Stevie Lynn Savage-Rodgers

How annoyingly beautiful is this dog? She permanently has perfect eyeliner. I’m pretty sure she can lift more than I can. And she eats better than most people’s kids. I can speak to her in full sentences and she completely understands me; if I ask her if she’d rather go to the bathroom now or after dinner she will actually choose. I sing to her about being an amazing doggo and she rolls her eyes and huffs at me. Although she might just be annoyed at my singing voice...

Speaking of which:

I know, the resemblance is uncanny, right? When you see them side by side like this it's like... who was named after whom? We tell people that’s who we named Stevie Lynn after. But to be honest it's just easier to say that than tell you the story that is about to unfold before you. Her name was picked out before we met her. Actually, her name was picked out before we knew she was a she. It was really picked out before we knew we were getting a greyhound. Hell, it was picked out before we even planned to rescue a dog. All because of Game of Thrones.

Let me back up a few years.

This is Peaches (Yes, same dog). Right after she was returned to Greyt Greys for the second time, and just before she came to us. She had already been a pet and in this picture, we think she’s close to 3 years old. By this time, Peaches had also already been something else; in the state of NSW here in Australia, she had been trained as a racing Grey Hound. Which meant this chick had been through more physical training in the first two years of her life than most Olympic athletes go through in the year before the Games occur.

I don't have the heart or the constitution to explain the details to you, but I will tell you that the deficit between the number of dogs that go into race training and the number of dogs that get to retire to be spoiled pets is heartbreaking. Peaches was lucky enough to belong to a training program that had kind people. Despite passing all of her time trials, and being tattooed as an official racer (yes, they tattoo the dogs, inside their left ears when they are registered), she ended up not showing enough agression towards the other dogs on the track and didn't win a single race she was entered into. She did, however, have the misfortune of being trained well enough to aggressively go after small furry animals that were moving away from her very fast. So after retiring from racing at almost two, and being a pet for over a year, when her original owner had to move back in with her parents, who owned 2 cats, Peaches had to go back to the rescue program that had originally taken care of her; Greyt Greys. Honestly, it was worth rescuing her just to get her away from a place with such a terrible pun for a name.

Anyway, right around the time we find Peaches cooling herself off in a bucket, I started dating my now best friend and ex-partner, Matt. Matt and I are nerds on every level. We're both into fantasy and science fiction in any format; We're both PC gamers; we both love a good spreadsheet; someone remixing Tchickovsky into dubstep isn't actually sacrilege to either of us. You know, the usual. From the start, we were up to our eyeballs in discussions about the lore and history of our favourite book series and TV shows, and what we thought of book series becoming TV shows, etc. Eventually, we got around to the fact that I, being a book snob, and still EXTREMELY upset at the cuts and changes that had been made to the Harry Potter series, had staunchly refused to start watching Game of Thrones.

WAIT don't judge me yet!

Matt informed me that since the final season was about to come out that if I was going to continue spending time with him these were my options:

To stay the hell away from him every Tuesday night (remember we're a day ahead of you here in Australia) and endure bouts of frustrated silence where he could not discuss what had happened or what was going to happen to resolve the plot hole HBO had obviously dug themselves into...

OR

We had 6 weeks to catch up on all 6 previous seasons of Game of Thrones, before the final season came out, starting immediately.

I grudgingly acquiesced and we purchased popcorn and Jack and Coke and began binge-watching. These were to become some of the most gruelling, painstaking, sleepless, wonderful weeks of my life. These episodes were long, and did I dare admit it GOOD?! Yes, it was HBO but shock and awe they were dropping the c-bomb so perfectly, and not over-using it like a 15-year-old kid who has just discovered its effects on adults! But there were SO many episodes and so many people to keep track of! My brain was reeling every night when we would finally drag ourselves to bed, exhausted, giddy, and dare I say just a little wound up. It was a new relationship, after all...

One night, somewhere around season 4 maybe? God knows actually, those weeks are such a blur... Matt and I were lying in bed after watching 2 or 3 episodes that had featured the Dire Wolves quite prominently and were talking about our future plans. We both agreed that at some point, adopting a dog was something we'd like to do. Not buying from a breeder but actually rescuing someone. And we said we felt like, at this point it was only appropriate if we got a dog together we would have to name it after one of the Dire Wolves. I asked which name he'd pick, or if it depended on the dog, and we made the observation that you would have to be comfortable shouting this name very loudly at the dog park, and being instantly pegged as a complete Game of Thrones nerd. We both agreed that was fine, but that would mean we would instantly be associated with the Stark child the dog belonged to.

We agreed if it was a girl, Namyra was a beautiful name and we like Arya more than we liked Sansa. Plus "Lady" was just too generic for the obviously cool dog we would be adopting. Summer reminded us too much of Summer Glau who played River from Firefly to stick with the Game of Thrones Theme, but if it was a girl and like... a really badass dog, that Summer or River could also work. We didn't really think Shaggy Dog suited either of us to be shouting out in a dog park. So it came down to Ghost or ...

"Shit... what was Robb's Wolf's name?" I just, for the life of me, through exhaustion, and trying to keep track of every character in the entire show/book series could NOT think of the damn wolf's name...

Matt, without missing a beat, lying next to me answered "I don't remember. Something responsible like... fuckin' Steve."

I laughed so hard I ended up rolling off the bed and onto my hands and knees to try to catch my breath. We had reached that point of tired where, if you start laughing, there is no stopping, so here we both were at about 3 in the morning, screaming we were laughing so hard, tears in our eyes, probably scaring the neighbours in his apartment building.

When I could finally form a coherent sentence again I got up to my knees with my elbows on the bed and said "You realize, that if we DO get a dog, that will be the poor thing's name? Not "Steve" - "Fuckin Steve". It will go on the adoption paperwork. And that we will somehow, have to keep our shit together long enough to tell THIS story every time we get glared at as the worst dog parents imaginable?"

We were both still wiping tears out of our eyes, Matt sitting up in bed.

"I know," he said. "And the best part is if it's a girl we can call her Stevie!" He'd snorted at the end of the sentence and we dissolved into another fit of exhausted giggles that left me face down on the mattress and him curled into a ball on his side facing the other wall.

We fast forward almost a year later to April of 2018. Matt and I had moved in together and were renting a beautiful house, right next to a massive dog park. Matt had sent Grety Greys a message about this beautiful blonde we had seen up for adoption named Peaches. Thirty seconds later he received a phone call from the head of the rescue asking if we'd like to meet her the next morning! So it looked like we were doing this! *flappy nerd wrists*

Then panic and anxiety

I wrote down 2 pages of questions about Greyhounds. I'd dealt mostly with American Staffies and what people call "bully breeds". I had NO idea how to handle a dog that could run over 70 km/hr (40 mph), was known for a thing called "sleep startle", at the time was legally required to wear a cage-style muzzle and always be on the lead when outside of our yard. What if she didn't want to be called Stevie? What if she didn't like the smells in the house? Most importantly, and I actually asked Matt this before she arrived that next morning, what if she didn't like me?

When John and Peaches arrived at 10 am, she was nothing I had expected. She exuded calm. I was used to dogs being jumpy or waggy or just... excited to be existing in general. She was standing at the door on the lead, actually smiling, and panting. She looked at Matt who had opened the door, looked past him to me, and came in with John once handshakes had been finished. She waited patiently while he took off her muzzle and unclipped her lead once the door had been closed and then she loped gracefully down the hall like she'd owned the place for years - straight towards the kitchen, all the way back to the other end of the house.

We all followed her down there, grabbed some drinks for ourselves, and sat around in the various chairs we had available. The kitchen area was also a massive sunroom with back and side doors in it, so it tended to end up being the social centre of the house. While the humans talked, and I actually went through my entire two pages of questions, Peaches wandered around, found the bowl of water I'd put out for her, and found the side door we intended to leave open for her so she could go to the toilet whenever she pleased. John asked us about our dog experience, our work and home lives, what our weekends were like, and how active we were, and basically made sure we weren't jerks.

I was still nervous; I know not to just start putting your hands in a dog's face or try to pat them the second you meet them, but she was very aloof. I was sitting on the floor with my arms around my knees, half to calm myself and half hoping she might come to check me out. I asked John if this was normal grey behaviour and he smiled and looked over his shoulder out the window at her, as she had gone outside to explore again. He assured us there was nothing normal about this dog; she was smarter than most dogs, exceptional for a greyhound, and almost human. She was incredibly well trained as a pet and just seemed to fit in wherever she went. She was just special. At that moment she came loping back in the door, smiling, went straight over to John, and just leaned against his leg joining the conversation. He rubbed her side and asked her, "Whaddya think Peaches? Would you like to stay here? These people would like to give you a new home."

The damn dog looked directly at Matt, who smiled at her, and then she looked at me, still leaning against John's leg. You could see it happening; She was actually deciding what to do.

"We were wondering, would it be alright if we called you Stevie? We thought a new start deserved a new name." I asked the question to her in the same tone John had used to ask if she'd like to stay.

John stopped rubbing her side, and she began to walk towards me in the middle of the kitchen floor. I put my feet out in front of me and my hands down onto the floor, expecting to get sniffed, or if I was lucky, maybe a lick on the ear. She walked right up until her chest was against my shoulder, and rested her chin down on the back of my neck. I reached up and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and she huffed out a sigh.

I glanced over at Matt, my eyes wide and shining with tears. He smiled at me and very quietly said "I think we're all good here".