Winslow

My Winslow Man

I come home down my long, pebble lined driveway and look to the right where the Gang’s Guest House is. On the Guest House porch is Winslow’s personal futon. From that vantage point he’d watch the world and wait for me to come home. Unfolding that big, gorgeous body of his, loping over to the car, tail wagging, to plop himself right down on another dog bed. Waiting for me to give him his due as the man of the place. Winslow is one of those guys who isn’t too bad on the eyes, and loves his comfy furniture. He was found wandering the streets of Colorado, and stumbled his way to the Gang.

I don’t even remember the year he came to me. I think he was four or five. Found wandering the streets by the Humane Society in CO, Abby Christman found him there.

Abby and I had established an underground railroad of sorts. Colorado State University was killing greyhounds – about 900 a year, 400 of them being used by third year vet students for surgery practice, and then terminated. The others just terminated because they had too many. I had been at CSU for almost two weeks for spinal surgery treatment of my Slim and had found out, first hand, about this. Abby worked for CSU. We started talking, and we just knew we had to do something. So we established the Greyhound Underground Railroad. She would get vet students to say they were adopting a greyhound, as this was the only way to get them out. Then I’d take them, and find them real, forever homes.

Anyhow, I’m getting a bit off track, but because of the relationship that Abby and I established during that time she called to tell me about Winslow, and how I needed to take him. He was staying at her home, but she had 4 dogs, and felt he’d do better coming to me. So we arranged a trip for him from CO to my home, and he arrived.

A big, striking boy, he fit right in with all the crazy goings on here in the early days. Dogs coming and going. Being washed, trained, vetted, socialized – he watched it all from a convenient soft place. I called him my banana brindle, my butterscotch brindle boy. Abby had been calling him Kermit, which he didn’t respond to. So I started asking him what he would like to be called. I called on his tattoos and found out that he was called Ben G Triumph. But he showed no interest in any of those names. I’d run through the gambit of letters and sounds trying to get a reaction from him, but I could never get one. He was so laid back that he wasn’t very expressive about much.

One day I was up at Best Friends Animal Sanctuary, it was at least a week since he’d been with me, and he still hadn’t decided on a name. I’d always ask people what they thought – and one woman looked at Winslow, had a conversation with him and said he wanted to be called Sir Winston.

Well, I don’t like cigarettes at all, and that’s all I could think of when the word Winston came up – but I started to call him Winslow, and he liked that. So Winslow it became.

He never showed me very much affection, or asked for much attention. He never growled at any dog. He always waited his turn. He suffered being stepped on, and eating last and not getting as many snuggles as the more needy dogs. He never asked for much of anything. And Winslow just sort of stayed. Almost the middle child syndrome – fitting in, not raising a ruckus, just going with the flow, sometimes invisible.

And then he just never left. I tried to find him a home, but he decided to get sick on the way there, and so never made it anywhere but my home. Blending into the furniture and my life. Taking over the futon, or the overstuffed chair, or waiting in the car for his walk. And he did this all with infinite patience.

Laconic and amiable, Winslow was the inspiration for Fred in Greyhound Gang Illustrated – Volume I. You ask him to do something, and he does it. No complaints, no back talk, no problem. Nothing ever fazes him. The dogs stepping on him, the waiting for his turn, the endless parade. And all the other dogs liked him. They wanted to hang with him. They knew he was cool, and no threat.

His favorite foods were pizza and popcorn. He has been known to come out of a deep sleep, which is where he spends the majority of this time, if he smells either. But he never begs. He’s too polite for that. He just gets in the sphinx position near you, and waits. He’s so good at waiting. He’ll just wait forever. No whining, no barking, no complaining. He’s content to get whatever it is he’s going to get. This photo was for a photo contest, and he was an ice cream man that day. I think because you can’t smell it he never knew when I was eating it in the house.

Guest House. He was the official greeter. He’d hang outside the Guest House, just waiting for Guests to come and pet him and watch the sunset, or sunrise. He wasn’t particular. He would often scratch at the Guest House door, usually at 6 am to tell the guests it was time to start their day…by petting him. And pet him they did. And he was always their favorite.

Bow. Somewhere he learned how to take a bow. And he’s not above using it when pizza and popcorn are available.

Loves the car. Goes right in. Lays down. And doesn’t move. Particularly partial to vans. If any door is open, he’ll just get in and usually won’t go out until we’ve had that ride. I’ve had to drive up and down the driveway some days just to make him think we went for a ride.

Walks. He couldn’t ever walk next to me. He had to be out there, somewhere in the front. He needed that sense of freedom. He seldom really ran, just trotted most of the time. But never next to me. And we had many discussions about that. And many leash walks. And it wasn’t until I lost him for 2 hours during one of our walks, and returned stressed out to the car to find him at the car patiently waiting for me, that the turning point happened. At that moment I realized that he was not going to leave me, and he would be OK. And from that point on he stayed in my sight, not next to me, of course, but if I yelled wait, he would stop, wait until I got closer, and then head out on his way. And he loved his freedom walks.

Medical. When Winslow first came to the Gang, he would go outside and pee. And pee. And Pee. I had never seen a dog pee for so long at one time. I took him to one vet. Diagnosis – Kidney Failure. Another vet – Nothing wrong with him. Another vet – Bladder Infection. So we went through a few runarounds trying to help him. His specific gravity was pretty low, so he wasn’t concentrating his urine, and he drank a lot of water. So he loved that dog door. But other than the peeing nothing else seemed untoward.

Then something happened. What we’ll never really know. Suffice it to say, that $4000 later, traditional vets gave him back, saying idiopathic cystitis and said “Just love him while you can.” That was over 3 years ago, thanks to the expertise and dedication of Dr. Kim Henneman, an excellent holistic vet. And most days he feels just fine, and most of the time the Gang house is decorated in pretty pink and blue incontinence pads.

A small decorating price to pay for having this sweet boy in our lives.

And then a few months ago, he lost his ability to walk on his back legs. With some holistic treatments, he turned right around. But there was something wrong with his right side. After consulting with four vets, it appeared he had some major scar tissue in his groin area that was causing him pain, and to walk funny. It also appeared that he had something neurological going on. But something undetermined.

And then a month later he lost his back end ability again. With holistic care he was up and walking within 24 hours. And then a week later, he lost it again. And then a few days later he lost it again.

Our guess is blood clots, not neurological. But Winslow, when he’s not sleeping, is a guy that likes to hike. And he couldn’t hike any more in this world. So I let him go to another.

 

And I had a piece of pizza last night, and no one to eat my crust. And all the incontinence pads have been washed, and the house is empty. No one is outside surveying the realm, no one comes running to meet my car, no one jumps into the car and settles in with his head for me to pet as I drive. No soft fur to sink my forehead into. No beautiful big boy to tell him I love him. No Winslow.