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

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.

In Celebration of Our GG

This year Grammy asked me if she could also write a post in honor of Girly Girl.   And really who better than the Grammy she loved only slightly less than she loved me to share with you all the best parts of Girly Girl.

Girly Girl left us far too early but in her short tenure with us she taught us so much.  She was sent to my daughter to show her there is indeed unconditional love; also that everyone makes mistakes, even if done out of love.  She showed her how to enjoy the moment, look at the world from two feet off the ground.  How to enjoy what you have instead of what you want and how what you want is not always what you need. 

Not all lessons were learned in total but they opened the door.  How ‘regret’ and ‘guilt’ are tremendous wastes of energy with little return value.

How exterior appearances mean little when it comes to true love and the small can be mighty.

One of Mumma's favorite photos of all time.  Blue, Grammy and Girly Girl

Her eyes were chocolate and simmering with warmth, and melted the hardest heart.  But she didn’t give her love out lightly.  She was particular and only knew two depths of affection; the deepest love and respectful indifference.

She taught us what true strength was.  The quiet, determined, accepting strength  that is so hard to acquire.  She would have continued to live on if given the option, blood coming from her nose, pain racking her body, she would have lived on.  But the final lesson was the toughest ~ to know when to let go.

Sleep softly our darling princess.

~ Her Grammy

The Last Heartbeat

Grammy has agreed to step in as guest blogger again. This particular post has been so very hard to read, very hard to edit and hard for me to release to the world.  But, on this third anniversary of Girly Girl's cancer diagnosis, in her memory and honor, I share this with you.

Always Grammy's Girl

It was approaching sunset on a beautiful October evening.  The sky was streaked with red and the sun was warm.  Trees were changing and wore brilliant dresses of orange and red.  This was to be Girly Girl's last night we would see her until we passed over the bridge ourselves.  The Vet was there with her assistant and everything was held up until Charlie and I arrived.  As sick as GG was she got up and ran to the gate to greet us.  She had been bleeding from the nose and there was no hope left for recovery.  But the steel magnolia had not given up yet. Someone had to help her over the bridge and her mother, my daughter, was the only one she could depend on.  The fight had lasted a year, loss of a leg, numerous chemo sessions, numerous radiology sessions, numerous blood tests, numerous x-rays, but the outcome was apparently inevitable.  We were saying our final farewell to our beloved GG, the little girl that could.

Veronica sat on the ground in GG’s favorite sunning spot and had GG lay down in her lap.  The Vet gave her the first shot to relax her and then the killing shot, except it didn’t.  This 58 pound dog’s heart would not stop.  Her mother was murmuring in her ear to go, to let it all go, that it was ok, that she would see her again.  But her heart beat on.  The Vet shook her head and gave her another shot.  Girly Girl relaxed and taking a deep breath, exhaled as her mother rocked her in her arms.

Charlie offered to pick her up but Veronica, tears streaming down her face, said ‘No, this is my job, this is my privilege.”  She went inside and got warm wet cloths and bathed her there in the setting sun and then wrapping her in a white sheet carried her inside to her bed and laid her down.  We sat around, amazed that our own hearts were still beating, there was no way they could survive this but somehow they did. 

As an adult I’ve lost many things, my mother, my father, my beloved grandmother but never did I feel pain like this.  I had been in the presence of the last perfect heartbeat of a perfect soul.

We Were NOT Impressed

Today's post is from our esteemed and beloved guest blogger Grammy.

When I first met Blue I wasn’t impressed.  He was big, bony, crossed eyes, had bad breath and was pushy.  I don’t fall in love quickly with one exception – Girly Girl – for some reason she was love at first sight, perhaps because she loved me at first sight or second anyway.  But, it was important I bonded or tried to bond with Blue so when my daughter asked me to watch him while she went out I figured this was the perfect time to get to know him better, one on one. 

Does this look like the face of a killer?

I eyed him and he tried to avoid looking at me.  I called him into the computer room and he lay down on a bed I had in there while I happily played on my computer.  He began to whine and whine and whine AND whine.  Pacing back and forth and articulating his misery that the new owner had left him and with me!  I ignored him and he eventually settled down and gave up the whinefest. After hours of no movement from either of us Ron drove back into the driveway.  I got up and said  “C’mon Blue, Mama’s home, let’s go greet her!!” and his response?  Curled lips, deep growls and then resounding barks – at me!!  He was seriously unhappy with me.  I yelled at him and he stopped.  When Roni came in I told her what he had done.  I don’t think she believed me.  Blue was the equivalent of Ferdinand the Bull in the greyhound world.  He didn’t run, he danced.  He could care less about other dogs running, he ran his own race which was an approximation of the jets versus the sharks in the West Side Story rumble dance.  He loped, he gamboled but he did not race.  He was docile, passive, sweet natured, submissive and yet……here he was , growling and baring his teeth at me.

Well, I’m Scot/Irish and one thing an Irishman can do is carry a grudge.  I was not above carrying a grudge against a dog.   I decided there and then I was taking him out of the will.  Fast forward to losing GG, watching my daughter’s pain at the mere mention of her name….the ache in our hearts, the holes she left in our life.    There was no place in me for Blue.

Who me?

We went to the shelter because Roni had been told that there was a greyhound named Girlie Girl at the shelter and there was a series of events that led us to believe our beloved Gigi was trying to convey a message concerning this new GG.  Unfortunately, the new GG was not in the least interested in Veronica.  Roni was deflated and so when they suggested she meet a new dog named Helda she wasn’t interested but I encouraged her to at least meet a few since we drove up to Augusta.  Helda came out, a beautiful female brindle and was all over Roni with affection.  After a few minutes of bonding I brought Blue over to meet Helda and without any warning Helda attacked Blue.  I instinctively put my hand into Helda’s mouth to protect Blue and Blue pushed as hard against me as he could.  Helda realized she had my hand in her mouth and stopped immediately.  Back to the kennel Helda went and they brought out Bettina which is another story.  I sat down a distance away with Blue still by my side and he got as close to me as he could.

We were both in shock…first that it had happened so quickly with no provocation and second that I had put my hand in her mouth and opened myself up for some serious injury….and for Blue….I looked at him and he looked at me.  He stared at me with those freaky crossed hazel eyes and I watched him.  We seemed to share the same conclusion.  He is back in the will.

Editors Note:  Grammy is right, I did not believe her.  I couldn't and still can't conceive of Blue ever growling or barking at anyone.  I am glad that she has decided to put Blue back in the will.  For a Scot/Irish grudge holder, the fact that it only took 4 1/2 years is amazing!

Dog Days

A chunk of the extended greyhound family convened recently to attend an annual event called Dogs Days of August. L.L. Bean, an outdoor sporting/home goods store hosts the event. All sorts of rescues have tents. There are demos, contests and activities. Bean’s foots the cost of the event and all the activities are free. It is always well attended.

This year, Blue, Bettina and I went with our friend Carol (a.k.a. Auntie Carol) and her greyhound Melissa (a.k.a. Mims). We met up with Grammy, Charlie and one of their hounds Crandall at Beans. The greyhounds were well represented with our pack and a few other greyhound people we ran into but there were hundreds of dogs there of all breeds. Carol and I spent our first half hour or so touring the booths and signing up for our favored activities. We watched search and rescue demos. We chatted with people curious about greyhounds. We chatted with other dog owners. We watched the contests for best bark, best kiss and best trick.


Bettina (a.k.a. Chatty Cathy)

It came time for Blue, Bettina and I to visit the animal communicator. She started with Blue since he had already shouldered his way up to lean on her and put his head in her lap. With Blue there were no surprises. He’s happy, he loves to run, he feels a little arthritis sometimes and he loves coming to these social events. Then Bettina gets the communicator’s “ear” and she starts talking. And talking. And talking. There were several times the communicator looked up at me and said, “I’ve never had a dog say this before…”

Bettina wanted me to know she was here to get me out of my shell. She requested that I spend more of my valuable time giving her massages. And not just mere massages, but real deep tissue massage please mumma. She said she wanted to go everywhere I went and did not expect to be left behind when I went out. She liked and approved of the various greyhound tchotchkes that I have collected since beginning my journey with the breed and she suggested that I might expand my collection. She felt the addition of a clock that said “woof” on the face should be my next acquisition. Oh yeah, and she determined that I needed to get and wear a cat’s eye ring. I just wish she hadn’t been so vague about what she wanted. The communicator was also able to reach Girly Girl who confirmed she had sent me Bettina and that she would send me other dogs along the way. Dear lord will they all be like Bettina? Girly Girl is a guide for me. She let us know that she has a special attachment to the painting of her that my mother gave me the first Christmas after we lost GG.


After the photo session

Our portrait session was next. Try as I might, I couldn’t get Blue and Bettina to stand together. As I wrestled with them they both turned their heads in opposite directions. Despite the fact that I have taken literally thousands of photos of them and this is not remotely a new experience they steadfastly refused to look at the camera. No treat or squeaky toy could convince them to look. I even had the photographer and her assistant meowing like cats while two greyhounds yawned and watched the small crowd that had accumulated to watch the show.

In desperation I smooshed their heads together and quickly jumped out of the picture while moving my hands out of the way. The photographer snapped a quick photo that, with some Photoshop work might look reasonably good. Immediately after we agreed to let that photo stand as our portrait, Blue and Bettina laid down in front of the backdrop. They cozied up together so photogenic and then refused to move when the frustrated photographer asked that I clear the scene because we were blowing a hole in her schedule.


Blue shamelessly works Auntie Carol

After Carol had Melissa’s portrait made, we went with Grammy, Charlie and Crandall for a nice lunch at the outdoor café. We shared the results of our adventures including Bettina’s harangue of the animal communicator. Grammy is of the definite opinion that Bettina is yanking my chain with each session we participate in. It seems that each time she makes some bizarre requests like purple toe nails, cheddar cheese, purple coat and collar, greyhound tchotchkes and a woof clock and cats eye ring. Each time I run around fulfilling the requests, the next one gets even stranger. A cat’s eye ring?

We ended the day sharing some of the new Muddy Bean Boot ice cream with the hounds. A lovely day it was. Bettina capped it off on the way back to the car by stopping to poop right in front of a food cart with ten people standing in line waiting to order their lunches. I cleaned it up as they all watched with nauseated looks on their faces. The only place to throw it out was the garbage can right next to the cart. Bon Apetit!

They Never Tell You...

October 12th, 2011 marked one year that I have had to exist in a world without Girly Girl in it. For those new to my missives, Girly Girl was my first greyhound. That once in a lifetime bond. My heart dog. Girly Girl was diagnosed with osteosarcoma in December of 2009. She and I had just 3 ½ infinitesimally short years together. But then, 200 years would not have been enough for me.

Blue, Grammy and I have soldiered our way through the first Thanksgiving without my girl. And the first Christmas. And her 8th birthday. There was only one first left and now that to is behind me, the first anniversary of her passing. I don’t remember a lot, but I’m pretty sure I was completely in shock and overwhelmed by the thought of her absence for the first month after she passed. Unfortunately shock wears off and then pain. Oh the pain. A strange thing about pain that I never really knew before, it seems to come in waves. There may be minutes, hours, days, some times a whole week where I can get through each day without crying. Then the wave rolls in and I go weeks where an event, a photo or even just a thought of her will turn me into a blubbering mess.

That’s one of the things they don’t tell you about. Another is that I have had a very hard time bringing up memories of the millions of good times we shared. Instead, the memory of her last day keeps replaying on a loop. Though we were so incredibly lucky that we could give her a peaceful end, at home, with all of the people and hounds who loved her around, it was still her last day. The end of our most incredible journey together. I have 3 ½ years of photos and videos which I have been completely unable to look at yet, a year later.

They also don’t tell you what it will be like when you bring your beloved companion home after the cremation. I didn’t know where I should put her. I knew I couldn’t spend the rest of my time carrying around a carved wooden box with me though I desperately wanted to keep her with me at all times. For a little while I did. I even brought her on the first business trip I took after her ashes came home. OK, it’s also true that I’ve brought her on all the others since then as well. I did finally decide she should stay in the living room when she isn’t busy traveling since that is where Blue, Bettina and I spend much of our time. I figured she would want to be where we were.

I wish they’d told me that I would miss her every minute of every day since she left me. Some days have been worse and others more bearable. An animal communicator told me that Girly Girl is actually helping other cancer dogs now from where she is. This sounds like my girl and I like to believe that this may very well be true.

When you prepare to walk out the door of the rescue with your new love they just never tell you that it will end in such gut wrenching pain. Sometimes it will end far sooner than is remotely fair. When a large chunk of my heart closed her eyes on this world, my life became a little less shiny. And I was already in for a pound with Blue, my second greyhound. He was, at that point, a well established member of my family. Yet I know that eventually I will have to watch him slip away from me, and I now know what that is going to feel like. If they had told me the full consequences of my act, what would I have done?

There are some very important things they just don’t tell you, but in the end, I think those of us who love dogs (or cats) must bear this incredible pain willingly. Because in the reckoning, Girly Girl made me a much better person than I ever was or could have been without her. I can’t imagine my life without a greyhound in it. It still hurts like hell a whole year after she left Blue and I behind, but in order to honor the gift that Girly Girl gave me, I must continue sharing my life with hounds. Though some days it’s a close call.

I love you and miss you sweet girl.

Oh Where, Oh Where Have My Little Dogs Gone?

For any who may not be fully acquainted with my life, I must travel for work from time to time. I work for a great company that knows how much my “kids” mean to me. Among the many things they have done for the kids and me, one is that they allow me to bring them on my road trips to New York.

Back in the days when Girly Girl was still physically with us and it was Blue, Girly Girl and I, both kids traveled with me. We all spent a week in a great dog friendly hotel. Blue sure does love him some hotel bed. So if I intended to sleep on these trips, there had better be two beds in the room. Otherwise it’s all in on Mumma’s bed and Blue stretches WAY out. Plus he drools and insists on laying his drool-sodden melon on a pillow. I prefer that it not be mine.

When Bettina joined the family, I had my first experience with a greyhound who barks. For any reason. And many times, for no reason. I say she’s “chatty.” With Miss Mouthy aboard I couldn’t risk taking her to the hotel with us and have her bark all day while I was at the office. I had visions of the hotel manager calling me on my cell phone, raucous barking in the background, with a request that I vacate the premises immediately. Thus, every time I have to travel for work, Bettina gets a week at Camp Grammy.

Blue always ends up coming with me on the trip by himself. I figured it would be a great time for Blue and Mumma to do some bonding. Blue might also get a nice break from being bossed around night and day by Miss Mouthy. Bettina has assumed dominion over poor Blue and try as I might, I can’t get him to cowboy up. So a week without Bettina and some quality alone time with Mumma-hound heaven!

Except that it turned out Blue was mostly lonely. He got to spend some evenings with Mumma but spent a lot of time in his travel crate with only the TV for company. Blue doesn’t spend much time in a crate at all outside of these business jaunts and here-to-fore he could always look out the window of his travel crate and see Girly Girl across the way, sulking in her crate.

After a number of trips without Bettina I began feeling really guilty about schlepping him along with me. He seemed to be getting sadder with each trip. I determined that on the next trip, I would find a way to give him a break.

Grammy has taken both my kids in the past, but she lives in a small space with two large male greyhounds of her own. To add two more to that mix can be quite overwhelming. Factor in that Bettina is such a fussypants and Mumma is pushing her luck asking Grammy to take them both. Not wanting to wear out our welcome at Grammy’s place, I reserved Blue a spot at Auntie Carol’s house.

Having deposited Bettina with Auntie Carol and Blue with Grammy, I proceeded on my businessy way, secure in the knowledge that my kids would be safe and well cared for. With the added bonus that they’d be in surroundings that made them happy. Both Grammy’s and Auntie Carol’s are similar to home in that someone is around almost every moment of the day.

What I didn’t take into consideration, as I began this journey, was Mumma. I get to spend all of my time with my babies. We are together day and night. When I travel I generally get to take them with me. Most of the time I’m traveling to some function that involves greyhounds. If I run an errand, they come along. If I visit friends, they come to. It s a very rare occasion when I am separated from them.

This particular trip was interminable for Mumma. Though it was great to see colleagues face to face and get some stuff done that is best done when I am onsite, I missed my babies terribly. I was very lonely in the hotel each night. I even started to miss the drool soaked pillows. Auntie Carol was very kind and sent me daily photo updates on what Her Royal Highness had been up to. Even if she wasn’t, Auntie Carol told me that Bettina was being a good girl.

Bettina had taken over the new realm and insinuated herself onto Carol’s couch, on her spare bed and eventually even managed to work her way into Carol’s bed so she could cuddle with Auntie Carol. Each morning there would be photos of her on the couch (where Carol’s hounds are not allowed) or on the spare bed, head on the pillow (Bettina drools as well).

Blue, for his part, did likewise at Grammy’s house. He drooled happily on Grammy’s pillows and stretched out to his full length and width taking ¾ of the bed. He danced for his dinner. He danced for Fox and Crandall’s dinners as well.

Everyone seemed to be doing quite well at their respective locations with the exception of poor Mumma. I counted down days until I could drive the 6 hours back to pick them up. I looked eagerly every day for emails from Carol and my mother giving me minute details about the kid’s days. In reality they pretty much did the same thing every day, but it didn’t matter. I wanted to read it all.

Finally the day came and I drove back home to pick up my babies. Blue seemed happy to see me but he couldn’t get anywhere near me because Fox and Crandall, Grammy’s hounds, were knocking themselves out to crawl up my legs and say hello. It was such an enthusiastic greeting that you’d have thought they were my missing babies. On the other hand, they may have just been very, very excited to know that Blue was heading back home. Bettina hopped out of Carol’s car and stood facing the other way. We stood there looking at her and she continued to watch down the road as if a parade of dog biscuits would be coming from that direction. Finally I called her name; she looked behind her and gave me an excited welcome home greeting.

We got home and Mumma was feeling like all was well with the world. I thought, surely, this is a special moment for the family now that we were all together again. In a little blissful, familial love cloud I floated inside, hounds trailing behind me. I was preparing to cuddle on the couch with both babies while we all sang Kumbaya (well, I’d sing, they’d roo). I turned to see where they were and faced two hounds staring intently at me, drooling. Ah yes, we’re home. What are you waiting for Mumma? We’re hungry.

Her Royal Highness the Crown Regent of Fussypants

Life with Bettina as a member of our family has been, er, interesting. I did not initially realize when I brought her through the door, I had brought home royalty. Make no mistake-Bettina knew darn well she was royalty even if I had not yet been acclimated to that fact. Not only did she know she was royalty, she insisted, from the very first second of her arrival, upon being treated in a manner which suited her station.

Mumma wanted to introduce her to her new crate. A crate which had served the previous occupant very well. However, she didn’t find it particularly to her liking and thus, refused to cross the threshold. She dug her formidable nails into the carpet and leaned back like a mule. I pushed from the rear but to no avail. I might get the front half in but she would use the crate as leverage and maneuver her way out again. Or I would remove one foot from the door frame and place it in the crate, only to have another foot that was inside the crate find its way back out again. It was a knock-down, drag-out, free-for-all but I am happy to say that mumma won that one. It would be my first and my last. Once I succeeded in getting HRH Fussypants inside and the door shut, she fixed me with a hair eyeball. A look with which I am ever more familiar.

Once I started letting her stay outside of the crate, she felt her bed was too lumpy, too small, too uncomfortable and too bourgeois. Why sleep on the floor when there is this lovely queen sized bed, raised up nicely where she could survey her domain. Why, it even had the word queen in it, so clearly it was meant to be for Bettina. She started by simply hopping up there with me at the end of the day. After a major kerfuffle, which ended with Bettina off the bed and me half off the bed, she figured out that, like all good deposed rulers everywhere, she was going to have to retake the high ground by stealth. She would come into the bedroom each night and settle herself in one of the two dog beds. She would make loud sighing and groaning noises to assure me that she had no thoughts of sleeping anywhere else. Soon, ever so quietly, I would hear her get up and not long after a pair of amber eyes and a little black snout would peer at me over the edge of the bed. She stared at me intently as if gauging whether she could take me or not. If I told her no, she would come to the other side of the bed and peer over the edge weighing her chances from that side. Many times she determined her chances were pretty good and soon I would have a black fur ball dropping from out of the sky. Hard.

We’d wrestle and eventually I would succeed in dumping her over the side of the bed. Usually I was worse for wear. Once again she changed up her strategy. She would wait with great sighs and groans on her bed until I finished reading and turned out the lights. It wouldn’t be long before I sensed a presence on one side or the other of the bed. Sometimes I would reach my hand out into the darkness to find it full of velvet fur. Sometimes she would wait until I had dropped off to sleep and then wake me from a dead sleep by cannon-balling onto my stomach. For any of you who have not had the joy of being awakened from a deep sleep by an unexpected attacker, I don’t believe I could accurately describe the experience for you.

It wasn’t too long into her stay that Fussypants began training me to be a good lady in waiting to her royal eminence. At various points through the day she would begin shrieking at me in her high-pitched greyhound voice. When I would look in her direction, she rolled on her side and delicately lifted her uppermost rear leg, exposing her belly. If I didn’t immediately grasp her meaning, she would shriek at me louder and lift her leg again. If I still didn’t get it, she would begin raising her voice more and more. This would go on until she could contain her frustration no longer and begin barking at me. She would not be appeased until I was on the ground by her bed rubbing her belly. If I stopped rubbing her belly before she was satisfied, she would spring up and grab my hand with her mouth, bossing me with her insistent shrieks into rubbing her belly some more.

HRH Fussypants also felt that any food within her reach should be hers. She would quickly finish her meal and then stand over Blue’s right shoulder, staring at him while he tried, usually unsuccessfully, to eat his dinner at a more leisurely pace. The poor giant coward would eventually give up his ground and Bettina would take whatever was left. In the end, mumma had to step in and form a human barrier between Blue and the looming Bettina. Like a cow that has been cut from the herd by the horse and rider, she would attempt to get by me to reach Blue. First by veering right and then switching quickly to her left. If mumma stuck with her for each feint, she would go around the coffee table and try to pass me by using the coffee table as screen. Some days she would attempt to go right through me and I would have to walk her backwards pushing her with my legs while she leaned into me hoping to overpower me.

Once HRH Fussypants learned that she was a royal in exile where the sleeping arrangements were concerned, she determined to have the best of the two dog beds in the bedroom. She would stand over Blue, and stare at him until his nerve failed him and he ran out of the bedroom. For a while he would move to the “lesser” bed and sleep there. It wasn’t long before HRH Fussypants implemented her next edict which was that both beds were hers and Blue was not allowed in the bedroom. No amount of coaxing from mumma could convince Blue to sleep in one of those dog beds in the bedroom. He would retire early and sleep in there until Bettina and I came in to bed and he would automatically jump up like his britches were on fire and run to the living room where I heard him plop down with a big groan in his crate, or, on the big bed in the living room.

Bettina continued her reign of benign terror at her Grammy’s house. Since HRH Fussypants would not suffer being quiet, mumma could not take her on work trips to stay in hotels. So she would spend these weeks with Grammy. In preparation for her first visit, mumma bought her the cutest soft sided crate. It was pink with blue polka dot trim. But apparently not regal enough because her first time in the crate she ripped her way out of it to greet Grammy at the door when she came home. I suppose I should have known, her highness had warned me that she did not do crates on the first day she took control of her new kingdom.

Fussypants also claimed the back yard as her own. As soon as spring came and the grass began poking up, she would head to the back yard and begin grazing. Mumma would holler at her to stop. She would give me a haughty stare and return to grazing. If mumma came off the steps, she’d run to the far end of the yard and return to grazing. When mumma mowed the grass to fix the issue, she would go out and snuffle along in the piles of clippings until she found one that smelled good to her and she would gulp down a giant clump of grass clippings. She would stand chewing for a while, as though she had a cud. If I attempted to dissuade her she would pretend she didn’t hear me. No mortal tells HRH Crown Regent of Fussypants what to do.

As I type this now, she is laying with me on the couch. She has started at one end, and moved her way down towards me and has herded me to the other end where she is stretched out along the rest of the couch. A paw will occasionally plunk itself down on the keyboard, typing a string of nonsense characters. I move the paw and a hind leg plunks down on the keyboard, kicking at me. I move the hind leg and she grabs my hand with her mouth and I must pause to rub her belly. And yes, she has made mumma understand that the couch is hers to use at will. At least the kingdom of Fussypants is not a bad place to be a subject in. Long live the Queen.

Synchronicity

Synchronicity

I have been having a very difficult time dealing with the loss of my heart dog Girly Girl. She’s been gone since mid-October but it’s still painful to me on a daily basis.

Christmas came and I felt her absence keenly. Then her birthday rolled around on February 15th. She would have been 8 years old. I’m pretty angry that we didn’t get anywhere near the time together that I wanted.

It’s hard with Girly Girl’s cancer to know if you made the right decisions. Even though all the books and articles tell you not to spend time Monday morning quarterbacking your decisions; and you know in your head there is no point in it, your heart still asks those “what if” and “should I have” questions.

I had also held out hope that our connection was strong enough that I might continue to feel her presence even if only every once in a while. So far that hasn’t happened.

I do believe that Girly Girl has returned once to let me know she is OK, and I’m also convinced that my sweet girl had everything to do with Bettina’s joining the family.

And then there was Saturday March 12th. I received an unexpected package in the mail. It came from a friend I know through my connection with greyhounds named Peggy. She lives in Vermont but volunteers for Maine Greyhound Placement Service. One of the most beautiful things she does for us every year is partner with another volunteer to create a greyhound themed quilt which they then donate to MGPS. It serves as one of our major fundraisers as tickets are sold and at the end of the year the quilt is raffled off. The quilts are always stunning and I buy tickets every year hoping to win one.

For the past two years the quilts were composed of photo squares. The photos were submitted by MGPS adopters and printed on fabric. The finished quilts were absolutely amazing. The first year, a photo of Girly Girl was included in the quilt. The second year, Blue made the cut and appeared on the quilt. Unfortunately for me, I have absolutely no luck at all when it comes to contests and raffles. Needless to say, I did not win either one.

I took the package with me from the post office to my car and opened it. Peggy had a left over photo block of Girly Girl which had been printed but not included in either quilt. She had finished it as a small banner with beautiful hand quilting. The back was finished so that I could hang it. She had added a heart to the back side noting Girly Girl’s birth and death dates and that she had been my beloved companion.

This was so unexpected a gift that I was glad to have opened it in my car because it took me a while to recompose myself after seeing it.

Later that same day the kids and I had stopped by Grammy’s house to show her Girly Girl’s quilt square. It had the same effect on Grammy that it had on me. When she had composed herself, she handed me a bag with something inside wrapped in tissue paper. I opened it up and found myself holding a wonderful photo frame with “Girly Girl” in rhinestones across the bottom. It truly couldn’t have suited my brindle diva any better.

It was a gift from one of my mother’s co-workers, Ellen. Ellen had found the frame in a local store and bought it for us.

Receiving two unexpected meaningful gifts relating to my girl on that Saturday was both touching and comforting. That they came at a time I have really been struggling to come to terms with Girly Girl’s loss, well, it just may be synchronicity. Possibly a gentle nudge from my baby girl letting me know she is there.

Bat Girl

Losing Girly Girl has been among the hardest things I’ve ever had to deal with. I knew how special she was and how special our relationship was from the moment she chose me at the rescue kennel. Knowing what I had and also knowing I was going to lose it, in fact was powerless to do anything about it, shook everything I believed in.

I feel like I am still reeling from her untimely departure, almost two months after her death. I knew I would someday bring home another greyhound to honor Girly Girl’s memory. But I fully expected that to be at least six months to a year in the future. At a minimum. I didn’t realize that Girly Girl had other plans for me.

I had kept a fairly low profile for the last few months of Girly Girl’s illness and the month after her passing. I had not had much contact with the members of my extended greyhound family. All that staying home had taken a toll on Blue. Being such a social butterfly, he has a fundamental need to get out and meet people. He must be loved and adored by his public. So, about four weeks ago, I decided to drag myself out into the light of day and take Blue to one of our favorite pet stores, The Animal House.

The Animal House is a bit of a distance from our house but Blue and I set out for a nice ride. Upon arrival, we made the requisite stop by the cashiers’ station so Blue could extract the maximum treats and attention from the staff. Then I hauled Blue away from his birthright and started to browse around the store. After a time, we heard, “there’s a greyhound in here!” We looked over to see Blue’s “Auntie” Carol standing in the aisle. We hadn’t seen Carol, one of our Meet and Greet Family members, for quite some time. It was so unusual to run into each other in that place and at that time that it took Carol a minute or two to recognize that the greyhound was Blue and that the poor wreck at the other end of his leash was me. It was, in fact, the first time we had ever seen Carol at The Animal House outside of our appointed meet and greet days.

Carol and I chatted for a bit, got caught up. Blue extracted his adoration and then we went on our respective ways. That evening I got an email from Carol. She wanted to tell me that she had dreamt about Girly Girl the night before. Now Carol has shared her life with greyhounds for many years but she said she had never dreamt about any greyhound until the night before she saw me. Carol had hesitated to tell me about the dream when she saw me in the store because she had not wanted to upset me. But the circumstances of our meeting being somewhat strange, we debated whether or not the dream may have meaning.

Because of the nature of my questions concerning the bigger picture and Girly Girl’s cancer, I had desperately been hoping for some sort of sign that Girly Girl was in a good place and that there was some chance we might see each other again. Carol and I wondered if maybe the dream may have been a sign. But neither of us could figure out why Girly Girl would visit Carol in her dream and not come to her mumma?

While Carol and I were pondering these issues, Carol completed one of her regular shifts at the Maine Greyhound Placement Service kennel. Carol wears many volunteer hats there but happened to be doing turn out on that visit. Carol soon emailed me that there was a new load of greyhounds that had just arrived at the kennel on the day we had seen each other at The Animal House. As Carol was greeting each one and reading their names on the crates she came across a beautiful little fawn girl. When Carol checked the name on the crate: Girlie. Carol said she wouldn’t have mentioned it to me for fear of causing me upset, however, after our discussion about the dream, she felt it was yet another strange coincidence.

I have never believed in coincidences and I generally manage to believe everything happens for a reason. It clicked into place why Girly Girl would appear to Carol in her dream. You see, Carol, of all the people who know me, would be in the unique position to see Girlie, the new grey, and, having bumped into me the day before, would be sure to tell me about her because of the dream and our unexpected meeting. I was in no way ready for a new greyhound in my life but things were pointing me towards a visit with Girlie. I figured it couldn't hurt just to go up there and see her.  I wouldn't be obligated.  I called and set the appointment for the coming Saturday.

That Saturday morning with Blue and my mother for support, I drove to the kennel to meet Girlie. I waited nervously while they brought out the sweetest looking little fawn girl with striking Elizabeth Taylor eyes, just like Girly Girl had. I took her leash and walked her around. Then around some more. Then I sat down and tried to engage her. But try as I might, I could not get Girlie to even acknowledge me, let alone make any kind of connection. I might have blamed it on her being overly excited except she attached herself to my mother quite clearly. I was very puzzled. Why was I at MGPS if it wasn’t for Girlie?

My mother suggested that, since we were already there, perhaps I should meet another hound. That just maybe, Girly Girl arranged for someone else to succeed her. I was a bit disappointed that Girlie was a bust and I wasn’t really ready for a new baby. I considered just leaving but mom and the kennel volunteer seemed so eager to show me someone else so I agreed to meet another. Out came Helda, a great looking, rather large, brindle girl. She was out of control and almost immediately attacked Blue. Grammy ended up being bitten when she stuck her hand in Helda’s mouth to keep her from biting Blue’s neck. Scratch Helda.

By now I was thinking about what a mistake this had been and what I was going to do after we left the kennel. But again my mother and the kennel volunteer prevailed upon me to give it one more try. Half-heartedly I agreed to just one more. Soon Jess was back with a sleek looking, almost completely black girl named Mo (short for Mohican Heart). She was a bit excited at first but she calmed as I walked her around. Every time we paused, she would run back to me from the end of the lead and lean against me for a scratch or rub. When I sat next to her, she tried licking my face. She got on famously well with Blue though he was pretty gun shy after getting his butt kicked by Helda.

Mo was very loving, outgoing and friendly. I felt a little twinge. But I asked to see Girlie again. It didn’t seem right that I was considering leaving Girlie behind. She was from Alabama, from the same trainer as Girly Girl. She had Elizabeth Taylor eyes! So Jess brought Girlie back out and there was just no doubt. She made no connection with me whatsoever. I hemmed and hawed for a bit. My inner voice wasn’t giving me clear direction. My brain was telling me that I probably should just go home. I wasn’t ready. So I opened my mouth and said, “It’s Mo. I’ll take her.” Wait. What? 

Before I could think too much about the “what?” part, I was in the office reviewing Mo’s paperwork and writing a check. It turned out that Girlie had been retired for two months before coming to MGPS. Her trainer had held her there at his kennel until MGPS could make their next pick up because he had wanted to send her to Maine. Not only that, but Mo had been at MGPS for six months. She had been chosen by a family and was scheduled to go home with them on October 20th but for some reason it had fallen through.

When all the paper had transferred and Mo was loaded into the car with Blue, I sat in the driver’s seat a bit stunned and dazed. My mother turned to me and said, “Think about it. If Carol had emailed you to tell you about Mo, would you have come to see her?” I just wasn’t ready and I would not have. “Girly Girl saw to it that the one person who would be in a position see Girlie and you (Carol) told you about Girlie. You wouldn’t have come here for any other dog. Girlie had been held for two months so she would end up at MGPS. That got you here. But when you got here you met the hound you were supposed to. One who had been waiting here for you for six months. Who had been adopted a few weeks before you arrived but it fell through and she was ready for you.”

So meet Mohican Heart, Mo, now known as Bettina and nicknamed by our Meet & Greet Family as Bat Girl. She’s just turned 2 years old October 8th. She was sent to Rhode Island to race but never had the opportunity to get on the track before it closed. Apparently they assessed that it was not worth shipping her to another track and after I first saw her run, I understood. She’s extremely loving but in many, many ways still a baby. I have my hands full. There have been a few times I have looked at the sky and asked, “Really? Really!?!” Then I subtly feel the poke of a much loved but now absent needle nose gently prodding me forward. After all, Bettina comes with a very special recommendation.

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.