goldie, aged nine, when her elderly owner had died. Goldie was the alpha dog and they got on fine. They would sleep with their heads on each other, or occasionally, sitting on each other!

Gradually Billy overcame his fears and was extremely well-adjusted and happy. When he became excited, usually at the mention of the three key words in his life - walk, beach and chicken - he would pick up the nearest soft object, such as a soft toy or a shoe, and throw it in the air or maybe just go and place it on the lounge room floor.

We spent much time at the beach where Billy would break out into a kind of half-hearted gallop - you could tell he was never going to be a racer. And why should he? They were originally court dogs in the days of the Pharaohs, not money-making machines for cruel people with dollar signs in their eyes looking for a quick buck.

After visits to the beach, we would always go sit in the sun outside the Blairgowrie cafe, where dogs frequently outnumber people.

Billy's fifteen minutes of fame occurred when he was photographed at the launch of the University of Melbourne Canine Blood Bank, (that's not him in the picture) an important new veterinary facility. His photo appeared in the Melbourne Herald Sun, Australia's largest selling daily newspaper.

He also appeared at several Greyhound Adoption Program promotions in shopping malls, where these docile and beautiful dogs go on display for children to pat - a PR exercise necessary because so many still believe they are aggressive or vicious dogs.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

So, vale Billy.

It's hard coming home and having to clear out their bedding, put away their harness, look at their empty kennel.

And then, with tears welling in your eyes, you think, oh my, it's only a dog.

Thank God.

I think you know what I mean.