The pain of losing our beloved dog and the joy of new beginnings.
We lost our sweet Pippa the week before Thanksgiving, almost three years after she was diagnosed with an untreatable cancer. Although somewhere in the back of our minds we knew she was living on borrowed time, and despite the large tumor that was growing from her ribcage, we mostly paid it no mind. It didn’t seem to bother her, and she continued to live her best life, almost to the end.
We know there will never be another like Pippa, and we will never forget this spunky Louisiana transplant who came to us when she was just six months old. She had beautiful dark eyes, long white eyelashes, one white-spotted ear and one black ear, and a white-spotted short-haired coat with a white mohawk down her back, from head to tail. She was built like a warthog with a
barrel chest and a slim back end and was completely adorable.
“Is she a rare breed?” people would ask.
“Yes,” we’d assure them. “She’s a Dr. Seuss Terrier.”
Some would get it and laugh, some would nod seriously, pleased that they’d had the opportunity to glimpse such a scarce breed.
She was a dog who always wanted to know where I was and loved watching TV with her head in my lap or nestled up against my husband. She was partial to Animal Planet, of course. We loved to watch her tilt her head one way and then the other in response to barking on the dog food commercials. She also doted on House Hunters International and once sat, almost totally rapt, through two hours of the Tom Hanks thriller, Bridge of Spies.
She loved the beach and walking and sniffing (mostly sniffing) on the footbridge in town; lived to be petted and loved visitors to the house.
Someone’s coming to SEE you, Pippa,” always brought that adorable head tilt and a vigil by the front door.
She adored her family, especially “the boys,” our grandsons. And we adored her.
We were lucky to be part of her life for 11 ½ years, and that she lived long past her predicted end date.
Even during the last three days, she rallied to go outside and also for the chicken, hamburger and hot dogs we fed her by hand. She had a peaceful end, thanks to our compassionate vet who makes house calls.
Oh, how we loved her! There will always be a Pippa-sized (all 65 pounds of her) hole in my heart. But grief is a mysterious thing. One day I swore I could never have another dog, and then the next I found myself online, looking at dog rescue sites. I wrestled with myself, felt disloyal and oh, so guilty. But, in the end, the house was too empty and we were unbearably sad.
And so, enter Ray. As someone who’s always shared her life with big dogs (including a German Shepherd, Golden Retriever, Pit Bull, and various and sundry rescues) I tended to regard small dogs as glorified hamsters. No one was more surprised than I when I kept coming back to the Petfinder profile of the teeniest chihuahua/dachshund-cross named Landon, one of thousands of
canines rescued from the streets of Houston, and ready to be transported to the Northeast if we were deemed worthy of being his new family.
I couldn’t resist his eyes. We applied to adopt him, renamed him, bought him a tiny coat for the snow, and now this 10-pound heart-throb’s favorite place is wherever I am. Mine is wherever he is.
I’m grateful that there’s room enough in our hearts for all our sweet dogs, both past and present. I think of Pippa every day and use her red leash (with her white hairs embedded in the seams) to walk this new guy, as he delights in all our backyard offerings. I think she might have liked exploring his new world with him.