Finding Resilience: A Dog Story
By Juliet Marillier | July 17, 2020 |
Here’s a story about a little dog named Pippa. Pippa is a Miniature Pinscher, a breed originally designed for rat catching. Although she is very small – 2.8 kilos or around 6 pounds – she has the temperament of a mighty hunter. Or maybe Queen of the Universe might be more appropriate. (And yes, this will eventually come around to writers and writing.)
As a small puppy, Pip was given to a gentleman named Leonard as an 80th birthday gift. The giver was his friend Reg, who knew Leonard was lonely living on his own. Leonard named his puppy Pipsqueak after a character from an English cartoon he’d enjoyed in his youth. For the first four years of her life, Pip was a beloved companion to Leonard, who hand-sewed a wardrobe of little coats for her, fed her copious amounts of treats, and took her by car to the riverside park every morning for a little stroll. I got to know these two during those outings, as that was my local park and I also had a Min Pin.
Pip was not a sociable creature, but because my dog was of her own kind she accepted us. While Leonard chatted to me and his friend Reg, who had his own car and tiny dog, Pip would guard her man and his vehicle, seeing off both humans and canines with her mighty yap.
Then one morning, down by the river, Leonard and Pip were not there. Reg and I wondered about his absence, then went our ways. The next morning, still no Leonard. Reg had a key to his friend’s house and said he would check on him.
It was several days before I saw Reg again. He had both his own dog and Pip with him, and I learned a sad story. Leonard had collapsed on the floor of his home after a heart attack. For more than 24 hours he’d lain there semi-conscious, while Pip kept watch over him. After Reg found him Leonard was rushed to hospital, but he died a few days later. And while Reg took Pip home with him, he could not keep her as he was already breaking a ‘no dogs’ rule at his accommodation by keeping one. Two would be impossible.
Nobody in Leonard’s family was prepared to take Pip. Of course, I said she could come to me. I lived close to the familiar meeting place, I had a little dog she liked, and it seemed a kinder prospect than surrendering her to a rescue for rehoming. So Pip came to live with us, bringing her collection of cute coats and her imperious temperament. Her life had been turned upside down.
Fast forward eleven years, and Pippa (this became her official name when I adopted her) is an old lady of fifteen. She’s been with me nearly three times as long as she was with Leonard, but I have absolutely no doubt that in the afterlife she will leap straight into his arms with never a backward glance. She had to adapt to many changes when she came to my household. Treats on demand were no longer a thing. Guarding the car did not count as exercise. And she had to live with a changing crew of adoptive and foster siblings over the years, because I provide a home for old and frail rescue dogs. Pip has always been the smallest and always the boss. I’m not sure she ever really learned acceptance, but she coped. Among her health challenges, as she grew older, was spinal surgery at the age of 10. She bounced back in record time, though she didn’t think much of the mandatory six weeks of crate confinement.
What lessons are to be learned from this story? Older people should not take on puppies? And what has all this to do with writing?
In my posts this year I’ve often spoken of resilience, as we all try to get on with our writing in times of turmoil and uncertainty. I consider Pip’s example. As you can probably see from the picture, she is quite frail these days, but still retains the spark of that feisty, loyal little dog of old. She has seen massive change in her life. She kept vigil by what was, in effect, her beloved person’s death bed. She lost him. She lost the home in which she’d been raised with every comfort she desired. She found herself in a very different environment, one in which the familiar patterns of behaviour were gone. She survived. She outlived eight adoptive siblings and several foster siblings. Now she is sometimes wobbly and confused. She sometimes needs syringe feeding. I watch her every day to assess her quality of life. When she annoys me (there’s nothing like being deep in the writing zone and having a small dog suddenly yelp from behind your chair) I remember her story and do my best to be kind. I know she won’t be with us for much longer.
This is a little story about a little life. It’s also a powerful example of courage, resilience, and adaptation in the face of overwhelming change. Sure, humans are more complex in their thinking than dogs, but we have much to learn from our canine friends. For many of us, 2020 is a year of immense challenge. It’s all too easy to feel overwhelmed, powerless, adrift. I’ve seen a troubling number of writer friends affected by mental illness this year, and for some of them the creative well has run dry. I urge you to look beyond the turmoil and see the small, good stories. A simple act of kindness. A note of beauty in the natural world. A story of courage or love. I wish you the ability to find your inner strength. I wish you resilience.
As for older people and puppies, who would have denied Leonard and his Pipsqueak those four precious years of companionship? The older person just needs a succession plan – someone committed to taking on the dog should it become necessary.
How are you all doing? Managing to keep your creative work flowing? Do your animals help or hinder you – maybe some of both? What is your key to finding resilience?
Postscript: this post was written for July 8 2020, but a technical glitch meant it didn’t go up on the intended date. Pippa passed away quickly and peacefully on July 10. Run free, small one.
Juliet Marillier has written twenty-four novels for adults and young adults and two collections of short fiction. Her works of historical fantasy have been published around the world and have won numerous awards. Juliet’s most recent series was Warrior Bards, of which the third and final book, A Song of Flight, was published in 2021. Her collection of reimagined fairy tales, Mother Thorn and Other Tales of Courage and Kindness, had its trade release in 2022. Mother Thorn is illustrated by Kathleen Jennings and published by Serenity Press.
Juliet is currently working on a two-book fantasy series. The first book in this duology, The Amber Owl, will be published by New Dawn in February 2025.
When not writing, Juliet looks after a small crew of rescue dogs.
So lovely a post. And to Pippa – soft sweet journeys, little brave one.
Thank you, Kathryn. After that courageous life, I thought she deserved a tribute.
Her story and life inspire us all. Journey on, Pip, journey on …
Awww, a very moving story and a wonderful tribute to a lovely little soul!
Thank you, Marina!
Juliet, I’m so sorry for your loss, but glad for Pip and Reg. Not only did you give each of them a gift in this life, but also in the next, as I truly believe we get to hang with these beautiful beings again in another realm. Animals teach us so many lessons, the least of which, as you describe here, is resilience. I’m fortunate to live in a place surrounded by woods and open spaces. With the nearby school closed and my neighbors ‘stuck’ in HI, the silence here has deepened. Deer, fox, flocks of turkeys, even weasels, have become constant companions. Watching them live in accordance with the rhythms of the seasons has been calming and inspiring. It also reminds me that I’m only one among many that call this planet home. A reminder, too, that we storytellers can be part of humans doing a better job at living sustainably and sanely. Thanks for the beautiful tribute to your friends. I hope you’re well. I’m looking forward to reading your new work.
Thank you, Susan. Your home environment sounds beautiful, and your description is a reminder that being out in the natural world is good for soul and spirit as well as for body. No weasels here, but plenty of birds, including magpies and crows that have taken to feeding in my back yard at regular times of day, as well as geese, ducks and pelicans on the river nearby. I tell myself that’s because I am writing a book called A Song of Flight.
Be safe and well.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Juliet. If such a thing is possible, I hope Pippa and Leonard found each other. Dogs are beautiful transparent souls that tell it like it is. A lot of writing inspiration in that.
Thank you, Wendy. I like to think they were reunited in the afterlife, in some form or other, and I imagine how Pip would greet Leonard – probably with the cainine equivalent of ”Where were you??” We’re now a household of one woman and one dog, and we’re helping each other deal with our loss.
Good wishes to you and your little dog, Juliet, may you find comfort in each other.
What a beautiful story, Juliet; thank you for sharing. I’m so sorry for your loss.
I’ve been working more since the virus took hold here; the distraction has been most welcome. I start my days, though, with creatures—tending to cats, our 14-year-old dog, Kismet, and so many backyard bird friends. As I write this, I spy a hummingbird breakfasting on sugar water, a titmouse nibbling seeds, and orioles battling it out over half of an orange. Another papa oriole is here feeding suet to his young son. A hairy woodpecker has arrived, and a female grosbeak, reminding me to throw a little oatmeal out on the deck. The bluebirds have young ones who were here this morning; we keep their food in the garage and try not to spend too much time with their wiggly selves, but feed the worms too—apples and oatmeal and little bits of potato. I’m so grateful for the creatures, even when Kismet wants in and out and in and out again for sunbathing. They keep me centered, I think. We’re all animals living in this moment; that we can help with their needs in some small way is a giant gift right now, to us.
There is a character named Pip in the work-in-progress spread before me, by the way. His nickname when younger was Pipsqueak. May your Pippa rest in peace with her Leonard. Stay safe!
What a beautiful description of your backyard avian friends, Therese! Sending our love to you and your family, including Kismet.
I’ve never tracked down the comic in which Pipsqueak is a character – by my calculations it would have existed in the UK in about the 1940s. Some time I will try again.
You stay safe too! My thoughts are often with my writer friends in the USA as we draw close to the fourth anniversary of our memorable stay in Salem.
Aw man, Juliet. Got me all choked up this morning. I think some of the most courageous and gracious moments I’ve witnessed in my life have been exhibited by dogs. Particularly in the face of death. As for whether my stalwart writing partner Gidget is helping me through these days, it’s an unqualified yes.
Gidge’s presence is vital. She keeps the routines going, starting by getting me out walking at first light. From there, she reminds me to take a lunch break and then when it’s time to knock off for the day. She shows me that there’s joy to be felt and beauty to be observed no matter how dire things look on the screens she diligently drags me away from.
If we’re willing, dogs show us not just how to live day-by-day, but how to face our mortality with grace and courage, to boot. Thanks for sharing Pippa’s story, Juliet. Wishing you joy and beauty-filled days.
Seems like it’s my day for making people cry. But those tears are good for us, a recognition of what you write of – beauty, joy, courage, the ability to live with delight in the present moment. I still have Reggie (an elderly miniature poodle X with his own complex personality) as companion and writing partner, and he has me very well trained, not only to sit and stay at the desk, but also to get up and take breaks, preferably with food on offer. He sends good wishes to Gidget, but, not being the most sociable boy around other dogs, he’s happy to be her friend from a distance! Stay safe and well, Vaughn.
First time I’ve teared up at a Writer Unboxed post (that postscript was the clincher). The last few days have been rough ones for me so I appreciate the lesson to persevere and appreciate the small, precious things.
Love and good wishes to you, Maggie. In tough times may there always be precious things, however small.
What a wonderful story! All of our dogs are rescue dogs. We have one, a beautiful white Husky mix, who was abused and starved by her previous owners. She ended up in the animal shelter where my kids and I volunteered that summer, and when we found out she was on the list to be put down, we knew we had to add her to our family. She’s the most loving, trusting, happy dog, and I am honored to have been a part of her path to a better life.
Thank you for being a “halfway house” for dogs needing a new home.
Diane, how wonderful that you took on and rehabilitated a dog that had been so badly treated – that must have needed a lot of patience and wisdom, and I’m delighted that she is doing so well now!
I’m one of the fortunate ones whose temperament and life circumstances mean I’m doing well on a personal level. In many ways, the pandemic has made my life simpler, the choices clearer. I’m trying to do what I can to be a port in the storm for others who face graver challenges.
One part of my resilience comes from my beloved Lulabelle. Just over a year old, she’s more dog than cat in her easy affection and willingness to cuddle. Those of us who love animals and are able to house them have a strong weapon against pandemic loneliness.
I’m sorry for your loss, Juliet. Stay well yourself.
Thank you, Jan. I’m lucky enough to live in one of the safest states in Australia (thus far anyway) where at present we have no community transmission, thanks to strictly observed early lockdown measures. But in other states the numbers are rising again.
Please give Lulabelle an extra cuddle and tell her she’s doing a great job! Animals are indeed a great comfort – it’s not only the unconditional love they bring, but the various services they require us to peform, helping us maintain a routine in times of uncertainty.
Such a beautiful story and then the postscript. I know Pippa had a long, fulfilling life, but it’s never easy whenever they go. My heartfelt sympathy for your loss.
I couldn’t imagine my life without an animal. Our latest rescue, a beagle/spaniel mix, is my constant companion and source of entertainment. We’ve only had him for six months and already I don’t know what we would do without him.
He has his own bed in our room, but between 5:30 and 6am he’ll jump up on ours and snuggle in beside me. If I’m stressed and having trouble sleeping, somehow the rhythmic breathing from this little body calms me and I can go back to sleep. He’s under my feet as I write and his constancy keeps me grounded.
Whatever our circumstances, we are all living with heightened levels of stress and uncertainty. A pet not only gives us unconditional love but takes us outside of ourselves, because they depend on us to be there for them.
Absolutely, Deborah. They have an instinctive wisdom and they understand when we are sad or scared or just in need of some reassurance.
I did have the comfort of knowing Pip was well and truly ready to go. With old dogs, sometimes they tell you ‘Today’s the day’ very clearly with their body language. So her passing was not so much sad as momentous – the end of an era.
Aw, Juliet, what a beautiful story about Pippa, Leonard, Reg, yourself and your household. Animals are such a gift and I’m sorry for your loss. What a gift you give us today. Now Pippa et al live on in my memory too.
We have a golden mix who is 12 and doing well and enjoying all the extra attention from the kids. We have two rescued cats who are happy and healthy.
Our lives haven’t changed much given we were already homebodies but we have the blessing of having our grown kids at home with us. Thankfully, everybody is gainfully employed but I see lean times in our future. I grew up poor so it isn’t frightening; I know my happiness isn’t dependent on these externals. There’s a healthy detachment from the things of this world. I believe the key to resiliency is having a grateful heart. There are so many blessings–the beauty of this earth, our families, pets, friends, books, the time to write, sing, play and pray. Stay well, Juliet.
Beautifully written, Vijaya! Stay well and safe.
(sniff, sniff) Loyalty is powerfully affecting.
I read somewhere that Queen Elizabeth II has decided not to have any more dogs, considering her advancing age. It seems an interesting choice to me, since she has probably the world’s most famous succession plan.
On a more personal note, one of my cats is booked in to see the vet super-early on my upcoming day of rest. Even though the lump on her leg isn’t bothering her, it’s bothering me, and I don’t want to put off getting it seen to any longer than need be.
She’s a reassuring lump of warmth at the end of the bed (or loud purr in the small hours), though now she’s a senior cat her busy schedule of sleeping, eating, and sleeping doesn’t leave her much time to talk to me.
Good luck at the vet’s, Deborah. I hope it proves to be nothing serious. My last remaining dog, Reggie, who is 15 years old, likes two quite energetic walks a day, but in between his routine is exactly like your cat’s – sleeping, eating and sleeping. That doesn’t stop him from following me absolutely everywhere. He has two beds in my study, one on each side of my desk.
I did read that about Queen Elizabeth and felt sad for her, though there may be a tripping risk with too many corgis once you’re in your nineties. She always looks much more relaxed and happy when in the company of dogs or horses.
Juliet, that was a sweet and moving tribute to Pip. Animals can wiggle into our hearts and the movements run deep. My kitty Malibu went missing 10 months ago, and I still look for her in the adjacent fields.
She and I had had many curious conversations, and I was deeply bonded to her; there’s a quiet-but-resonant longing that comes with losing a companion beast. I hope your grief is allayed by the good life you gave that Pipsqueak.
Thank you, Tom. I’m sorry about Malibu – it’s hard when you don’t know what happened to her.
Yes, the knowledge that Pip had a good life, not only with Leonard but also in my much busier household, does make her passing easier to bear. I’ve been helped by the remaining dog, Reggie, also an old boy. We’re dealing with this big change together.
A wise and beautiful post, Juliet. I read it, already knowing Pippa’s fate from FB. Another thing my dogs have taught me is to live — and rejoice— in the moment. Don’t look backwards, don’t fret about what might be to come, just enjoy the here and now.
Dogs also remind us to take delight in the small things. A biscuit? Wow! A walk — yaaay! You went to the loo? Isn’t that where people go to pat dogs? Hooray! A sunbeam? Lovely. Just right for a snooze.
Thank you, Anne! That’s so wise, and really pertinent in a time when one could all too easily be eaten up by anxiety about the future.
In my bathroom there’s a mat specifically for the purpose of accommodating dogs who have to follow their human in there every single time, and who don’t like to put their bellies on the cold tiles …
I’m sorry for your loss. She sounds truly memorable. A little story about a little life maybe, but it’s the little things that are most important. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Amy. She has been cremated and on her little casket are the words: Small but Mighty.
What a wonderful tribute to the amazing Pippa. I love your writing, always, and this one is particularly beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you so much, Barbara. Coming from you, that means a lot to me.
I didn’t get my WU post this morning and happened to see the postscript about Pippa. I am so sorry your loss, but I hope that Pippa and Leonard meet on that rainbow bridge where all good dogs get to frolic, snack, and nap.
Funny that Therese mentioned she has a Pip in her novel so do I. Mine is Pipsee Pee and goes by Pip. He’s a wonderful little character—mostly inspired by my Alvah, my tenacious JRT, whose motto is “Death before Disappointment.”
Dearest Pippa,
Run free in the forever summer lands with Leonard.
Juliet,
Thank you for posting, and thank you for giving Pippa a loving home. I am a huge fan of your books!