2/2/94 - 2/2/99
Tucker and Lynn were a pair, "joined at the hip" said friends. They'd lived happily that way for nearly a year. Then came a phone call from a rescue person. A little black Scottie pup had been passed from home to home, and now no one wanted him. "We don't want him either," agreed Lynn and Tucker. "Well, then we'll just have him put to sleep," came the reply. "No way!" said Lynn, and kept the secret from Tuck.
Pippin was established as a McHenry by the end of the week; Tucker had a little brother whether he wanted one or not. (NOT.) First the puppy's name was Herb Canine, named after Lynn's favorite newspaper columnist Herb Caen. But it just didn't fit. So how about naming the Scottie Pippin? A tribute to Scottie Pippen of Lynn's beloved Chicago Bulls. (Lynn was always so pleased when someone got the joke.)
Pippin was difficult, grumpy, stand-offish and impossible to train. Finally, a diagnosis by Dr. Venner of cranial mandibular osteopathy explained everything. The poor little critter was in pain. Once the pain was treated, he began to become the Pippin that charmed everyone. He never was very well trained, but he just believed that whatever he did wrong wasn't really his problem. After all, he was the Pipster (as Wendy in Dr. Venner's office called him). Pip was sure he was adorable and that everyone would just naturally be delighted with him; lucky for him, he was right. One night as Lynn came out of the grocery store, she was dumbstruck to see him up on the back of the convertible walking back and forth accepting the accolades of total strangers.
He didn't really like other dogs, other than Tucker, but Pippin made so many great people friends at the Dog Park in Sausalito. Little Frankie carried him around upside down; Elena called him Pippin Pippin and made him wriggle with delight; Sukie said "Mr. Pippins" and he'd wag his way up to her to say hi. And he worshiped Jim, yipping with joy and anticipation when Jim's car drove up, scampering, dancing and squirming with pleasure when Jim finally noticed him.
Mostly, Pippin was just a character, full of more personality than any little dog of 17 pounds should be packing. His feigned ferocity earned him the nickname"furry Cuisinart." He and Tuck were the fearsome twosome -- approaching that giant Irish Wolfhound on THEIR beach and challenging him to who knows what, chasing poor (but big) Thunder and trying to keep him from getting to the ball, guarding the gate at the dog park and hassling any newcomer.
Little Pip died suddenly on Feb. 2, his 5th birthday. His friends gave him a beautiful send-off: an Irish wake for a Scottish Dog. Robbie planned and officiated, bringing candles and flowers and reading an Irish blessing, Brian read from Eugene O'Neill, Jay read "If a Dog be Well-Remembered," and Chris read the "Ten Rules for Dogs" Felix made a lovely booklet with a Pippin Picture Gallery, friends brought Scotch, flowers and memories. Together everyone found a loving, caring way to bond on common ground: the love of dogs and the camaraderie shared with them and with other people based on that love.
Pippin is buried with his little squeaky pterodactyl that Sande gave him for his first birthday. He lies next to Fergus, Lynn's first Scottie. Tucker and Lynn are not a pair again; they're a set with a piece missing.