He was roaming in Prospect Park, Brooklyn in October of 1988 and weighed only 15 pounds when the young man found him. His soulful eyes could convince a homeless person to share a sandwich. After some days of diligent investigating, the young man was able to locate his owners, and set off across Manhattan, expecting to witness a joyful reunion. But the woman who met him at the door said “We don’t want that dog” and went on to explain that this whippet had been a gag gift, passed among four families for the past 2 years.
Four families’ garbage is another woman’s treasure. Mr. Whippet came into my life in February of 1989, just in time to guide me through a personal crisis. Not having had a dog of my own dog before, and not knowing what else to do, I brought him to work with me.
I work as the counseling coordinator in a youth service agency. Almost immediately Mr. Whippet’s presence brought a change to our waiting room. Shy kids would step forward to pat him, sullen kids would smile, and hostile kids would soften a little. My most poignant memory, however, is of Mr. Whippet and Jenny. This sad and withdrawn 5 year old could not look at anyone, and certainly could never engage in a talking relationship with her therapist. I remember the day she discovered Mr. Whippet in my office. She snuggled right down nest to him for the hour that her Mom spent with their therapist. Their silent bond grew over weeks and months, until one day I heard Jenny talking quietly to this gentle dog. She was whispering, so I couldn’t hear the content of their conversations, but soon thereafter she was asking me questions about him, his looks and his life. One day she asked Mr. Whippet to come with her, and off they trotted down to her therapist’s office. Through words and play she was gradually able to tell her therapist the story of the incomprehensible sexual abuse that she had experienced, and with that disclosure, her healing began.
These days, Mr. Whippet is greyer and slower. He walks with a wobble and is missing an eye. Now 17 years old, he prefers blankets and napping to chasing squirrels and taunting soccer teams with games of “who can touch the whippet.” I bring him to work with me now because I know our time together will soon be coming to an end, and I can not bear to be separated from him.
Tonight at work, while doing some detested paper work, I hear footsteps running down the hallway toward my office. I know that it is not me that 10 year old JJ is coming to see. Standing in my doorway, he says “I was hoping you were here! Is your old dog here?” I invite him in and he plops himself down next to Mr. Whippet. While his parents are in with the family’s therapist talking about JJ’s learning disabilities and his disruptive and sometimes aggressive behavior, JJ is sitting on my floor, patting Mr. Whippet’s old head, explaining to me the importance of gentleness and friendship.