In 1990, Sue Carbajal's door opened and her daughter said, "I have a surprise for you." In came the dirtiest, skinniest Whippet that Sue had ever seen. He jumped up onto the couch, cautiously crawled onto Sue's lap, looked at her with a big sigh, and went to sleep.
Sue called Whippet rescue; her family posted signs and put an ad in the paper. No one came forward to claim the stray Whippet they began to call "Corey," and as days went by, Sue and her family began to hope no one would.
The vet guessed Corey to be 12 years old, and immediately put the dog on medication to treat a low thyroid condition. A bath (reluctantly received, but gently and firmly given) restored Corey's cleanliness, and three small meals each day gradually brought Corey back to healthy weight. On walks, he pulled as hard as he could to reach dumpsters and garbage cans; it was clear to Sue and her family that he had lived out of them for some time.
Two and half years later, (when Corey was roughly fourteen years old, if the vet was correct), he began to have heart problems. Sue and her family did all they could for Corey but, having had dogs all their lives, they saw the handwriting on the wall. After a particularly tough night, they and their vet put Corey to rest. He is buried in their yard with a beautiful rose bush to mark his last bed.
Corey took a piece of Sue's heart with him forever, and left a vacancy that was soon occupied by Cassie and Cal. The rest, as they say, is history. The Carbajal's are head over heels in love with Whippets, and Corey started it all.