After Chris died, the hound was quietly consumed by grief. Lying in the hallway, waiting for the door to open and the beloved master and playmate to walk back into our lives. After the first month the pressure to be a playmate and take Chris' place achieved pest status. The universe delivered a reel, offering a rescue greyhound. I ignored it. A week later the reel re-appeared and I sent a tentative email. He was located nearby, a re-home from a vaccine producing entity, a year older than the brown hound - what could possibly go wrong? I now love that on leaving a strict biosecurity protected area, it was a one way trip.
Our little prince (not so little really) had no concept of 'inside', the feel of grass, play or understand all dogs are not greyhounds. I love that I don't think things through. I love that the hound and I took a chance on our prince who spent the first 10 days enclosed on the back patio, too frightened for anything else. The hound and the prince met through the security mesh screen for a week before the first 5 minutes of contact, the hound restrained by a short leash and the prince not remotely interested in association. The prince however, did bond with me in the way he loved his handler at the vaccine facility.
Every few hours, another five minutes. After two days, 10-15 minutes and then in the middle of a work-from-home zoom meeting, I heard the screen door open and held my breath. The rest is a blossoming bromance they both needed. We'd have never got a second dog. I'd have never contemplated a rescue greyhound. In the YOTD, it has been worth every moment to see them both happy; for the hound to have calmed; for the prince to have found his forever home.
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