'In Memory of Hamlet' a short story by Marion Gottschlag

In Memory of Hamlet
By Marion Gottschlag

The only greyhound I’ve ever known was truly regal, in the most royal sense of the word. (I had an affectionate name for him… “Ham Omelet”… though Hamlet, his real name, was much better suited). He was my sisters’ dog.

Upon visiting them, we would often find him on the couch; a large, brown speckled beauty with his long, elegant, front limbs crossed ever so carefully in front of him. He appeared to be a greyhound in waiting for caviar, champagne, his gold crown and purple robe - though entirely without arrogance. He always wore a peaceful, elegant expression on his face; a refined quality that came with, humility and sweetness. You could actually feel the sweet gentleness that he exuded. Even as he ran at who-knows-how-many miles per hour and became a brown blur, he was sweet royal elegance. He never lost it.

I remember at one point, and for many years, he had made fast friends with another greyhound, and they bounced and played like huge puppies together, running extremely fast round and round a huge field. It was a sight to watch, and feel, as they came barreling toward you across the massive green grass; at speeds unexpected, both greyhounds neck to neck. We always laughed out loud - as we were mere visitors, not really used to this special greyhound characteristic of gentle nature combined with amazing power and speed. We always hoped intensely that they saw us, and we didn’t end up like bowling pins on the lawn.

You couldn’t help but to love sweet Hamlet. It was so easy to do.

His good nature allowed him to be considered another family member casually hanging out with everyone, while we watched movies or had dinner or talked. His rambunctious-ness was mostly contained to his play-time. (Though he couldn’t help the enthusiastic greetings by the door when we came to visit; in which his tail had a whip like motion that made a noise - whoosh-whap-whoosh-whap - as it hit both walls in the hallway, at great speeds, in an eager hello).

Even when he acted like any other mutt; when his basic natural dog instinct took over his princely nature - when the smells coming from the open oven at Christmas collided with him, there – alone…and he did what any dog would do, yes, he pulled that Turkey out…(I can only imagine - ever so gingerly) and began to feast. In all fairness, we had all had our share!)… Even then you couldn't hold it against him, because he meant no harm. He nearly always glowed and behaved as the regal royal he was…, and even the most perfect prince deserves to make some new rules once in a while, and enjoy a Christmas feast. It is only fair after all, since day after day, he has to live with being mistaken for a greyhound dog and that deserves some sort of princely reward for someone so regal through and through.

God Bless thee wherever you may be running sweet Hamlet.