Pippin

One of my favorite songs from the musical RENT! is Seasons of Love, where they sing about how to measure a life, and that the best way is to measure it in love. That song's been going through my mind a lot recently...since about Nov 21, in fact. In the song, they measure the year into 525,600 minutes. So I just did the math, and would measure 5,755,680 minutes of love for The Majestic Pippin, my gentle giant, buddy-boy, Mr Man, and silly goofball. This is him at approximately 7200 minutes of love, when he was first promised to me (I had first right of refusal to adopt him when he retired - it's called "pre-adoption"). This gives you a better idea of what he looked like, at about 31,680 minutes of love. He's the one in the foreground, easily recognizable by the missing stripe on his hip. I used to tease that his mama licked it off. He was known as "Banjo Boy Number Five" at that time, since he was puppy number 5 in a litter of five brindle boys. Banjo was their mama's name. They took after their dad. Every boy in that litter was huge, for a greyhound. One of his brothers raced at 88 pounds, and they all stood approximately 31 inches at the shoulder. A half-inch taller and they'd have been too tall to race, because they would have scraped their backs on the top of the starting box doors. This is at 69,120 minutes of love, with his brothers and his Mama Banjo (I did say they took after their dad, right?) He's the one whose nose is right up against her chest. This photo, at approximately 64,800 minutes of love, earned him the nickname "Majestic Pippin." At 347,040 moments of love, we finally met. That was when I stopped saying I *might* adopt him, and started saying I *will* adopt him. That was August of 2005. He was 9 months old, just about ready to go off to school to learn how to be a race dog. He LOVED racing with all his heart, but he wasn't very smart about it. Like any teenage boy, he didn't really know how to pace himself, and would pull a muscle as he was winning the race. Then in August of 2007, my beloved first greyhound Angie crossed the rainbow bridge. Pippin retired from racing that same week, but I was still in an apartment, so it was November before I brought him home to my new house. It's a running joke in greyhound circles -- adopting the dog doesn't cost very much, but when you add in the cost of a new greyhound-friendly car, and a greyhound-friendly house/yard, it adds up fast. *grin* He loved our back yard -- it was one of the major selling points of the house, for me. Already fenced, and large enough for him to run zoomies without hurting himself. And to play catch (yeah, he preferred playing "catch" to playing "fetch") March 2008.... He loved stuffed toys, but would disembowel them too quickly for my taste. Even so, he got quite a few for his first Christmas with me. One day I looked up, and his black muzzle was mostly gray, and I was shocked to realize we'd been together 8 years already, out of his 10 on the planet. I spent some time reminiscing, talking about him while I was on a business trip, and each moment was still as precious, and as loved as those first ones when he was a newly retired racer. I started thinking about how to celebrate 5,781,600 minutes when he turns 11 on Boxing Day. New bed, for sure -- soft and lush, maybe even orthopedic for his arthritic bones. Like the orthopedic ones I had for Angie, that he got to enjoy when he was newly retired. Then we visited the vet, and learned it wasn't arthritis - it was bone cancer. And he's already had it for a couple months, at least, while I thought he was just stiff because he was getting older. So we took a couple more pictures, to mark my 4,678,560 minutes of love with my beautiful brindle boy.... and then I honored the promise I make all my furkids, that I will always make the best decision for them, no matter how much it breaks my heart. FTH Sweet Talker, aka The Majestic Pippin: Dec 26, 2004 - Nov 21, 2015 We had 4,678,560 moments of love together, Mr Man... we could have had ten times that many, and it wouldn't have been enough.

I don't know that I ever connected him with that musical (he was named for LOTR), but that's a perfect song. Thank you, EVERYONE, for the kind words, thoughts, hugs, etc.

Thank you, everyone. Pippin was a "velcro dog" -- if he wasn't in the same room with me, it bothered him. It drove me crazy at first, until I realized that he thought his job was to protect me, to watch over me, and he couldn't do that properly from a different room. So I had dog beds all over my house, in every room except the kitchen (he wasn't allowed in the kitchen - it was too small for both of us to be there at the same time) and on the back porch, so he could be comfortable while he watched me. Some of you knew and loved my boy as much as I did, and yesterday's news was both shocking and unexpected. I'm sorry for that. But it was shocking and unexpected for me, as well. I knew he was getting older, that stairs were becoming difficult for him (but I only have a couple stairs at my house, so that wasn't a big deal for us), and that he didn't have as much spring in his back legs as he did 8 years ago. I figured his age was catching up with him, and maybe arthritis. But I had no idea he had cancer until earlier this week, and then it was just a suspicion. I've been away on a business trip for the last 2 weeks, and my dog-sitter emailed me last Monday, concerned because Pip would no longer handle the stairs at her house without help. He handled them just fine when I dog-sat for her in October, so this was odd, but we'd had lots of rain lately, so maybe it was arthritis. Later in the week, she told me that he had some swelling around his knee, weakness in his back end, and was slightly dragging one foot. I made an appt with my vet for yesterday, which was the soonest we could get there. But all day Thurs, and all day Fri, one word kept echoing in my mind, and I used part of those days to ponder what I would do if it wasn't arthritis, and was the evil "C-word" instead. I didn't post my fears/concerns on any social media, because I didn't really need advice about it. I just needed to wrestle with possible realities and consider options, all the while remembering the promise I make to each dog I bring into my home. I decided that if it really *was* osteo, I would let him go. When I picked him up from his "vacation home," and saw his knee, I was pretty sure what Doc was going to say. And she did, although of course we did x-rays to confirm it. So I called my dog-sitter, and she brought little Sandy to the vet's office to say goodbye to Pippin, and she & I and Doc sat on the floor with him sharing memories of him, and all the other greys we have known and loved over the years. Little Sandy (a shelter pup I rescued 2 years ago) is staying close to me, a worried look on her face occasionally, but mostly being her usual playful self. We've snuggled more than usual, yesterday and today. I moved Pippin's night-time bed into the office for her, and she's finally decided to claim it for her own. I hope it comforts her. I know she misses him as much as I do.

Once upon a time, over Christmas in 2004, a beautiful mama dog had a litter of 5 red brindle boys. A lot of GTers watched the computer the night they were born. They were collectively known as "The Banjo Boyz," and Pippin, aka "FTH Sweet Talker" was Banjo Boy #5, because he was number 5 in the litter. He may have been the last born, but he was NOT a runt. None of those Boyz were small. They grew into tall, handsome hounds and raced into hearts across the entire continent. Under a concept called "pre-adoption," Banjo Boy #5 was promised to me when he was 5 days old - that meant that when he retired from racing, I had first right of refusal on adopting him. The FTH in his racing name stood for "Follow That Hound," which was a family of pre-adopters for the dogs from Bill & Cathie Lambert's racing kennel in Jacksonville. When I can find them, I'll post his puppy pictures, and the picture that earned him the nickname "The Majestic Pippin." And pictures of when I first met him, and a racing picture or 2 of him, and pictures from when he first moved into my house with me, 8 years ago. I won't post the picture of the lump on his knee that surfaced this week, and was diagnosed by my vet today as Osteosarcoma. I won't post the picture of my breaking heart or my leaking eyes. The problem with dogs is that no matter how much we love them, or how much they love us, they just don't live long enough. Whenever I bring a new dog into my home, I make them a promise. I promise that I will take care of them to the best of my ability, and that I will always choose what's in THEIR best interest, regardless of how much it might hurt me. I kept that promise today. **sobs** We had 8 years together, Mr Man, buddy, Pipster. You are running pain-free now at the bridge, reunited with your Mama Banjo, my Casey-girl, and little Zoe. You're meeting my Jessie for the first time, and renewing your acquaintance with my Angie-girl. I miss you, but I love you too much to let you stay here in pain. FTH Sweet Talker, The Majestic Pippin... run free to good health, my friend. I love you.

I'm so very sorry for your loss. It takes time to process our grief. Take your time. Robin understands.

best thing to do is give her time. I had one of my greyhounds for 9 years, and it was only in the last couple of them that she would accept my dog-sitter's husband, and she lived at their house for almost a year before I adopted her. Sometimes it's not the behavior of the humans, it's the look. Y'all might have a physical resemblance to someone she has bad memories of. I knew of one greyhound who liked everyone UNLESS he/she was wearing a baseball cap. Then that person was evil and not to be trusted. *shrug* The problem with any second-hand dog is that you don't know their background. You don't know the first four years of Summer's life, so you don't know what you might be doing that is triggering for her. Absolute best thing to do is give her time. That same greyhound I mentioned earlier wouldn't look at me, or let me look at her, when she came into our adoption group. I saw her semi-regularly, because I dog-sit for my dog-sitter, and that's where she was fostered. Even so, it took her at least 4 months before she wouldn't run when I looked at her, and even longer before she'd take a treat from my hand. Patience and love, and love and patience,mixed with peaceful behavior, peaceful body language, peaceful voice tones. And lots of time.

Ducky, please add FTH PillowTalker, aka Stickman/Stickers, one of the Banjo Boyz, and thus Pippin's brother. I'm sure many of us here still remember hanging out on GT over Christmas 2004 waiting/watching for Mama Banjo to have her puppies.

I am so very, very sorry for your loss.

Y'all have probably seen/heard about the hauler that lost 2 dogs today, enroute to their new adoption group. The male was recovered, but Jewel wasn't so lucky. Run free to good health, baby girl... We loved you even though we didn't really know you. You won't be forgotten

He was truly one of a kind. I am so very sorry for your loss. :

no clue, sorry

I am so very sorry for your loss. What a WONDERFUL first greyhound experience for you (well, except for that initial SA part). Run free to good health, Maddie-girl... you loved and were loved, and made a difference in the lives of more people than you'll ever know. :

I'm so very sorry. I would say George was one of the special hounds, but they're all special, aren't they?

This. Run free to good health, beautiful girl. Both your mamas loved you very much.

that was easy -- she's easy to love.

LOVE your signature pic, Deb... Joe T was an awesome reporter, wasn't he?

I am so very sorry for your loss... he was a handsome boy, and well-loved.

I am so very sorry

so very true.... we knew each other for over 9 years, and were roommates for almost that many. I'd take as many more years as I could get, but not with her in poor health.

thanks

The reason I was awake to talk about her was because she was having a bad night, and I was wrestling with our options. I'm sure that she & Loca are having a blast together. thanks, Ducky.

It was my honor, and my privilege

It was so humbling to be her safe place

In Jan 2004, a beautiful black racing greyhound named Amain retired and moved from FL to GA. She moved into a foster home with Greyt Friends, a greyhound adoption group , and started learning how to be a pet. She discovered beds, and wading pools, and waited for the right person to discover her. It had to be a very special person, because Amain was afraid of new things, and needed someone who would understand her fears. In Nov 2004 Amain moved in with me, and learned a new name - Casey, aka Casey-girl. She chose me, out of all the humans in the world, to be the one she loved. She chose me to be her safe place, to protect her from all the scary stuff out there in the big bad world. I made her a promise on the day she came home with me, that I would take care of her to the best of my ability, always choose to do what was best for her, and when it was time to let her go, I would. Today, my Casey-girl and I went to see Doc, and Doc agreed that it was time. I sat with her and scratched her ears, and told her she was the best Casey-girl in the whole wide world, and that I would always love her. I thanked her for choosing me as her person and her safe place, and told her that I'm a better person because she was part of my life. She's free now, chasing butterflies across that bridge made of rainbows, visiting with Angie & Zoe and Jessie, shining like a black diamond in my heart and my memories, running free in good health with no pain and no fear. She is my brave girl, whose spirit was way stronger than her body, who never admitted how much she hurt, and who loved me more than she loved herself.

Donna, I am so very sorry. The world will never be the same without him.