Skip
December 25, 2013- April 2, 2024
Loved by Kym & Mark Fleming
Loved by Kym & Mark Fleming
Dear Skip,
You came to us 6 years ago as a man of mystery. Never raced, and yet you weren’t released to an adoption group until you were 4—where were you for those years and what was life like? You had a few foster homes before ours—including one where you were able to roam free and footloose on a ranch with a rambling dog buddy—I like to think of that time for you, and I know you were happy. You had some rough bumps along the way in finding the right forever home. And then you came to us, a complete bundle of heart and love, wrapped up in a blanket of worries and fears.
We fostered you, never intending to adopt you—too soon after losing our first greyhound. And having heard your story and knowing your anxiousness, I was pretty sure I wasn’t ready to take that on and give you a forever home. But I was wrong. Turns out, we were willing to cover every inch of our house in rugs, be a buffer for the things that scared you, and to try to give you those experiences that made you happy every day of your life.
We discovered that there was a lot that gave you joy, including running free in the pasture on E & S’s farm, and being with your Greyhound pals. Nothing made you more excited than meeting a posse of Greyhounds for a walk. You also loved your human friends with a quiet and fierce loyalty, and the wild, scrambly happy dances you would perform when we had a favorite visitor were nothing short of fantastic.
Every night, you would come and stand between the two of us as we sat at the dinner table. It wasn’t to beg for or grab food. You just stood between us and waited for scritches and rubs from us each in turn. Then you went back to your bed. We never knew exactly what that ritual was all about, but we will miss it.
Thank you for the endless love, delight, loyalty, and companionship. We miss you every single day and always will. We want to officially apologize for taking you to get a picture with Santa that very first year—we just didn’t think it through, but you bore it with patience and quiet angst.
Run free and be wild! Those who knew and loved you have assured us that your path to the Rainbow Bridge was paved with rugs. Dance on, little buddy.
You came to us 6 years ago as a man of mystery. Never raced, and yet you weren’t released to an adoption group until you were 4—where were you for those years and what was life like? You had a few foster homes before ours—including one where you were able to roam free and footloose on a ranch with a rambling dog buddy—I like to think of that time for you, and I know you were happy. You had some rough bumps along the way in finding the right forever home. And then you came to us, a complete bundle of heart and love, wrapped up in a blanket of worries and fears.
We fostered you, never intending to adopt you—too soon after losing our first greyhound. And having heard your story and knowing your anxiousness, I was pretty sure I wasn’t ready to take that on and give you a forever home. But I was wrong. Turns out, we were willing to cover every inch of our house in rugs, be a buffer for the things that scared you, and to try to give you those experiences that made you happy every day of your life.
We discovered that there was a lot that gave you joy, including running free in the pasture on E & S’s farm, and being with your Greyhound pals. Nothing made you more excited than meeting a posse of Greyhounds for a walk. You also loved your human friends with a quiet and fierce loyalty, and the wild, scrambly happy dances you would perform when we had a favorite visitor were nothing short of fantastic.
Every night, you would come and stand between the two of us as we sat at the dinner table. It wasn’t to beg for or grab food. You just stood between us and waited for scritches and rubs from us each in turn. Then you went back to your bed. We never knew exactly what that ritual was all about, but we will miss it.
Thank you for the endless love, delight, loyalty, and companionship. We miss you every single day and always will. We want to officially apologize for taking you to get a picture with Santa that very first year—we just didn’t think it through, but you bore it with patience and quiet angst.
Run free and be wild! Those who knew and loved you have assured us that your path to the Rainbow Bridge was paved with rugs. Dance on, little buddy.
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