Memorial Redux

I don’t think it’s any secret that my heart was completely shattered when I lost my heart dog Girly Girl.  I’m always moaning in this blog about how much I miss her and how I still think of her all the time almost 5 years after she passed.  A once in a lifetime dog is just that.  And some people are lucky to realize they had a heart dog years down the line after they’ve compared that relationship to all the subsequent ones.  But some of us are unlucky/lucky enough to know it the second you meet that hound.  When you know what you had, and what you’ve lost one can’t help being a little bitter at times.

We have reminders of Girly Girl all over the house.  A portrait of her that Grammy commissioned the Christmas after she left us, a quilt square with a photo of her made by a greyhound friend and sent out of the blue like a little package of sunshine.  We have photos of GG all over.  And a cast of her paw print.  I have a mug made with her paw print that always sits on the window ledge in my kitchen.  There will be no drinking from that cup.  And we have the memorial that the folks who cremated her gave us when we went to pick up her ashes.

So you’d think we wouldn’t need anything else.  But one day, while reading Hazel’s blog (Class A Greyhounds-RVing with the Big Dogs) we came across an entry called Memorial.  Hazel had recently lost her hound Fleur and she had discovered and ordered a beautiful ornament with an angel greyhound with Fleur’s name underneath it. 

I knew that I had to have one for Girly Girl but Hazel hadn’t posted where she found it at the time I read the entry.  Being a pretty good Google detective, I was able to track down where the ornament had come from.  A lovely lady named Therese makes them.  She has a Café Press store called Heisman’sGreyhound Art. 

Therese has been creating these little works of art for some time.  She shared that she had lost her heart dog back in 2007 and has lost 7 out of 9 greyhounds that have shared her life since 2000.  It’s very safe to say she gets people like me. 

I sent Therese the names I wanted on my ornaments (one for Girly Girl and one for Fox whom we had just lost).  She soon sent me links to the Café Press pages where I could view and order the ornaments.  For such a lovely keepsake, they are ridiculously inexpensive at $6.99.   I placed my order and shortly they arrived in my mailbox.

I couldn’t have been happier with them.  I can’t decide whether I will hang Girly Girls somewhere in the house so I can see it every day or if I will put it on my dog themed Christmas tree.  If you have lost a hound (or more than one) this is a lovely way to memorialize them.  Therese is a kind lady who would be glad to make you one of your own. 

(I received no remuneration for this blog post.  I ordered my ornaments after seeing one on Hazel’s website.  I get nothing if any of you decide to order from Therese.  I just found these ornaments beautiful and wanted to share in case any of you feel the same way I did when I saw it.  I did get Therese’s permission to write this post.)

The Dying Season

I hate the winter.  For many, many reasons.  I hate snow.  I hate to snow blow.  I’m not a big fan of cold.  It costs a fortune to heat your house through a long Maine winter.  I hate losing the daylight.  But most of all I hate it because starting in late fall and going through to spring, it is the dying season.

If anyone or anything is going to leave this world, it seems they most often do so within this window.  Facebook becomes one long memorial news feed.  Greyhound after greyhound after greyhound crosses the bridge.  Sure some go at other times of the year, but at THIS time of year it is an endless parade.  Girly Girl left me during this window.

And yesterday Fox joined her at the bridge.  He is another in the long parade that will go during this

dying season but to us he was special.  Fox was Grammy and Charlie’s hound.  If ever there was a dog who met the definition of autistic, it was Fox.  He was stoic and patient.  And stubborn.  He wanted to be loved but on his own terms.  You would never consider Fox a cuddly dog. 

Fox is also Blue’s half-brother.  They shared the same Dam.  They both raced at Raynham in the same kennel.  Fox’s stubborn determination kept him on the track for quite awhile and he was one of his Dam’s top winning greyhounds.  After he retired he went to the Maine Greyhound Placement Service and there his stoicism was a hindrance.  Poor Fox lived in the kennel at MGPS for a year.  No one was connecting with this amazing boy and he kept getting passed by.  He had given up hope and even after a special article was written about him in the MGPS newsletter, he remained in the kennel.

That is, until Grammy and Charlie happened along looking for their first greyhound.  Once they heard Fox’s story it did not matter that he was an autistic boy.  They determined to give him a real home.  There was much happiness in the kennel as volunteers found out that Fox (whom they all called Foxy) was getting a forever home.

Fox fit himself into our lives as though he’d always been there.  He wasn’t much for playing with toys, but if ever there was a greyhound who loved him some dinner, it was Fox.  He lived for meal times and treat times.  As he got older, like most old greys that I know, he began wearing little bits of his meals on his muzzle and chin as if he were saving them for later. 

Even with his autism, Fox learned to seek out a connection with the humans in his life.  He would wait patiently in the line of greyhounds seeking attention and then he would present his side to you, carefully looking away and politely wait for you to pet him, or scratch him or rub his belly or ears.  He would stand there until your hands fell off if you let him.

Fox had a funny chirp that he would use when he felt you were not hopping to it quickly enough to get him dinner.  It sounded just like a little bird.  He would start out almost subsonic and gradually raise the volume.  When he wanted to go out he would stand and face the front door.  It didn’t matter that going out meant using the sliding glass doors on the back side of the house.  When he first arrived at Grammy’s outside was through the front door and by god, that’s how it would always be for Fox. 

Fox never got on any furniture.  It terrified him.  We used to joke that the best way to persuade Fox to go lay down if he was bugging you to pet him was to invite him up on the couch with you.  All it took was a quick “come on buddy, get up here with me,” and he would get the whale eye and start backing up and looking for an escape route.  Depending on how serious he thought you were he would retreat to his bed in the living room, or for level 1 threats he would go all the way back to the bedroom and lay down in there.

As he aged, Fox was afflicted by a mysterious illness which was autoimmune in nature.  He began a slow slide downward with various times of serious flare up and times of miraculous recovery.  The last diagnosis we had for him was Alabama Rot.  He suffered through many issues and corresponding

treatments with the patience and constitution of a block of granite.  It did not matter what you had to do to him.  It did not matter that it sometimes involved a lot of pain.  He would always stand and bear whatever had to be done. 

There were a number of times over the past few years where we were sure that Fox was going to leave us.  That it was time to release him.  But in a couple days he would make a complete turn around and be fine again.  Though each of these episodes took a toll and he was never quite as good as he had been before.  Still, this weekend it was a surprise when the time where we would have to say our goodbyes finally did present itself.

Grammy and Charlie held off, hoping like crazy for one more of his miracle turn-arounds but that was not to be.  If Fox was in pain, he never let us see it.  But he lost the ability to stand.  Then he didn’t pee for 36 hours and when he finally did pee, it was because he had lost all control of his bladder.  When the greyhound that lived for food above all else refused to eat, the time had come.

It was a gut-wrenching decision.  His eyes were bright and lively to the end.  His spirit continued to be willing to go on but his body would not cooperate.  Fox was 12 ½ years old.  He had outlived all of his littermates. He had a good run and by rights lived at least a year longer than he probably would have if he had been a dog of lesser determination.  But that doesn’t make it any easier.

We let him go yesterday afternoon with people who loved him holding him as he went.  He went as he had come and as he lived, with stubborn determination and with love.

Run fast and long Royal Foxglove.  Until we meet again.

Fox
Royal Foxglove
6/2/2002 - 1/4/2015

A Dozen is a LOT!

Guess who is almost a teenager?  Happy Birthday 12th Birthday Fox!

Fox Has a Pox

Fox on December 28, 2013

Fox is my brother.  Well technically he is since he’s one of Grammy’s four-legged kids.  I typically prefer to think of myself as his Auntie.  Fox was adopted by Grammy and Charlie because he was a handsome guy but mostly because he had spent a year at the rescue and despite having been heavily marketed both in the newsletter and to potential adopters, he’d had no takers.  Fox seemed to resign himself to a life as the kennel mascot.

Grammy is a sucker for an underdog.  She only had to hear his story and they adopted him immediately.  We didn’t know it at the time but Fox and Blue share the same dam, Royal Dream.  At 11 years old, Fox is
about a year older than Blue.  He will turn the big 12 in June.

We all love Fox deeply but he is the truest example I have found that animals can be autistic.  He’s super reserved, uptight, demanding and way down deep, needy and loving.  Somewhere a couple of years into life with Fox, Grammy noted that he was having some medical issues that seemed to involve pain in his extremities.  The first vet examined him and subjected him to a barrage of tests and x-rays.  There was

Fox on March 8, 2014

nothing definitive but Fox was given a diagnosis of lumbar spine issues with potential stenosis and/or Cauda Equina Syndrome.

As the years went, Fox’s issues continued.  At times his problems flared up and at times he seemed fine.  Fox had further workup by a second vet during one of his occasional crises.  More x-rays and tests.  This vet felt that his issue was centered on his cervical spine.

Each time Fox was seen by a new vet the diagnosis changed but mostly centered on some part of his spine.  Tests showed nothing conclusive and Fox continued with intermittent pain in various body parts (neck, front legs, back legs, hips).  As a result Fox spends much of his time on varying combinations of pain meds. 

Then a couple years ago Fox had an episode where he developed bald patches that looked like hot spots.  First he got them on his butt cheeks.  When those healed up a bit he got one on his front shoulder.  Hair grew back on one butt cheek but his shoulder and the other butt cheek continue hairless to this day.  The skin in those areas is alternately clean and dry or red, weepy and scabby.  Sometimes Fox chews at them, and other times he takes no note.

Shortly after this occurrence Fox began to experience abnormal swelling in his feet.  Sometimes all feet were involved and sometimes varying combinations.  Sometimes they would swell enough that the skin split and he’d bleed.  After courses of steroids the issue would resolve for a few months and then start over again.  The swelling eventually started creeping up his legs so that now when he swells it’s the whole leg and foot.

Fox's elbow wound

At some point the hair on his feet began to fall out.  The skin on his feet is frequently hot and red.  We joke that his feet look like the feet of a naked mole rat (Google that one).  When his feet did swell up they would be so painful that he couldn’t bear people touching them.  After a number of flare ups Fox was taken to see his current vet for another work up.

Her initial diagnosis was some sort of auto-immune disease.  She wasn’t sure which one but it made sense given his pattern of flare ups.  Grammy and I suspected Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (SLE) but Dr. Amy did not feel like Fox’s symptoms really matched that illness.

The problem was that Fox’s symptoms didn’t really fit any other auto-immune diseases either.  Fox improved after each flare up with steroids, pain meds and sometimes antibiotics.  Then Fox began to have difficulty standing.  Fox had always been a bit unsteady due to the odd pains that seemed to come and go but now he got downright wobbly.  He was off balance and frequently caught himself just before he fell over.  But Fox always soldiers on and he accepted this new issue with grace.  He continued using the stairs, going in and out by himself (most of the time) and getting up and down from his bed. 

Fox's toe wound

Fox had a serious crisis on Christmas day 2013.  We were scared that our time with him had come to an end.  He was given a large dose of steroids and antibiotics.  He spent 24 hours on IV fluids.  When he came home the steroids he took gave him incontinence and a corresponding unquenchable thirst.

He began to lose weight.  Fox has always loved his food but now he has begun to spend all his time desperately hungry and thirsty.  The more he ate and drank, the more he wanted to.  The more he ate and drank, the more weight he lost.  When he came home from the vet the day after Christmas, he had developed a large open weeping sore on his right front elbow.  It was so large and deep that fascia and bone were visible.

We begged Dr. Amy for an answer.  She dug in and after a lot of research she gave us the diagnosis of Alabama Rot. 

Alabama Rot is a disease that most greyhound owners have probably vaguely heard of but have no idea what it is.  That was certainly the case with us.  It first appeared at Alabama greyhound racetracks.  Medically very little is known about the disease.  It is thought to be the equivalent of hemolytic uremic syndrome in humans.  It is also called cutaneous and glomerular vasculopathy.  There is no known cure for it. 

Initially there wasn’t much to offer for treatment.  Management and monitoring of the symptoms was PentoxifyLLI (400 mg) but so far it doesn’t seem to be much help. 

Charlie bandaging Fox's foot

essentially it.  These days they are trying a drug used to treat humans with the corresponding human version of Alabama Rot.  They are meeting with only small success in helping to manage the symptoms and extend the lives of dogs affected.  Fox was started on this drug which is called

No one knows what is causing Alabama Rot.  It is called idiopathic for that reason.  There appears to be quite a battle between breeders, track owners, retired greyhound owners and researchers as to whether or not Alabama Rot is caused by the type and quality of food fed to racing greyhounds.  Currently researchers feel the disease may be related to food poisoning and nasty cooties such as E. coli.  This seems to be how humans get the human version.  There are an equal number of researchers who don’t believe there is any relation between these bacteria and Alabama Rot.

About 25-30% of Alabama Rot cases move into the kidneys and eventually cause kidney failure.  Even if it does not move into the kidneys, it still tends to shorten the life (and diminish the quality of life) of any dog that contracts it.  We are lucky that as of now, Fox’s kidneys are not affected.

For now, Fox continues on his steroids and pain meds.  He has some continued incontinence.  Though Grammy feeds Fox constantly and has more than doubled his food intake he has gone from 75 pounds down to 61 pounds.  Since he hasn’t been weighed in a couple weeks, we can’t swear to it, but it looks like maybe he has reached a plateau on the weight loss and is currently holding his own. 

Our sweet boy will be 12 in June

His elbow sore has not healed and recently after a fall on the ice in the back yard due to his wobbliness, it was exacerbated.  He has also developed a terrible open sore on his right rear foot that may have started out as a corn but which has become a hot mess.  Fox continues to lose hair in various places.  He still swells up intermittently and sometimes he has some bruising.  It has been a very tough winter for Fox.

At the last check up with Dr. Amy, she told Grammy the thing that no one ever wants to hear…that we may soon be reaching the time where the kindest thing to do will be to let him join our Girly Girl.  It’s very hard to hear since his eyes remain bright, lively and very engaged in this world.  He wobbles like a Weeble (dating myself, I know-some of you may have to Google that), but he still walks.  He goes up and down the stairs unaided.  He has never met a morsel of food that he didn’t like and he is still full of love for his family.  There is no indication that his brain and soul are ready to give up but his poor body is rotting away all around him.

We’re all holding our breath in hopes we get to celebrate his 12^th birthday with him in June.  We have already decided there will be a party that day to honor a life well lived.  We also hope that by sharing his story it may help someone else recognize this generally unfamiliar disease far sooner than we did.

Corn Dogs

I’ve mentioned before that Blue is a half-brother to Fox.  Fox is the elder statesman of Grammy’s two hairy children.  Fox and Blue share the same mother (dam), Royal Dream. 

As an aside we’ve searched all Blue’s life with us for a photo of Royal Dream.  She is (maybe was at this point) owned by Janice George.  We’ve tried contacting Janice a few times but she’s never responded.  We’ve searched for hours on the internet on the chance that maybe there was a photo of her posted somewhere, for some reason.  So far with no luck.  If anyone out there has a photo, or knows Janice, we throw ourselves on your mercy since living with this insatiable curiosity is killing us!  We hear that Royal Dream is/was a favorite of Janice.

A Fox Corn

But back to Blue and Fox.  Fox has suffered from corns for a number of years.  He gets them frequently and on just about all his feet.  We typically Dremel them down or pad them.  Various home remedies for corn removal have been tried but essentially without success.  Since they only seem to bother him from time to time, Grammy has taken a live and let live attitude with respect to the corns. 

Taking my cue from Fox, I watch Blue like a hawk for any of the maladies that have afflicted poor Fox (and the number of said maladies is not insubstantial).  Since they share so many of the same genes, and they’re so alike in personality, I’m very afraid they will also be alike with respect to their health.  One of the things I have always done is check Blue’s feet for corns.  So far we have been all clear but I always expect to see one someday since Blue is one of the lumpiest and bumpiest dogs I know. 

So it was with a mixture of surprise and a sense of “I knew it!” that I picked up Blue’s foot the other day and saw on one of the pads of his left front foot a fairly well developed corn.  I pressed on it and fiddled with it a bit.  It didn’t seem to be causing him any discomfort.  I hadn’t noticed a change in his gait. 

And so I had to face it.  The moment I had been expecting had arrived.  I have always harbored an absolute belief that Fox is the model for Blue’s aging patterns.  Blue is a year behind Fox in age but so far in much better shape than poor Fox at each stage.  Yet I still harbor the belief and fear that Blue will follow his genetic heritage and suffer all the things that have challenged our poor Fox.  I don’t let the fact that Blue has exhibited almost none of the issues that Fox has suffered so far get in my way.  I just know in my gut Blue is going to fall apart in the same way Fox has.

Blue's feet, corn and blueberry muffin free

And here was this corn.  The very first sign that the downslide has begun.  It’s a short hop, skip and jump from there to wasting away to nothing, a victim of Alabama Rot as Fox currently is.  I had been dreading it.  I had been expecting it.  I had been looking for it.  If you seek, so shall you find.  The implications of this turn of events were weighing on me.  I spent the afternoon pondering what was going to happen to Blue and how we would deal with it.  I was planning all sorts of medical and hospice type scenarios. 

With sad resignation I decided to carefully note the location of this very first corn.  This harbinger of doom.  This horseman of the apocalypse.  I got Blue in an area with good lighting and lifted his foot up.  I got right down in there and took a good look at that corn.  Only it didn’t look like a normal corn.  I fiddled with it some more.  It felt like a corn.  I looked even more closely.  It definitely did not look like any corn I had seen. 

I reached out again and began to scratch at it.  At first nothing happened but the more I scratched at the edges of it, the more it began to crumble away.  I finally loosened it to the point where it popped off in my hand.  What the…? 

The harbinger of doom apocalyptic corn turned out to be a dome of some unknown substance (my money is on blueberry muffin) that stuck to the bottom of his foot and hardened there.  Because of Blue’s newly developed concern about walking on our linoleum floors, I had begun spraying his pads with a product made for show dogs.  It makes their feet tacky so that they have a grip on the flooring of typically slippery show arenas. 

It has helped him with the floors and apparently also helped in cementing a blueberry muffin crumb to his pad.  So it looks like Blue is not dying.  He is not currently exhibiting signs of the creeping crud.  He has not started the same sort of slide that Fox has undergone.  Yet.

Is It...(Gulp)...NEW?

Pillow has reached "yesterday's news" status.
When Mumma throws this away, Blue will
hold it against me.

We have an odd dynamic in our house with respect to “new” things.  A new thing is defined as anything that has not existed in the house or car since the beginning of greyhound time.   When we’re out and about, it is apparently expected that we will frequently encounter new things and thus, in that context it is OK.  If it happens in the safe zone (house or car) luckily for us there seems to be an established protocol for dealing with such horrors.

When a new thing arrives in the safe zone, let’s say for example, a dog bed, it is an object of great concern.  One might get close enough to it for a quick sniff and then remove oneself to a safe distance to ponder the smell.  If passing by said new object, one gives it a wide berth.  You never know if the new object might reach out and bite you.  Better safe than sorry as the old adage goes.

After a period of time observing the new thing and with careful consultation amongst the canine residents of the safe zone, someone is elected to investigate more closely.  The electee then gets a little closer to the new thing, and, in the case of our example dog bed, would step on it and jump right back off.  Electee reports back to group as a whole. 

TSA (Crandall), an inherent cowboy.

Sometimes a canine goes cowboy and without consultation or election, throws themselves on the hand grenade and gives the new thing a thorough going over.  The cowboy might actually lie down on our example bed and finding it comfortable and to their liking, may even opt to remain on the bed.

Assuming the electee is not eaten, then the rest of the group will consider it safe enough to also investigate the new thing more thoroughly.  After this, the new thing experiences a metamorphosis from scary new object, to coveted object.  There follows a running battle to be the one who gets to use the new thing.  With our example dog bed, that means a free for all to be the one to lie on the new bed.

There are, as always, exceptions to any rule.  Some dogs are inherent cowboys.  Grammy’s hound Crandall is this sort.  He never met a new thing he didn’t want to stick his head in and see what’s going on.  We call him TSA because he insists on inspecting every bag he ever encounters.

Some dogs are Rain Men.  For them it’s always boxers and not briefs.  Nothing new is acceptable.  If you bring in a new thing, it remains suspect for all time.  Grammy’s hound Fox, and to some extent Blue are examples of this. 

After a period of time (the length of which is a complete mystery to Mumma), the new thing goes from coveted object, to yesterday’s news.  Then no one really cares about it and if someone happens to use it, no one gives it a passing thought.  That is until you remove it and replace it with something else new.  Then it becomes enshrined in memory as that shining golden, most favoritist thing that Mumma took away, ruining lives in the process.  

I'm This Many....

Today is Bettina's birthday!  The big THREE.

 

Birthday girl!


 
 

Bettina with her cousins, Fox and Crandall






 




 

Ummm...what's that thing on your head?


 

A birthday pumpkin muffin








Muffins for everybody!  (Fox and Blue)

   

Muffin drunk








Be It Ever So Humble, There's No Place Like Grammy's

My astrological sign is Cancer. One major characteristic of Cancers is that we are homebodies. It’s not easy to pry us out of our homes for any significant length of time. For me, the best part of traveling is coming back home.  Recently, I had to go on a trip for work. I went to California for a trade show. Given the things that have been happening with the Girly Girl lately, I was torn about leaving them and flying across the country. Luckily, we have Grammy to take care of my babies while I am away. Blue and Girly Girl absolutely adore Grammy. Grammy feels mutually about Girly Girl and with Blue, well, I think he may be growing on her. Let’s just say the jury is still out. It all stems from the very first time that Blue had a sleep-over at Grammy’s house. He apparently growled at Grammy when she went near him. This is very out of character for Blue. He hasn’t ever done this to me, or in my presence. He’s known in the greyhound circles as a love bug. He’s never done it to Grammy again either. But he’s a big boy and it unnerved Grammy a bit. So she’s stand-offish when it comes Blue.

Nonetheless Grammy has put aside her initial impressions of the big white stink bug and my babies get to stay with her instead of in a crate in a kennel. They have people caring for them who love them and with whom they are comfortable. They have a lovely fenced in back yard and their two greyhound cousins to hang out and run with. Knowing that they would have that, I could go away feeling as good as it was possible to feel about going away from my four-legged children. It wasn’t long after I left that the first email from Grammy arrived…

“Well, they settled in with not a whine it seems (other than the standard) and I have to tell you that GG is eating like a sailor. This morning we had a run-in the boys and I. Blue went for Fox’s food and took it away and wouldn’t listen to me so I had to physically lift him up and out of the room away from Fox’s food. Then when I fed Crandall he wolfed it down so when I put GG’s and Blue’s down Crandall went in for GG’s and for the first time I swatted him..he jumped a foot. No one was listening to me so I began bellowing and oh my they listened then. Guess GG thought better eat, the woman’s crazy because she began to wolf down everything, applesauce, yogurt, dog food as if she hadn’t been fed in years. Every other dog went running so I had to call Blue back to eat his. Had to give Fox more because Blue got half of it down before I could get him out.”

I let Grammy know that while Girly Girl was immune to yelling (she had figured out I was all bluster years ago and just stands there looking at me as if to say, “are you all done now?”), Blue takes any yelling personally and runs for his crate. I could be yelling at the TV and if I have raised my voice to much, Blue heads for the crate. If I stub my toe or bang a body part and I’m just yelling Ow! Ow! Ow! There goes Blue. So Blue should be easily reprimanded. I was surprised to receive the next email:

“Blue is not responding to me the same way he does to you. He stands there and looks at me as if saying…’that’s all you got?’ [At] 1 a.m. Charlie comes to bed but first lets them out one more time. Suddenly I am rudely awakened by this 500 lb animal (felt like it at least) jumping on the bed…I look up and he is standing over me…opens his mouth and gives me a few dragon breath licks. Lays down right between Charlie and I with his head on the pillows. No moving him…it’s not mama’s bed, he’s allowed…so we let him. Not bad sleeping with him except eventually he ran a few races on my back.”

I suggested that Grammy try pushing Blue off the bed or using a squirt bottle of water on him. He can be stubborn about the bed because I have spoiled him by getting him his own bed whenever we stay in a hotel. But he isn’t allowed on the bed at home. So he maximizes his bed usage whenever we are in a hotel (or apparently, what he deems ‘away from home’). That resulted in the next e-missive:

“OK, yelling doesn’t work, pushing doesn’t work, pulling doesn’t work…any other ideas? He lays on my pillows and won’t get down, even with Charlie and I both pulling and yelling and pushing (not all at the same time), he just looks at us and digs in his feet. If we do accomplish any movement he readjusts himself and lays back down. We finally lifted him off the bed and I gave Charlie a water bottle to use on him. I wouldn’t mind the bed but he likes to put his ass on my pillows and considering his inability to miss his own body when he urinates I am not big on having it on my pillow… I doubt the water thing will work though, he stood at the counter with his nose in my business while I was trying to fix lunch for work and I took some water and flicked it at him…he just blinked and looked at me. Where did you leave the sensitive Blue?”

What can I say; he does pee all over his legs. It’s true. I carry baby wipes in the car, in my purse and they are by the door at home to clean his feet and legs after each potty session. So as a last resort I suggested that Grammy give him a light swat since it would be a novel occurrence, it wouldn’t hurt him but would surprise him and might even get his attention. Now before I get angry letters from animal lovers everywhere, I’m not advocating violence against my four legged child. I’m talking just a little tap to get his attention. The next day the following email arrived:

“OK the excitement and confusion of the first night has ended and things are working themselves out. Crandall has established with Blue that he will not take any sh** from him and Blue has established with Crandall that he could care less. Last night Blue behaved himself until at 2 a.m. he was at the bed crying so I let him up but that was a major step since he never asked before, just jumped, so he has recognized that this isn’t a hotel bed but belongs to the two alphas in the house. GG went to sleep with me on the bed and Blue woke up with me.”

Everything would have ended in Grammy’s house bliss had I been able to get home when I was supposed to but as it turned out I was a victim of March storms that tied up the nation’s air traffic for days. I was delayed returning home for more than 24 hours. During that time, I get the next email:

“…You have got to do some training with Blue darlin’, he is impossible to move. Voice commands, growls, clawed hand, pulls, pushes, yelling and even one little smack to the butt would not move him and even when he did move he jumped right back up on the bed. All night long we had a battle royale. I would push him off with my feet and he would come back around and jump back up, and as if to punish me would stand over me breathing in my face. GG always asks permission, he seems to feel it is his right.”

After a night in JFK, delays, missed connections, and the last available seat on an airplane bound for Portland Maine for the next two days, I was finally on the runway waiting in a long line to take off. I sent Grammy one last email to let her know I was, barring divine intervention, going to make it home at last. Grammy’s final email arrived before we made it to taxi for take-off:

“Ohhh your kids are going to be so excited!! Listen there is NO WAY that Blue is not an alpha dog. The only difference is that either he is brilliant or totally retarded. He goes for their food, Crandall snarls and snaps and he ignores them and eats it anyway. He wants our bed and no matter what we do he gets on and stays. He wants to lay down, he lays on top of whomever is there. Fox was all over him with snarling and yet he just laid down on top of Fox and wouldn’t move so Fox gave up and let him have it and guess where he was this morning? Inside Crandall’s crate…the inner sanctum that even Fox dares not enter. Crandall was laying outside on the floor giving me the skunk eye. Submissive? Rigghttt.”

Needless to say, Grammy was happy to see the backside of the four-legged grandkids when I came to pick them up. They were very excited to see mumma and that made me feel about as good as it is possible to feel and still be legal. As a Cancer, I’ve always loved coming home after a trip but now that Girly Girl and Blue are waiting for me when I get there, I wonder why I left at all. As for Blue, I think maybe Grammy was stretching it a bit. Blue behaves just fine for me. If I ask him to get off the bed, he does. If I ask him to step away from his food bowl, he does. I’m sure she’ll say it is all true but then, she’s a writer and leave it to a writer to make a big deal out of such a small event.