No one owns a single whippet.  A quick search for whippets will reveal owners who collect them like antique silver spoons, or guns, or something.  Those are appropriate similes, given the peculiarities of both the breed and their owners.  So when Tori died, the pack became fractured, and another whippet needed procurement.

Such a task was easier said than done, but Liz can be quite determined.  After contacting the vet/breeder who acquired Tori, and after what I presume was a lengthy negotiation (and a hefty deposit), we had a whippet reserved.

Funny thing about specialty breeds–there’s no way to just get one.  No, there’s paperwork and genealogy tracing and AKC registration and contractual obligations (apparently this whippet’s father is a champion).  There was more paperwork behind getting a whippet than there was for having a kid.  But ultimately, whippet we had.

Naturally, this meant we couldn’t choose our whippet, but that hardly mattered.  Their endearing qualities are ubiquitous, and since she was a puppy, there’s wasn’t much concern for worrisome idiosyncrasies (like violent outbursts).

As a bonus, she took to the kid right away–who named her: Poppy.

Faye, however, is less than tolerant.  I just don’t get it.  She pouted when we got Tori, she pouted when Tori died, and now she’s pouting that we got a new whippet.  I think she just doesn’t like change.

No matter.  Once again we have a whippet pack.