My Only Dog

"I'll stop smacking you when you get it out of my face."

Lanie is not a fan of the camera. After all, it it not made of food and it does not squeak. All it does it flash in her eyes, eliciting a death glare that only ladies of a certain age can manage.

At age 12 and a half, her pointy little face is white and her eyes have clouded. She used to hunt frogs relentlessly, making walks in the spring and summer a constant challenge as she lunged and snapped at the hopping meat-snacks. This summer, we realized that she simply doesn't see well enough to do that any more.

It's harder to tell if her hearing has faded. I'm disposed to believe she just ignores me more, since if I think too loudly about opening the fridge she will materialize from the ether.

She is a grand, goofy old dame. She is a glorious mixture of bravado and insecurity, terrified of a slammed door but not thunder. Helium balloons are the devil to her, but she will snarl and lunge if we make the mistake of walking her by the neighborhood bull mastiff. I am her humble servant who exists to feed her, but when she is scared she shoves her head against my chest.

Since we lost my Drive, she's been the only dog in the house. Always a velcro girl, I've noticed the length of time she lets me out of her sight has decreased. She's less content lately to be within sight range and now feels the need to be within petting range whenever possible. She has absolutely become needier. I can understand. So have I.

The strangest difference is her sudden, avid interest in going for car rides. I think she just hates that I sometimes leave the house without her. She hates being alone, poor sweetie.

I'll address the issue of "When will she be getting company?" in a different post.

This evening Lanie goes to the vet for bloodwork and an EKG, so that tomorrow she can be safely anesthetized for a dental cleaning. (She won't be spending the night there.) She's in overall excellent health, especially for a senior dog, and her teeth are not the nightmare that some greyhounds' are, though she has broken a canine recently. She was probably checking to see if something was edible by biting it, like a great white shark.

I'm reminding myself of all the reasons I don't need to be worried, and I'm worrying anyway. I'll keep you updated.

And I think I'll take my dog out to lunch. She loves the drive-thru.

Words 2

Words 1

What He Gave Me

I needed a friend, so I went looking for a dog. I found Drive.

Within a year of bringing Drive home, I lost my job and my ability to work. I lost most of my contact with the outside world. For a while there, it was me and my dog. He listened to me. We worked through some stuff.

I fell in love with everything about greyhounds, so I joined a forum. I wanted Drive to have doggie friends so I went to a few outings. Being able to talk about Drive helped me focus and get over my terror of other people enough to have a conversation. When anxiety started to crowd my brain, I could just look at Drive and curl my fingers into the soft fur at his neck. There are so many pictures of me with my fingers like that. Every single one is a picture of my dog comforting me.

He was beside me. He kept me steady. He engaged me.

Drive made me so happy it seemed obvious to share him. I promise, he was every bit the sweet old gentleman I portrayed him as. He was so patient with me.

I started to meet people, good and wonderful people who know the true value of a dog. I went on trips!

I sought Drive because I needed a friend. Because of Drive, I am surrounded by friends as I grieve him.

I don't want this day.

This is the first day without Drive. I do not want this day.

After lunch yesterday, I sat on the couch with him and played a little. I rubbed his ears, told him how silly and beautiful he was, scratched his belly a little. I crossed the room. I was doing dishes when I heard the sound of him staggering. I wish I'd never seen that. I think it was a stroke. I caught him. He never fell.

I couldn't carry him to the van and I couldn't get the back seats out of the van myself anyway. I just held him. I stayed wrapped around him, talking to him. I thought he would die then. My husband raced home from work to help me and we took my Drive to the vet.

There was too much damage.

I wanted him outside. He loved to lay in the sun. We took him outside on a stretcher and I got on the ground with him and held him. I stroked his bunny-soft neck and I kissed his ear and told him how silly and beautiful he was. "You are the best dog, son. You did everything right."

He was smiling. He was smiling and looking into my eyes. He was so peaceful.

I don't know what I'll do without him.

He carried my heart.

Bask

The Sunshine of My Love

We Live!

Content should resume soon! I was having a little brain issue and Drive was busy as usual helping me through it, mostly by sleeping nearby. In the meantime, please enjoy this picture of a dog named Stanley catching a disc. :)