Four Years, Four Months: A Day To Celebrate

John and I adopted our first rescued dog, Daphne, in April, 2001. She died suddenly on August 5, 2005. She was just seven years old. We were in shock. Having only experienced puppies of well cared for, carefully planned pure-bred dogs, we considered fourteen to sixteen years to be a normal life span for a dog. Welcome to the world of adopting rescued dogs. In September of 2005, we adopted Zephyr, a stunning, dark brindle ex-racing Greyhound who eventually weighed in at ninety-seven pounds. I expected Zephyr to grow old with us. But Zephyr's genetic code said otherwise. Osteosarcoma--bone cancer--took her two years, four months after we adopted her. One month shy of her seventh birthday. The story of Portia is the story of this blog. We adopted her on February 10, 2008. She died in intensive care July 7, 2009, after fighting bravely to survive a cruel attack by an off-leash dog, who also attacked Bingley and John. Portia was four years, two months at the time of her death. She had lived with us for a year and five months. I don't think it's any wonder that I have become mindful of milestones in the lives of my canine companions. Today is just such a milestone. Bingley, our sweet-tempered ex-racer who cheated death before we even met him, is now not only the oldest rescued dog of our lives--he is eight years, nine months old--he has also lived with us longer than any other rescue we have had: a full four years, four months. We love you, Bingley, and pray that you live to be a very old dog. By the way, the picture is of Bingley, taken by Mike Dougherty at Windsong Resort for Pets.