Wednesday Morning

Her dad, all dressed in his work clothes, jingles Lanie's collar. He brandishes her coat. He calls to her and makes silly squeaky noises.

"Lanie! Come on! You MUST need to pee! Time for walkies! Potty? Hello?"

"*snore*"

More jingling and waving, but Lanie does not stir. Dad decides he will eat breakfast first and drag the old girl out later.

He opens the fridge.

Lanie appears. She is simply instantly there. And she won't be moving until she gets something out of the fridge, thanks. And weren't you EVER going to walk her? Where is her coat?! Boy, you humans can be slow...

Heh. Whoops.

Nothing to see here. Everything is fine. Move along.

I'm having the weirdest anxiety right now.

Everything is in place. We're ready! I just need to call the kennel and make an appointment...

I didn't do it Friday. I panicked. I'm too nervous. This means too much to me.

I swear, I'm going to do it Monday. I will kick my long-standing habit of being terrified of happiness. I promise. I just hope I don't embarrass myself and start crying.

 On the chance that you are here looking for non-crazy news, I have rather officially committed myself to attending Greyhounds in Gettysburg again this year. I'm excited to see some of my favorite people, including the fantastic ladies I travel with. Will you be there?

Good News and Dismay

The good news first: there is absolutely nothing wrong with Lanie's heart. She is, in fact, absurdly healthy.

The dismay: I'm looking for a new vet, after seven years. I'm uncomfortable with change and averse to trying new things, but I can't overlook how unhappy I am about a few things. My plan is to get Lanie's dental taken care of soon, but to start looking around for a greyhound-savvy vet. It'll be a little complicated, since we're in a semi-rural area and vets are exactly thick on the ground in the first place, but I don't mind driving a bit if I have to. There is an emergency hospital nearby for the unthinkables that might take place at odd hours.

When my Drive had his dental last spring (April or May, I can't remember), the same thing happened to him that happened with Lanie. They called in the morning to say that his EKG was a little "off" and they wanted to take an x-ray of his heart. We had just lost our Bullie, not two or three days before, so I was already a mess, and they scared me. The x-rays came back "inconclusive." The vet painted terrible, dire pictures for me and, terrified, I told them to go ahead and do the ultrasound. Of course his heart was perfect.

To recap, I brought Lanie in for her dental last week, got the "questionable" EKG results, had the "inconclusive" x-rays done... And refused to okay the ultrasound. I am not made of money, people. I may have mentioned that. If I'd thought for a moment that Lanie had any problem whatsoever, it wouldn't have been about money, but all I could think was, "Didn't I just do this?"

You know why the x-rays show a heart that is borderline enlarged? Because greyhounds have large hearts. I learned, after repeated phone calls and persistence, that the EKG results were "off" because no one told the EKG analysts they were dealing with a greyhound.

Once that fact was made clear they said, "Oh, well, that's all perfectly normal for a greyhound."

I am not a happy customer. In the end, what made the decision for me was an extra $19 on my bill. "What is this?" I asked, as I was already forking over $200 for the stupid x-rays that weren't even necessary. "I'm being charged $19 under boarding?"

"That's our policy. It's for cage use and technician time."

"She was here for four hours! Getting stupid x-rays!"

"It's just policy." (I will spare you the rant on how much I loathe it when people hide behind policies.)

"I've been coming here for seven years and I have never, ever been charged a boarding fee." (I even checked, because I keep all the vet information filed.)

"That was an oversight, I guess. It's policy."

So! If you happen to live near me and know a great greyhound-savvy vet, let me know.

Thank you so, so much for the support and thoughts and advice I asked for last week. I meant to reply much sooner but I was flattened by some weird viral thing and spent a few days in bed feeling sorry for myself. :)

Look Who Showed Up

It's Friday.

You know what, Friday? I think you might be too late.

Problem Child

"I could be off hunting whatever tiny things live in those woods."

For every beauty shot I have of Drive, I have a few failures. He doesn't like to look at the camera. Lanie doesn't either, and she adds a level of difficulty: some angles make her look deranged. Her ears, her squinty eyes, her overbite, her "get offa my lawn" old-lady attitude... I try not to get offended when people (not greyhound people, of course) smile and ask so kindly, "Oh, what's wrong with your poor dog?"

Eyes: almost the same size!

Her habit of squinting whenever she's outdoors is so pronounced that every so often I look it up under "canine symptoms" to see if she's got a problem or if she's just narcoleptic. Even in the shade, she looks like a vampire with a hangover if she's deemed it "too bright."

(And while I thank you in advance for the advice that will surely come, she's not the sort of dog that tolerates things wearing things very well so we won't be buying Doggles anytime soon. Or a hat, which is too bad because I think she'd totally rock a little bonnet or fascinator. Something in teal or fuchsia. She does enjoy PJs in the winter.)

Might be my new favorite picture EVER. Look at that.

Proof that she can be pretty, too!

You'll have to take my word for it. When she's curled up on my bed looking at me with deep, soulful brown eyes and a quivering chin, she's the most beautiful little girl there is. It's sometimes hard to get that captured in an image, though.

I'm Not Even Embarrassed to Say...

That is best picture I have ever taken of a snot droplet. I'm very proud of myself.

Lanie's Treat

Did Lanie get a cheeseburger for her (belated) birthday present?

Yes.

Are there pictures?

Just one.

They're Buddies! Right?!

"Ugh. Is he still there?"

When we adopted Drive almost six years ago, it wasn't our plan to rush out and get him a "friend" or companion pet or start a menagerie. The whole plan was to get a friend for me, and that worked out in spades.

But it was only about seven months after that when someone posted Lanie's picture on a website and I said, out loud and without knowing why, "I need that dog."

I still don't know why. I can tell you what I saw in the picture and how it moved me, but it was a picture of her after she'd been rescued and freshly groomed. It was all in her expression. Something about her. Who knows?

When we brought her home -- oh, there's a story -- I knew there would be an adjustment period. I figured the dogs would take a couple weeks to get to know each other and then they'd settled down and start being My Dogs as a team. Together, working to be cute and keep me smiling.

I hadn't counted on Lanie being more insane than I am by orders of magnitude. I hadn't counted on Drive being more interested in me, his new Mother-Goddess, than in any old mere dog. I could not have foreseen that not one damn thing Lanie did in her first couple of years with us was cute or that she would remain determined not to attach. Yes sir, I recognize abandonment issues when I see them.

Now? Last week I heard Lanie give the almighty "Greyhound Scream of Death" no less than eight times. (Google it, if you're unfamiliar with the term. It's a riot.) And every time I would turn around or streak into the room where she was and find some scene of carnage and injury.

Like this:


So when people see cute pictures of the dogs snuggling and ask about them, I just have to laugh. "How long did it take? Oh, a while." A while, give or take about four years, before they'd share a piece of furniture. ;)




Hello and welcome to any new friends that have found us through the blog hop!

Why isn't my neck longer?!

This is the face of a dog trying to use The Force to levitate a dropped french fry into his mouth.

His desperation did not go unanswered, although it was his teen-aged human who took pity on him and came to his aid. He remains unable to bring food to his mouth using only his mind.

For this, we are all grateful.

How've You Been?

I chose this picture carefully to illustrate how comfy and cozy everyone is this winter. This picture also symbolizes that I feel kicked in the head a lot lately.

Drive has been working overtime in his position as my personal mental health practitioner. He's sticking closer than usual, poking my hand to be petted more often, and has reduced the amount of time he spends lying on my bed and crying because he isn't being hand-fed.

I've wondered if the dogs get affected by these winter blahs. They seem a little needier, but they also seem a little more responsive to my own increased need for shoring up.

This week, I have been extra grateful for my dogs. This week they held me up again.

Join us on the Pet Blog Hop! If this is your first time here, I hope you'll poke around and find the funny stuff. ;)

Crustacean Threat? Where?

Here is our guard dog Drive, alert and keeping an eye out for any intruders or threats!
None shall pass!
Okay, seriously? Do not ever expect a greyhound to guard anything other than a couch or a food bowl. You may be disappointed.

We're joining the blog hop again this week!

Thank Dog it's Friday

Friday Fact: Half a second before this shot, he looked majestic and noble, and then some blue jays got into a fight nearby, startling us both. I wasn't intentionally going for this artistic slant. Oh, well.

Actual Fact: Drive is older than he looks or acts, at a grand ten years of age. He was whelped July 3, 2000.

Random Facts!

Drive stands like this a lot. This is not an action shot, he's really just standing there. I've noticed, in fact, that when he's walking he often crosses his front legs to a ridiculous degree. He doesn't fall over as much as you'd think, though.

Questionable Choices

Drive Doesn't Float

It's going to be how hot today?

To be honest, Drive doesn't care for the pool much. This is as wet as he'll get unless someone splashes him. Other pictures will show, however, that he has no problem jumping off embankments into rivers and mud puddles. A sandy beach area was met with suspicion, though.

When he was very new to home life, we took Drive to a relative's house. They have a lovely pool, about three and a half feet deep, with a deck, and Drive was intensely curious about the whole set-up. I had no plans to swim, so of course I was wearing jeans and sneakers when Drive decided to test his own divinity.

Apparently no one at the racetrack taught the dogs that sometimes, water has depth. Drive fully expected the water to support his weight. It failed. I had time to think, "My dog is going to drown! And I'm going to have to pay for this pool liner!" before I was in there with him, noodling him back up out of the pool until he flopped on the deck like a baffled 80-pound goldfish. Since then, he's had a distrust of any unnatural body of water.

Oh, of course I was in bed for the next two days with my back and shoulder muscles punishing me for lifting that much wet dog shoulder-high and then onto the deck. And of course I got a rash from having to wear wet jeans for the next several hours. I'm sure it wouldn't have been possible without buoyancy and adrenaline.

And I learned a couple things about how "smart" Drive really is. "S-M-R-T," to quote Homer Simpson. That's my boy.

Not all bulbs glow brightly.

After our long walk through the woods yesterday, we split up the family. The Daddy took our human children back home to wash up and nap, and I took Drive to the store to grab some kibble. He slept heavily the whole way there (about 20 minutes) and was obviously tired as we roamed the aisles. I saw this shirt:
Obviously, I would have grabbed it, as my beautiful friend has his own FaceBook profile. (He loves FarmVille.) But! Here is where I have a little rant. This shirt is for a chihuahua or something. It's about six inches across. The XL -- when you can find such a thing -- is usually for dogs about 45 pounds. If you are thinking to yourself, "Well, 45 pounds is quite a bit of dog!" then let me inform you that my smallest greyhound, Lanie, is 65 pounds.

Drive is about 80 pounds of gorgeous. Who do I talk to to get a chain of "Big and Tall Dogs" clothing going?

Aaanyway, we did our shopping and a nice young man offered to carry the bag of kibble to the car for me. He waited while I unlocked the trunk, and when I turned to him to say something, there was this weird WHUMP!! and the car shook. I looked frantically around for Drive, thinking for half an instant the car had been hit or something, and I found him. A little confused, but still residing healthy and whole at the end of his leash.

I am ready to go home now, Mumma.

Other than a flustered moment of trying to explain to the dozen people that witnessed Drive's jump that I do NOT make my dog ride in the trunk of our little Toyota, no one was harmed. Unless the pet store employee herniated himself laughing.

Woobie.

Meeting Drive was my mom's first experience with a greyhound. I packed him into the car and drove to her house. He had only been with me a week or two, but my mother loved dogs so much and I wanted to show off my big new baby. There were two things about him that surprised her.

One, his fur is soft as bunnies. Bunnies who use conditioner, even. He is precious to touch. (When he's clean.)

And two, well.. Trailing his leash through her house, he managed to step on it with one back paw. We watched as he stopped short with a confused little yelp. If he moved his foot, his neck got pulled on, and if he tried to move forward his foot got yanked! He was incredibly distressed by the whole thing, and began crying in earnest after several minutes of being trapped, unable to figure out he just needed to lift his foot. I had to help him.

Not an intellectual.

Helper Monkey

Drive honestly doesn't have many bad habits. I mean, he cries piteously to tell us he needs to go out. He cries piteously if he runs out of water, kibble, attention, space on the couch. He cries extra-piteously if the temperature dips too low in the house. But crying isn't a bad habit! It's how babies communicate, and it's how Drive conveys his every need or thought. If I look at him, tilt my head and say his name, he will sometimes get concerned and start whining. I'll have to get video of that.

But maybe digging through the recycling in the middle of the night to find the cardboard egg cartons he so dearly loves to shred and spit everywhere could be considered a bad habit.

Mmmmm, creamy!

I thought Drive was being adorable, toting his little peanut butter jar around. It's one of his favorites things on this planet, being allowed to clean out the peanut butter jars. The other two just aren't willing to put in the effort, but Drive savours his food. With a "u," that's how serious he is about it.

So here he is being cute:



And here he is pleading with me to stop taking pictures and realize that the jar is actually stuck.

He sank one of his lower canines through the plastic and couldn't get it off. Don't worry, it was there a matter of minutes, at the most. Because Drive isn't left alone with anything fun, if we can avoid it.

He is a beautiful animal, isn't he? Inside and out. But this is a dog who almost killed himself yesterday with his own fleece jacket. We try to keep an eye on him.