It was the summer of ’81. I was 13 years old and returning from a week of church camp to find my beloved Duke, the dog of my youth was gone and I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. My dad explained that while I was at camp, Duke, my faithful pure-bred Collie, my sweet best friend that would hike to the top of the hill of our 10 acres and be my pillow while I read my latest summer book from the library, had gotten in a fight with a skunk and my parents couldn’t afford what it would cost to quarantine him for 3 weeks to make sure he didn’t have rabies so they had put him down. Without a goodbye from me. Without a last pet or hug or even a swatch of his hair.
I cried for months. Truth be told I was still crying periodically when I thought of him into my sophomore year when Duke’s mom, Heidi, died of a stroke. I was so sad still that I was really pissed off at my parents my junior year when they brought Brutus home. Our new Doberman puppy. Stupid dog ate my underwear, chewed my curtains and destroyed the dust-ruffle around my bed and I don’t know how many pairs of shoes he ate. But still, eventually he grew on me and that’s when I knew I really was a dog person though I thought I was a cat person.
I’m not going to go into detail here, but as an adult I had a couple of dog adoption failures that made me think that perhaps I wasn’t someone who could own a dog. One dog had so many issues my now ex, took her to the pound while I was at work and they put her down before I could get her back and another one had separation anxiety and over protectiveness so extreme I was afraid she was going to hurt one of my young daughter’s friends. These situations were traumatic enough that I was afraid, no – that’s not a strong enough word, I was petrified to try adopting a dog again.
But one day the hubs and I started talking about having a dog. He had a coworker who had an Italian Greyhound and the owner was moving to Hawaii and wanted to adopt it out. I met the dog but she was 12, neurotic and because of my past experiences, I wasn’t interested. However, for some reason I started researching greyhounds. Specifically retired racers and became intrigued.
Rescued greyhounds who come off the track are vetted, spayed and neutered, housebroken and ready for adoption before they are made available. They work with small yards and are like giant cats sleeping A LOT! Perfect for a home where both adults work full time. So, we started looking into greyhounds and ended up adopting our first grey, Doyle.
Doyle was amazing and pretty much perfect for the first time greyhound adopting family. Unlike other greys, he was VERY social. He LOVED people and he loved showing how well he ran! We’d take him to the dog park and it was an amazing sight. He’d run circle after circle only to stop and meet the other people along the way. Like most greyhounds, Doyle wasn’t interested in other dogs – unless they were running and then – he was racing them! But he sure did love his people!!! He spoiled us for greyhounds. He endured their breed to us and we were so happy with our choice to adopt him, and the rescue he came from that we wanted to give back so we decided to become fosters.
Our first foster, was a brindled female grey who had never raced. Her name was Danielle. She had no clue that dogs weren’t allowed on the furniture (something Doyle was very aware of) so she made herself at home on our snuggle sofa in the front room. Danielle was surrendered to the rescue at age 8 because her owner had been injured and could no longer care for her. She was aloof and not interested in playing with Doyle, but she was quiet and comfortable in our home (as long as she was on the furniture) so we enjoyed fostering her.
About 3 weeks in, I got an email that the rescue thought they had a home for Danielle. By this time, she and Doyle had started playing together. We really enjoyed her aloof cat-like ways and weren’t sure we wanted to give her back, so I wrote the rescue back and told them that was fine but that we had grown accustomed to her. We understood if we couldn’t but if they would see kindly, might we adopt her instead. The rescue responded humorously that they had a term for people like us “failed fosters” and that they’d be by Monday with the adoption papers. We were thrilled! We didn’t plan on being a two dog, two cat house but sometimes you can’t plan these things. The girls loved both dogs and were excited for the addition.
My husband’s ex’s name is Danielle so that name seemed inappropriate so we renamed her “Princess” based on the way she carries herself. The name fits and everyone who meets her agrees.
When you adopt a greyhound, you are told the major cause of death is bone cancer. If you can get them past about 7 years, you’re in the clear. Doyle was 4 when we adopted him. He turned 8 July 2010 so we felt confident we were in the clear of bone cancer. Princess was 8 in April of 2010 and we adopted her in May. By August of 2010 we found out Doyle had Lymphoma and by November he was gone. I hadn’t felt that type of devastation since I lost Duke almost 30 years earlier.
lucythegreat 