A tale of brave Ulysses.

As a kid in north Philly we had a dog named Champ. It was seventy years ago and memories of Champ, a brown short-haired mutt, are a bit hazy.

Years later, in West Hollywood, we got a dog we named Stokely of unknown breeding. My Mom was sick with Hodgkins Lymphoma at the time and Stokely served as her loyal companion after she could no longer work and was forced to spend most of her time at home.

Nobody had to tell Stokely that his job description was loyal companion. He just knew.

In the 80s, when our kids were young, we saw a notice in the paper that puppies were available for adoption We drove down to Hyde Park and chose a black Lab mix from the litter.

We named him Willie.

We named the stray cat we found seeking shelter on a cold rainy day under the hood of our car, Waylon.

Waylon and Willie.

Waylon was a true street cat who lived to the ripe old age of 25.

At the age of three Willie started having epileptic seizures. After a few more years the seizures got worse and more frequent and we made the hard decision to put him down.

Fifteen years ago we decided we were ready for another dog.

The Chicago Kennel Association was having a show at McCormick Place and we went to scope it out. It happened to be the same day as the Nation Of Islam was holding their Founder’s Day meeting also at McCormick Place.

As the garage elevator door opened, we joined the white folks turning left to go to the dog show and the Black folks turned right to go to the hall where the Founder’s Day rally was taking place.

We met a lady who was a breeder of Wheaton Terriers.

As we were standing there one of the Wheaton’s jumped into my arms. He had chosen me and at that moment his fate and our’s was set for the next fifteen years.

He was the handsomest of her litter and she was hoping he would be a show dog. But a fracture in his hip bone meant that wouldn’t happen.

Damaged goods.

Perfect for us.

Mistakenly thinking he was an Irish breed, we thought of naming him James Joyce. That seemed too cumbersome, so we named him Ulysses.

He was just the best.

This past Saturday, old age and an assortment of ailments caught up with Ulysses and we took him to the vet and put him down.

To say we are heartbroken is an understatement.

During the worst part of the pandemic when so many were home bound I would take Ulysses for our walks in the morning and set my smart phone on a fence or tree limb and take a selfie of us out walking. I would post the picture every day on Facebook.

Saturday, after we said goodbye to our Ulysses, I posted the news on Facebook.

Hundreds shared their condolences.

Many told us that the pictures of my walks with Ulysses helped get them through the Covid winter.

We were glad to share him that way.