fiwit's blog: Seasons of Love

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.

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