Black Dogs Can't Jump

This year I find myself in the position of needing to use up some vacation time or face losing it at the end of the year, so I took this past Friday off and decided to take the pups for a walk on the Lisbon Paper Mill Trail near where we live. This is a lovely paved trail through some beautiful woods that follows along the Androscoggin River. It’s fabulously cool on a warm day and surprisingly beautiful.

Blue and Bettina aren’t in racing shape by any means but this trail is only 1.6 miles total, out and back. We’ve walked it once before and we all agreed it was a wonderful walk for three couch potatoes. On Friday, I collected a couple poop bags from the convenient dispenser and off we went.

Since it was early afternoon, we had the trail mostly to ourselves. At several points we ventured off on side trails that allowed access to the river. The kids had a great time investigating the forest floor and rivers edge trying to find the squirrels and chipmunks who constantly scolded us the entire length of our journey.

At one point we came face to face with a garter snake who decided to test his luck by setting out from one side of the trail to the other directly in front of us. The snake was painfully visible on the paved path and his sinuous movement could not be missed by two sight hounds programmed by thousands of years of evolution to take notice of the slightest movement.

My initial reaction at the sight of the snake was fear. Not because I’m afraid of snakes, but because my first greyhound Girly Girl had a visceral hate of all things herpetological. Before I understood this bitter hatred she harbored, I once directed her attention to a garter snake sunning itself on a concrete block by our barn. This was early in my life with greyhounds and I clearly missed every signal of a predator stalking its mortal enemy with malice and intent to kill. Before I even realized what was happening she struck at the snake, grabbed it by the tail and whipped it around so violently that it tore apart leaving a section in the grass near us while she flung the rest of the hapless snake the entire length the barn and into the woods beyond.

She was coursing with so much adrenaline after this encounter it took everything in me to pull her back from the sad bit of innocent snake that remained in the grass in front of her. With this thought very fresh in my mind I white knuckled both Blue and Bettina’s leashes and cautiously let them investigate the snake from a safe distance (safe for the snake since the guilt over the death of the last poor snake still weighs heavily on my conscience). Blue did the greyhound equivalent of shrugging his shoulders and turned back to sniff the shrubs along the side of the trail. Bettina followed after the snake a bit, possibly trying to figure out what it was but more likely ensuring it wasn’t something edible. She determined it was not edible and thus, of absolutely no interest whatsoever.

We continued our stroll and by the time we reached the end of the trail and turned to come back both kids had tongues hanging out and behinds dragging. I was surprised that Blue was struggling because he usually loves a good walk and has made it greater distances than this trail presented. Bettina did not surprise me at all. Every walk with her includes some sort of drama. Either she is tired and puts the brakes on because she doesn’t want to go any further or she doesn’t want to go back yet and puts the brakes on because she wants to go further.

With visions of needing to carry 135 total pounds of greyhound more than a half mile, I decided that a little break was in order. They dragged and moaned their way to the first side trail and slowly made their way down to the river. A tiny tree had fallen across the path at rivers edge which required stepping over in order to reach a perfect spot for sitting and admiring the river. The tree was not much of a height for any of us. Blue stepped over it. Then mumma stepped over it. We continued on, expecting Bettina would also step over it. When I reached the end of the slack on Bettina’s leash I was stopped short.

Turning I found Bettina standing in the path looking at me. The front half of her had made it over the tree but the back half of her seemed baffled as to how to follow. Everything about her posture and countenance said, “What do I do now?” I brightly encouraged her to hop over the tree. Hopping seemed to be absolutely out of the question. She gingerly lifted a back leg almost high enough, caught it on the tree and let it fall back down. “See?” she said. I encouraged her some more. She tried the maneuver with the other leg producing the same result. She tried each leg several more times with no luck.

She stared at me with reproach as if I had guaranteed she’d make it over if she only tried again. I could see her calculating the likelihood that I would bring her meals down there by the river. I could not convince her to try moving forward again, and she must have determined that I would NOT bring her meals down to the rivers edge (smart girl).  She decided that the best course would be to go back the way she came. Without the benefit of the ability to see the tree, her front half had forgotten how high the tree stood off the ground. Blue and I looked at each other as she tried to put first one paw and then the other up and back over the tree the way it had come with no success.

I could see the fear in her eyes as she was probably picturing life without breakfast and dinner. This seemed to galvanize her and she finally managed to get one leg up onto the tree. Clearly expecting to have both halves on the same side of the tree, she looked a bit puzzled at this new turn of events.

After some more struggle she got the other paw on top of the tree and then dropped off the other side affecting a joyful reunion between her front half and her back half. We finished up our walk moving more and more slowly. As we rounded the final corner, the kids saw the car and picked up their pace significantly, practically dragging me to the car. And my doctor wonders how it can be that having two dogs, I don’t get more exercise…

Wordless Wednesday-Madame Butterfly

Yes I Know My Dogs Look Funny

Yes I Know My Dogs Look Funny is what I decided to name my blog when I started it. A bit lengthy. Not exceptionally catchy or amusing, I know. I tried to think of a clever, urbane, fabulous name for this repository of greyhound ramblings but in the end, I kept coming back to this.

When I first got my furry children some five years ago, the greyhound rescue movement in Maine had already been in existence more than 10 years. I had been following their trajectory for at least five of those ten years, desperately wanting a greyhound of my own. Unfortunately, apartment living (cue Snoopy and the “No Dogs Allowed” song) and a busy life filled with lots of travel and long work days precluded that.

The rescue of greyhounds was well established here in Maine (and probably a venerable old institution in the rest of the wide world) by the time I joined the ranks of greyhound mums and fanatics. Yet every time we ventured out of the house, we were besieged by the curious and confused. People would stop us every few feet. “Is that a greyhound? I’ve never seen one in person before.” “What sort of dog is that?” “I know I’ve seen pictures of a dog like this but I can’t think of what that is.” And my favorite, a small boy who felt the need to break loose from his mom and run across a park to ask me if I knew that my dogs looked funny?

After a while I became used to not being able to walk 20 feet without being stopped so someone could see the hounds and ask questions about them. Five years ago, one person in 100 would say they had seen a greyhound before. One in 500 would say they knew someone who owned one or owned one themselves.

I guess it was gradual but there came a day recently when I was out and about with the hounds and I realized that, while we were getting stopped just as frequently, I wasn’t meeting many people who had never seen a greyhound before or didn’t know what one was. I was meeting people who had always wanted to spend time with greyhounds or who knew the breed and loved them. The number of people who knew someone with a greyhound increased dramatically. “There are two greys in my neighborhood.” “I see a lady walking her greyhound in town every morning as I drive to work.” “My next door neighbor has three greyhounds and I just love them!” “I want my next dog to be a greyhound.” “I once owned a greyhound and sure miss him/her.” Or my favorite, “I have greyhounds to!!”

There is no doubt that the considerable army of greyhound adopters and the well executed program of meet and greets has done an excellent job in significantly boosting brand awareness and stimulating the “I have to get me one of those” mentality. It has been a successful marketing campaign by all counts.

This has led me to consider whether the name of my blog may now be obsolete. I’ve been wondering if I should change it but in the end I think not. I’ll always look back fondly on the olden times when greyhounds were a brave new world and a little boy was compelled to let me know I had some funny looking dogs, just in case I hadn’t noticed that for myself.

Naptime of the Living Dead

Sleeping greyhounds. All cute and snuggly. Makes you want to kiss them and cuddle them right? WRONG!!

If you’ve done any homework before you bring your new bony friend home then you have read it is not a good idea to disturb any greyhound while it is sleeping. And why is that? Well, gentle reader, because most greyhounds at some point in their lives (and many at some point in their day) will sleep with their eyes open.

This is a strange phenomenon, but true. You may mistakenly believe your loving pet is hanging out watching the clouds go by when in reality he or she is grabbing 40 winks. To swoop in for a quick smooch will, in short order, leave you lipless.

Girly Girl and Blue both enjoy sleeping with their eyes open. This is a hobby that I found quite disconcerting at first. Especially when they enter REM sleep. Their eyes would be wide open and jerking all around as though each eyeball were having an epileptic fit. Throw in the occasional growl from that days dream and can’t you just see yourself snuggling up with these furry four leggers?

Girly Girl also tends to roll her eyes down into her head so that her irises almost disappear into her skull. Then her nictating lids come up to cover the little bit of the iris left showing. Result? Zombie dog. She often lets her tongue loll out of her mouth to complete the dead dog effect.

You can get any old dog who snoozes in a cute ball or sleeps curled at your feet. These dogs are boring things. Or, you can get a greyhound. Approaching your fast friend while they are on their bed or in a recumbent position anyplace is always a crapshoot. Are they or aren’t they asleep? Will you get to keep your hand if you attempt to give them a fond scratch? Or will you scare the daylights out of a sleeping hound whose eyes are open? Are you brave enough for naptime of the living dead?

Without a Leg to Stand On

How do you say “Bon Voyage” to a leg? After much back and forth, countless tears and gray hairs on my part and I’m certain some number of years off my life; Girly Girl’s fate has finally been determined.


The good doctors and pathologists put their knowledgeable and specialized heads together to determine that Girly Girl does, in fact, have osteosarcoma.

Through two months of scans, x-rays, blood tests, consults, biopsies, aspirations, ultrasounds, more consults and pathology smears we went from osteosarcoma to bone cyst to osteosarcoma, back to bone cyst, to cancer of some unspecified type, back to bone cyst, then to hemangiosarcoma or osteosarcoma and finally settling on osteosarcoma. This was, as you might imagine, a bit of a rollercoaster ride in just about every sense of the word.

Ironically, as a result of this crazy ride, I was never so happy to hear that Girly Girl actually had osteosarcoma as when Dr. Pastor called us last night with the final diagnosis. Since hemangiosarcoma is so much more aggressive and has so few treatment options, we were far better off if she had osteosarcoma. I never could have imagined sending out an email to friends and family with the subject line “It’s Osteosarcoma!!!!” Just like I was announcing the birth of a child. When I first stood in Dr. Edelbaum’s office during the first week of December looking at the tumor on Girly Girl’s x-ray and first heard the diagnosis of osteosarcoma, I thought the world had ended. Back then I cried for days and days. From there to actually being grateful for osteosarcoma? Who knew?

For those who may not know, the standard course of treatment for osteosarcoma in greyhounds if it has not already metastasized is to amputate the leg. After that you go through a course of chemotherapy. So without further delay I scheduled Girly Girl’s surgery with Dr. Pastor. We go tomorrow. Once you get a final diagnosis, there is no more messing around.

Now that it is scheduled, suddenly, I had to take a real hard look at the fact I was preparing to hand over my heart dog, the furry love of my life, so that they can sever what appears, on the outside, to be a perfectly good leg. Up to the time it decided to give quarter to a deadly invader, it was a great leg. We liked it. It definitely served its purpose. Until it turned traitor, it had never been lame, never faltered. It has a lovely paw with pads that smell like corn chips. It is her dominant leg. When she performs her “Human Whisperer” trick that is the leg she uses. I don’t think she’ll be able to perform that trick anymore once the leg is gone.

So on the eve before the surgery it became important to mumma to celebrate her leg. It had been a good friend for most of her 6 years and we were facing a difficult procedure and recovery to be parted from it. How to say goodbye to a leg? Well, we kicked off the evening with a happy hour. We had appetizing treats. Blue, Girly Girl and I enjoyed time together. I got out the video camera and for the last time Girly Girl performed her “Human Whisperer” trick for the camera. I had never thought to capture it on film before. Funny how that is. We have performed the trick on stage together during the Pet Idol contest at the Adoption Expo at the Raynham-Taunton Greyhound Track in Massachusetts before. But I had never put it on film. It seemed important to memorialize it as Girly Girl ran through it a last few times.

We followed our happy hour with a special dinner including Girly Girl and Blue’s favorite canned food. Girly Girl got an extra portion since it’s likely she won’t be eating again for a few days and even then she won’t have a big appetite. We spent the rest of the evening cuddling together on the couch where mumma said her goodbyes to the offending leg. I wondered what they would do with the poor leg once it was no longer part of Girly Girl. But then I decided I probably didn’t really want to know the answer to that. The leg still has the staples in it from the bone cyst procedure. They probably won’t even bother to remove those. This poor leg has been through quite a bit already and will soon meet an inglorious end.

The fact that Girly Girl will be a three-legged dog makes no difference to me. She will be as beautiful to me with three legs as with four. She could have two legs, or one eye, or no ears and it would make no difference to me. The piece I struggle with is making such a life altering decision for her without any idea if this is what she would want. It is very hard to know what she is about to go through and wondering if she would think it is worth it. If she would sanction it should she have a voice in the matter? These are decisions I never envisioned having to make as a greyhound caretaker though we all know cancer is a real possibility when we sign on. I wonder if the decision I am making now, to put Girly Girl through this, will leave me in her eyes, without a leg to stand on.

We Have Cancer

She has osteosarcoma. That is the scariest and loneliest thing I have ever been told. Girly Girl is now facing a terrible disease with an end game that is, at best, dismal. We have cancer. Except it didn’t take me very long to learn that we were anything but alone. And that it wasn’t just Girly Girl, Blue and I who were facing this. There were so many resources out there just waiting to lend us their knowledge, strength, shoulders, ears, experience, hugs, encouragement and support. In the darkest moments, when things seemed most hopeless, so many heroes have appeared and pointed the way.


Family: Grammy and Charlie provided a safe haven for Blue when I had to take Girly Girl to appointments and procedures. They took care of Girly Girl with the tenderest care in order to allow mumma some time off with friends every now and again. They spoiled both Blue and Girly Girl. They understood how Blue and Girly Girl are my children. They let me cry and cried with me.

Friends: They also understood that Blue and Girly Girl are my children and never once behaved any differently. They checked on me and Girly Girl constantly and let me know they were there for me, whatever I needed. They let me cry and cried with me.

My Meet and Greet Family: They formed a tight circle around Girly Girl, Blue and I. They checked on us daily and sent us encouraging and supporting emails. They offered their service, their knowledge, their resources and even offered to pool funds to help us pay for Girly Girl’s treatment. They let me cry and they cried with me.

My Facebook and Twitter Friends: They offered their support and encouragement. Many offered their experience which was invaluable in figuring out what to do and what not to do next.

Work: My bosses (who I am also blessed to have had as friends before they became my bosses) also miraculously understand that Girly Girl and Blue are my children and have allowed me the time I’ve needed to bring Girly Girl to her appointments and procedures. They never hesitated once. From the minute I told them of the diagnosis, they told me to take the time I needed and to do what I needed to do and they are still telling me the same thing.

The Animal House: Our favorite pet supply store. Aubrey and Dan Martin who own and operate this store believe in a holistic approach to pet care. We have considered them friends and mentors ever since we met them. They have provided us with all their knowledge regarding nutrition and supplements for cancer patients as well as their experience and support.

Help Your Dog Fight Cancer: A book recommended by Aubrey at The Animal House. This was written by Laurie Kaplan. It was the only book we could find on the subject and turned out to be a wonderful resource. It wasn’t osteosarcoma specific but well worth the read nonetheless.

Grey Talk: A group of greyhound fanatics who have found a home on the web. There are all sorts of forums in this community including Greyhound Health. The people in this community are, without a doubt, unsung heroes. Anyone posting a thread about their hound’s health issue can count on immediate feedback with support and shared experience. They are there 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You are NEVER alone.

Dr. Laura Edelbaum: Our family vet. We love her. She is allopathic but has an interest in Traditional Chinese Medicine and has a working knowledge of supplements as well. When we first went to her regarding Girly Girl’s limp, she felt it was orthopedic given the signs. But she was willing to consider my concerns and set up the x-rays that revealed the tumor earlier than we may have otherwise discovered it.

Dr. Guillermo Couto: We had heard Dr. Couto speak at the Raynham Adoption Expo so we knew to reach out to him, but even if we had not, so many people in the greater greyhound community directed us towards him, it would have been hard not to end up at his doorstep. This is another unsung hero. Here is a doctor who heads a very busy Greyhound Health and Wellness Program at Ohio State University. He spends time volunteering at a greyhound rescue clinic in Spain, he does research and he is willing to consult, for free, on the cancer cases of retired racing greyhounds. He responded to our numerous emails quickly, even when he was out on vacation. Not only that, he took the time to give us some words of encouragement and support along the way.

Dr. Erin Romansik, NEVOG: When our local surgeons were unwilling to work with us regarding my wishes for Girly Girl’s care and were unwilling to even speak with Dr. Couto’s colleagues at OSU, we were at a loss as to where to go next. There weren’t a lot of options here in Maine. Dr. Couto suggested the New England Veterinary Oncology Group in Waltham MA. We saw Dr. Erin Romansik and he was wonderful. When the Fine Needle Aspirate he attempted was unsuccessful, he worked with us on the next step.

Dr. Karen Pastor, Massachusetts Veterinary Referral Hospital: Dr. Romansik referred us to Dr. Pastor and we were again in very good hands. Dr. Pastor, a surgeon, consulted with us about doing a biopsy but in the end, after a day spent there, we ended up doing a different procedure. We now await the pathology results and the next steps. Not only did Dr. Pastor make it clear she cared about Girly Girl but when she learned that Girly Girl is my heart dog, she took time to show me a photo of her “soul mate dog.” A beautiful, giant, harlequin Great Dane. The 5x7 photo sits framed on the counter in the examining room among the many photos from her patients.

So though sometimes it feels pretty lonely, with a team of heroes like this behind us, we’ll continue to fight. You see “we” have cancer.

For This I Give Thanks….?

OK, yes. Everyone does one of these lists at this time of year. So who am I to buck the popular trend? I fold to peer pressure.



I am thankful for Blue’s horrific dragon breath, which can melt plastic and bend metal.

I am thankful for the 30 plus pounds of greyhound hair that I ingest annually.

I am thankful for two very gassy, smelly, greyhound behinds.

I am thankful for the dog drool stains that grace my couch cushions and all the dog beds.

I am thankful for the chewed woodwork and countertop in the bathroom, a remnant from an early experiment with greyhound separation anxiety.

I am thankful for all the times Blue pees on his own feet (front and back, sometimes at the same time, figure that one out).

I am thankful for the times Blue has peed on Girly Girl’s head.

I am thankful for two cold, wet, drippy noses, which unerringly find their way to the important documents or photos newly set on the coffee table and soak them down with dog snooshies.

I am thankful for the front storm door and all my windows now coated in greyhound nose prints.

I am thankful for a car backseat that is no longer fit for human habitation. 

I am thankful for a greyhound that delights in sidling up to me after dinner on the pretext of a cuddle, only to stretch her graceful snout as close to my face as possible to let out a long, loud, juicy pirate burp.

I am thankful for the many bruises and scratches suffered whilst being kicked on my couch by a stretching, dreaming or roaching greyhound.

I am thankful for the complete drenching received while waiting in the rain for a fussy greyhound to find the absolutely perfect spot to entrust his precious urine to.

I am thankful for the miles and miles of paper towels used in my house cleaning up various oopsies and illnesses for four legged inhabitants.

I am thankful for the nasty sopping wet spot, complete with crumbs left on the carpet for me to step in (barefoot most frequently) after Blue eats a treat.

I am thankful for the loss of ½ the square footage of my house to the numerous and ever accumulating dog beds (how can you ever throw out a good dog bed, right?).

Thankful for all this stuff you ask? You bet. And here’s why: every one of these things means I’m lucky enough to be living with two fabulous greyhounds. Every one of these things has ended up making me laugh (a number of them took some time, but eventually….). These are the worst things I’ve come across in my life with Blue and Girly Girl. I know many people who can’t say the same with their families. And frankly, having humans in the back seat of your car is highly over rated.

This Holiday Season, Here is Our Grift to You

Seems we have developed a bit of a problem. My loving, sweet, social butterfly Blue has never been the brightest bulb in the pack. But he’s not exactly stupid either. Which is probably why he’s been able to fly under the radar for so long.

Girly Girl is the smart one in the family. However, Blue has learned one trick. Down. I taught him this amazing feat of skill using a clicker and food rewards. Only I never really got around to fading out the treat. I hope you are all paying attention, since this is an object lesson for greyhound owners far and near. Finish the job.

Instead, whenever it is time to dispense treats or dinner, I ask for a down. And down he goes like a lead balloon. Like the Titanic. Like the stock market last year. You get the idea. Thus, I have solidified in his mind downtreat. Treatdown. Fooddown. Downfooddinnerdown.

OK, so I’m lazy and a bad dog trainer. My dog knows one trick and he fully expects to be compensated for it. Except I didn’t realize I had a smooth criminal living with me. At first I thought what he was doing was cute. I thought he was being friendly and outgoing and social. I was very proud of my big boy. I thought it so clever that he could do a trick for dog treats. Then, as I really started watching him, I realized he was working each victim over and over again. He had a plan and he employed it the same way each time, in each store. And everyone fell for it. Every time. I had a master manipulator on my hands. I was living under the same roof with a professional grifter.

Maine is a very dog friendly state. We are lucky to have a lot of pet stores, both small independent and big chain. We have a list of our favorites and sometimes during the week, I’ll take the dogs to one or another to stave off cabin fever since we work at home.

Blue carries a mental map of each pet store. He knows from the time we are within a mile or two of the parking lot which store we’re headed to. He knows where the treat bar is located. He knows where the registers are. He also knows where, at the register, the doggy treat bowl is located. His favorites are the treat “buffets” at the chain stores. When we get near one, he’ll commandeer the first store employee he can find and he’ll lean on him/her. Then he’ll saunter over to the buffet and, since he’s tall enough to rest his head on the counter, but not quite tall enough to reach into the treat bins, he’ll rest his head on the buffet and sniff.

Blue has big floppy cheeks and he uses these to his best effect. When he sniffs, he looks and sounds something like a horse snorting. His cheeks go in and out like a spoiled child after a crying jag. It’s much exaggerated and at the end he blows out a big long sigh making his cheeks flap back and forth (with the aforementioned horse noises).

Then he turns, with a quick knowing glance at me, and gives the employee big greyhound eyes, does a little prance and drops to his down position. If that doesn’t work. He jumps up, head on buffet. Looks down at tasty treats. Maybe a little drool. Sniff. Drops to down position. Looks up at employee. This ALWAYS gets him a cookie. He’ll work that angle until I stop giving the employee permission to give him cookies, or until the employee stops the flow of treats out of concern for his or her job or that quarters profits.

At that point, Blue develops a sudden interest in checking out.

He has two strategies at the check out counter. He invariably starts by deploying his “Sing for Your Supper” scam. Here he attempts to induce the employee manning the register to believe that he is either A) an actual store employee and thus, it is OK to give him unfettered access to treats or B) willing to work by assisting with check out operations such as bagging, money counting or merchandise inspection in exchange for biscuits. To accomplish this he deftly steps behind the counter, joins the employee at the register and begins his attempt to assist with various tasks. He pokes his nose into bags, sniffs customer merchandise, sniffs money as it is handed over and generally makes a nuisance of himself. Employees find this so endearing that they throw handfuls of treats into his open gob. When the flow of treats begins to slow down from that side of the counter, Blue steps back around and rejoins his Mumma in line.

He now employs the Hail Mary Play. He has worked the employees in the store and at the doggie buffet. He has already worked the employee at the register. However, there are two sides to that check-out counter and by dog he’s going to make sure he has squeezed every last treat possible out the store before we exit. Here he again employs the head on the counter and the Mr. Ed sniff. That usually will get him a treat or two. But the main component of the Hail Mary Play is simply a repeated series of downs. The downs themselves are not special. But add in that the big giant goofy white and gray hound is willing to set the Guinness Book of World Records for the number of downs completed at a check out counter in a pet store all the while staring at you unblinkingly with amazing amber eyes and generally Blue can induce any register operator to pour the remainder of the treat bucket directly into his waiting gullet.

Having thus accomplished his mission he contentedly waits for Mumma to finish paying for her purchase. We head out of the store the kids have a quick sniff and a pee and I load them into the car. Blue stands at the edge of the seat and waits, staring at me. “What?!” I say. But I know what he’s waiting for. He wants one of the treats I’ve just purchased in the store.

Fire Dog Tryouts

We recently had to travel to Plattsburgh, NY for my job. This is where the “home office” is and so from time to time, we travel there so they remember what I look like and why they hired me to begin with.

Now I did say “we” went to Plattsburgh. Among the many things I love about my job is that they let me travel with the four legged kids. In fact, Girly Girl and Blue may very well be better traveled than the motif/mascot on the sides of those buses….

My pups are pros at staying in hotels. In fact, I suspect that Blue would rather live in a hotel. In hotels, he believes he can jump up onto the bed. Blue has a mental block that white dogs cannot jump. When he isn’t paying attention or he is distracted, or in dire straits, he can jump like a grasshopper. When he thinks about it, he freezes up and has to be able to step up or he won’t go there. Luckily, he can step into the back seat of my car, or else I’d have a hernia by now. There are days when even that is a challenge for his poor afflicted mind. For whatever reason, he suspended belief during one of our early stays in a hotel. I think it was out of pure jealousy that Girly Girl had this giant bed to herself. After he whined and I refused to lift him onto the bed, he gave up and launched himself. A monster was born.

Since that day I’ve always had to get a hotel room with two beds in it. One for me and one for Blue. I know what you’re thinking. “For heaven’s sake, it’s a dog! Make him get down!” There are two problems with that theory. First, greyhounds aren’t really dogs and second, they can be more stubborn than the most ornery mule ever thought of being. Wrestle him off the bed (and I do mean wrestle) and he’ll run to the other side and jump up. If he doesn’t wear you down with that trick, he’ll definitely be fighting with you for pillow space the very second you fall asleep. Until then, he will stand and stare at you from the end of the bed. Pretty soon you wonder if he’s going to eat you or sneak up on the bed when you fall asleep.

I decided that I never really wanted to find out which way he’d go, and so we get two beds. I get a good nights sleep, I keep life and limb and the big dog is a happy boy. 

We were on our last night in the hotel for this particular stay. The plan was to drive home the next day, having completed our work visit. It turned out there was some big concert in town and thus the hotel was full of young people drinking in their rooms, running the halls and generally being obnoxious (yes I realize I am in danger of sounding like my mother here). We had to change rooms because our first neighbors turned out to be concert goers holding a rousing game of beer pong prior to departure. We were not excited about following the progress of the game. We moved to a nice quiet wing. The night desk clerk wished me good luck sleeping.

He wasn’t kidding either. We had been sleeping for some untold number of minutes, or maybe hours when slumber was ripped violently apart by a horrible buzzing/ringing/pulsing squall. It’s never good when you wake up saying, “What The F____??!!!?!?!?!?!” In my confusion I start groping around for my phone to either answer it or turn off the alarm. Ooops, I left the phone out in the car. OK, so the hotel alarm clock. No wait, I unplugged that to plug in my computer.

Then….OH CRAP! THAT’S THE FIRE ALARM! I spring out of bed. Hounds do same. Big excitement. Rush to the door and look out the peephole. Wait, are you supposed to do that in a fire. Oh well, too late. No flames, but holy cow, there’s smoke. Feel the door. It’s not warm. Crack the door open, yep, definitely smoke and something seriously burnt. OK, guess we’ll be vacating.

Ever wonder how fast you can get two greyhounds into coats, harnesses and leashes? Try it when you think you may be in a burning building. Once we were all fully geared up, throw the door open and prepare to run the gauntlet of flames. OK, no flames. But more smoke and the smell of something very burnt. The hounds were incredibly brave considering the noise from the alarm, which was directly outside our door, was deafening. They followed my lead and never showed fear.

It seemed we were the only people on our wing who wanted to live. Either that or we’d taken longer to get ready than I thought. We make our way down the hall (of course we’re at the VERY far end) to the lobby. More smoke and that awful burning smell. Two hotel employees are loitering about in the lobby and they direct us to go outside. They didn’t seem very alarmed. We joined the ten or fifteen other hotel guests sitting along the curb out front. This was definitely not the full complement of hotel guests.

Blue immediately began working the crowd. He demanded attention from everyone he could reach within his leashes radius. For him this was like a bonus meet and greet, only later and colder. Girly Girl had been about as brave as she could muster and she proceeded to stuff herself into my lap. There she stayed shaking like a washing machine on spin cycle.

Pretty soon every fire truck in the city of Burlington rolled into the hotel parking lot. Girly Girl found a way to get inside my coat with me and then attempt to keep an eye on those noisy trucks out the sleeve. More fire fighters went into the hotel than there were hotel guests milling around outside. They had all manner of gear and hoses and poles and axes. Blue tried sneaking in with them but as usual, mumma ruined all his fun. They came back out a few minutes after they went in, still lugging all their gear. The verdict? One of the concert goers microwaved an unknown substance to the point where it went from charcoal, to carbon to a diamond. Since the microwave resides in the lobby where, presumably, the night desk clerk also sits, this had to be some kind of trick.  

We got the all clear to return to our rooms. Girly Girl was practically dragging me towards our wing. Blue had other plans. Standing in the lobby was a fire man, waiting for the small herd of hotel guests to come in so he could go out. Blue zeroed in on him as though he were a meaty bone. Apparently, for Blue, here was his big chance and the fire man never knew what hit him. Before the man knew it, he was fully charmed by this 80 pound skinny walking sculpture and he was down on his knees in full turn out gear giving Blue all kinds of love.

I never knew that Blue harbored a secret desire to be a fire dog. I guess it never really came up. But I suppose he figured he was almost as spotted as those Dalmatians (at least his skin is, but he has to be soaked down to really show this to his best benefit). And he could certainly do whatever it is that the Dalmatians do, only much faster. In the end the fire man reluctantly joined his compatriots on one of the many many trucks and Blue got no offers of employment. If we are lucky, he’ll never get another opportunity to apply.

You'll Never Pee Alone

Greyhounds want to be everywhere you are. There it is. I don’t know why, but it just is. I am lucky enough to work from home so my day breaks down something like this:

25% of the time: Dogs literally stuck to my hip via some body part-generally by pushing their heads into my side or leaning on me. If I am on the couch, they will be sitting on me. Laying on me. Putting their heads or paws onto my computer keyboard. They are not called Velcro dogs lightly.

50% of the time: Dogs within inches of me, or lightly touching me with some body part. Cold noses stuck to the one spot of skin showing. A paw stretched out to touch you. A head laid on your foot. A tail across the face.

24% of the time: Dogs placing themselves within sight line of me. There are some pretty interesting contortions to accomplish this goal considering the set up of my living room and office, but greyhounds can, and will, get it done.

.05% of the time: Dogs know I am in the house with them, know where I am but can not get to me or see me. This is cause for consternation. Generally there is whining and attempts to stuff ones doggie parts as near to mumma as possible. This might include stuffing noses or legs or any other parts possible under doors, through gates or using each other as catapults and step ladders.

.05% of the time: Dogs cannot see me and do not know where I am. Since I come back to a house that is no more of a disaster zone than when I left it and no one is bloodied or in need of stitches, I assume that they muddle along fine once I get out of sight. There is a general melee of rejoicing and happiness at my return however.

And that leads us to the title of this piece. Yes gentle reader, should you leave the bathroom door open even a small crack when you use it, you will, in fact, never pee alone. An open bathroom door to a greyhound, is the best thing EVER. It is uninterrupted quality time with a human who is a captive audience. Blue and Girly Girl have even accompanied me to the bathroom at 3 am, waited patiently while I got sick from some bad Chinese food and then insisted that I pet them with my free hand.

When you get a greyhound you just simply learn to live with the fact that they will want to be everywhere that you are. It is in their nature. No situation or bodily process drives them from your side. No, my friends, you will NEVER pee alone.

Attempted Catricide and the Cure for What Ails Ya

Girly Girl and Blue’s Grammy recently fenced in her fabulous flat, obstacle free back yard. This has been a great boon to us all. We have always liked to visit Grammy but now there is even more reason to sneak over there every time we’re in town for a few quick hot laps before heading home.

These visits are always quite fun. Sometimes Grammy’s boys join us and Girly Girl, Blue, Fox and Crandall have a free for all for about 5 minutes. Then everyone stands around looking at each other until we give up and go inside for some treats or the three of us go home.

So one night last week we decided to sneak over to Grammy’s for a quick run. It was already dark but we knew the back yard so well by this time that I didn’t think much about it. I let the furry kids off their leashes and urged them off to work out the excess energy. They took care of the obligatory investigation and took care of covering over all the spots where Fox and Crandall had marked. They jogged back and forth a couple times and then they disappeared around the far side of Grammy’s house.

A way to tease the hounds suddenly presented itself to my diabolical mind and I turned and headed to the far side of Grammy’s garage so as not to be seen when they came back around to the backyard. This, I knew, would send them into a frantic search for me. I was giggling to myself when I heard the first cavalcade of canine feet begin from the far side of the house. Any moment they’d come flying around the corner of the garage and barrel into me, all in a panic that I had left them behind. Hey, I love them, but I’m still an evil, evil girl. This, I might add, is one of the many reasons I don’t have human children. Except it turned out the joke was on me and that was not even close to what came into view.

As I peeked around the corner of the garage, there came streaking from the side of Grammy’s house, Girly Girl. She was moving as fast as I have ever seen any greyhound move. That includes the greyhounds I saw running in the live races at Raynham when we were at the adoption expo. This was a hound that seemed not to have been told that she had a fractured hock. I stood marveling at how fast she was running. Then I marveled at the absolute beauty of her movements. The art and grace of a greyhound running at top speed with full intent and purpose.

Then I realized there was a reason for her laser focus, and she was NOT ALONE.

Not quite one whisker’s length ahead of her was a white ball of fluff, running for its poor, pathetic, furry, soon to be cut short, life. My brain started the calculations and I quickly ruled out the possibility of reaching the pair before Girly Girl had the desperate cat at the far corner of the yard in the 90 degree bend of the fence. I looked around and saw Blue trotting out from the side of Grammy’s house. His ears were up and he was watching the proceedings as I was though his expression was one of mild interest and amusement while mine was one of dawning horror as my mind rapidly went through and discarded the possible actions I might take. Run real fast and save the cat-yeah right. Stand there and pee my pants while covering my eyes and twisting my mind around the fact that I’m going to have to collect the pieces of someone’s cat in a plastic bag-that’s probably more like it.

I yelled for Girly Girl to break off the chase. I could almost hear Blue laughing to my left as he watched events unfold. If Girly Girl even knew of our existence at that point, she showed no sign of it. My ability to influence the outcome of this play was essentially nil. My brain started working up pictures of the murder scene complete with crime scene photos, a tape outline (actually many little tape outlines of the various pieces) and Girly Girl being led away in muzzle and cuffs. What is the protocol in a case like that, do you bring the plastic bag and try to find the owner or give the remains a decent burial and let the poor owners wonder what happened instead of knowing the awful truth?

Within a split second, Girly Girl had covered the distance between the side of Grammy’s house and the corner of the fence. She was upon the cat and like some very bad African documentary where they actually show the lion making the kill, I watched as she grabbed the cat by the back and began to shake it. At this point, I’m pretty sure I was just emitting squeaks. Possibly supersonic. Blue was looking at me strangely instead of watching the drama in front of us and there were a large number of bats gathering on the eaves of the garage.

At the last possible second Fluffy the White gave it one last college try and reached up behind him firmly attaching his front claw to Girly Girl’s cheek. This was enough to startle her (What? It bites back?) and she opened her mouth dropping said kitty who wasted NO time in beating feet. Girly Girl recovered her composure quickly enough and was soon back on kitty’s tail as they raced up the back side of the yard, along the fence line.

Kitty, apparently not one to make the same mistake twice, saw the approaching corner at the opposite end of the yard and decided he may not be as lucky a second time. He made a dive for the fence and scrambled underneath it. There was a small clearance there but without a doubt there is a white cat wandering around this week with newly coiffed reverse Mohawk who might be a bit tender and whose caretakers are probably very puzzled as to his disheveled state. If they only knew.

For her part, Girly Girl transformed from the steely eyed killer to my sweet Boo-Boo the moment the cat was out of reach. Like a miracle at Lourdes, she could hear again and came trotting over to cuddle up to mum who was on the verge of a breakdown, squeaking about “No Girly Girl, noooo…..” over and over again. She spent the rest of the evening hyped up on adrenaline, pacing back and forth. Alternately abusing toys and panting like some overgrown schoolyard bully. Then curling up with mum or Grammy and smiling in self-satisfaction over the successful hunt, making sure to show off the war wound where kitty had sunk claw in flesh.

And the next day she remembered that she had a racing injury which retired her and oh yeah, that’s why I don’t run so fast anymore. Girly Girl continues to recuperate from the adventure. I still have nightmares about white cats and Grammy says her yard has been cat free since that night. Seems cats talk and word is out in the neighborhood. The feline miracle cure is not recommended for anyone, not hound, not human, and especially not cat.

The Usurper

My first greyhound was (and is) Girly Girl. I did a lot of research and preparation before I got her because I lived in apartments for a long time before I finally got a house and was in a position where I could have a dog. I knew all those apartment-dwelling years that my dog would be a greyhound.

I read all the books (come to my house, they’re on my bookshelf, well thumbed through). I bought bowls, beds, toys, leashes, collars, a crate and all sorts of other gadgets and gizmos designed to make life with your new best friend fun, easy and carefree. Most of those bowls, beds, toys, leashes, gadgets and gizmos are still downstairs still stored where I carefully stacked them.

One of the many decisions I made in preparation for my first fur pants wearing child was that the animals would not get on furniture. Not on the couch, not on the bed-not on any furniture. I am in no way the first person to have made this decision. And definitely not the first one to now say, what on God’s green earth happened!?

I’m not even sure when it started, or how. For a long time I stuck to the rule. No dogs on the furniture. I slept in a lovely dog free bed. My couches were dog hair free and there was plenty of space to sit, or stretch out. When Blue joined Girly Girl here I continued to stick to the rule.

But then one morning Girly Girl was sleeping with me. She was curled up and at first stayed near the edge of the bed (so near that at one point she even fell off). Eventually she started stretching out pushing me further and further to the other side of the bed. I’d wake up and find myself at the other edge of the bed. A family meeting was called and we had to come to an understanding about whose bed it was. She simply started sneaking up onto the bed again after I fell asleep. Being a very smart girl, she stopped pushing me to the other side. She will take care to look very surprised to be on the bed every morning. “How on earth did I get here? I’m quite sure I don’t know mumma. But since I am here, could you rub my belly?”

One day I realized she was also laying there next to me on the couch. What! At first she was such a polite little lady. She’d demurely wait for my permission (implied most of the time by a glance her way). Then, if I was on the couch, that was permission enough and she’d join me there.

Now if I am in any way blocking access to her “spot” at the very end of the couch, she will begin whining at me. Should I rudely take no notice of her, she will correct my oversight by barking in her “indoor” voice. If that gets no response, she will let me have it with a barrage of barks at full volume (sure, greyhounds never bark-I remind her of this ALL the time). Should I not move to let her up, look out, she’s coming up anyway and I’m going to get 60 plus pounds of flying greyhound on my shins or possibly knees if I’m laying down, in my lap if I’m sitting there.

If I still won’t move, she’ll settle herself down as best she can on top of my legs or knees laying at an odd tilt, all akimbo and stay that way for the evening.

Should I rearrange her to save my knees from dislocating or my shins from snapping, or to get my quilt out from under her, she shoots me a dirty look. “I gave you every opportunity to get yourself situated. Now you want to disturb me?” Wait a second. Whose couch is this? Who paid for it? Who worked to get the money to pay for it? Why am I apologizing to a hound and begging her pardon?

Isn’t the rule no dogs on the bed or on the furniture? Sure it is. I can hear all the other greyhound owners out there laughing now.

Commoditizing the World One Hound at a Time or A New Modest Proposal

Today Google noted that it was the birthday of the ubiquitous barcode.

One of the links they provided to round out our education on the oft overlooked workhorse of commerce was for a site that would allow you to generate your own barcodes. For FREE!

I started generating barcodes for family, friends and of course, the furry kids:

I wondered if the National Greyhound Association was aware of this free bar code generator? Instead of tattooing numbers in hounds ears, give each one a barcode. One scanner at each track and it would be very easy to ensure that each dog in a race was truly the dog that was registered under that name.

And at the finish line, instead of cameras, they could install something similar to the price check stations in Target and Walmart. It would read the racer's barcodes as they crossed the line. No waiting around for official race results. A matter of seconds for the scanner to post the winners to the big boards and make or break some pensioner's day.

Just imagine kennel management efficiencies. Scan each hound as they receive their food. Scan again as they head out the door for their potty breaks. Scan again when they leave for training. Simple inventory management software and you have a record of all kennel activity.

When it comes time to retire, the newly minted retirees could be scanned out of stock. The rescue organization receiving the greyhounds easily scans them in, compare them to the printout they received from the track or the kennel in question and add them to the rescue's inventory....

Hmmm, upon further reflection, I hope that the National Greyhound Association never finds out about the free barcode generator.

Please Mom, Just 5 More Minutes...

Greyhounds have unerring internal clocks. And they love routine. They were born to routine. They were raised with routine and they spent the majority of their adult life up to the point they joined their forever homes living in a comfortable routine.

Woe is you if you don’t continue to provide them with a semblance of routine. Actually, I take that back. If you don’t continue to provide them with a semblance of routine, no problem. They’ll provide one for you.

In their racing life, Blue and Girly Girl, the two furry loves of my life, would rise very early. They would be fed, taken out and then they would go back into their crate, or, more than likely, they would go for training or to the race track for pre-race activities.

In Mumma’s world, there is a lot of sleeping in whenever it can be managed. Except that now, I have two furry alarm clocks. At 5:45 am sharp, every morning, Girly Girl’s cold, wet, nose pokes its way under the covers to announce it’s time to get up. Thus begins a round of pleading (yes, pleading) with my dog for 30 more minutes to sleep. She will lie down beside the bed and give me 15 more minutes to sleep. Then she will get very close to my ear and begin whining. Soon Blue joins her with his dragon breath.

I begin pleading again. “Come on guys, just 10 more minutes. Then I’ll get up and get you breakfast. I’ll even give you extra.” That sometimes works. I get 10 extra minutes. But no more. Some mornings I may wheedle up to 30 minutes extra out of them and sometimes no more than 15 minutes. But there comes a time when they will not leave the side of the bed and I know it is time to get up.

There is a similar process at 5:30p when it is time to quit work (I work from home). And I have to promise my life away in order to work any extra time. Another process to keep me in line about their lunch time snack, and their dinnertime. They herd me around all day long. But if they seem a little obsessive compulsive, you can’t blame them. It’s just the way they were raised. Schedule = good. Chaos = bad.

More than once they’ve saved my bacon when my less than reliable alarm clock did not go off. But more than once I’ve seriously considered whether a beagle or a miniature schnauzer might have been a better choice when that nose came poking in at 5:45 am. “Come on guys! It’s SATURDAY!!!”

Your Dogs Look Funny!

Oh just a dollar for every time I hear that!

But the jokes on you all, because Greyhounds aren't really dogs. Not in the sense that other dogs are "dogs". Because most greyhounds spend their entire lives being trained to race, or racing, and thus they have an entirely different sensibility than the ordinary household pet. They don't learn how to play with toys or other dogs. They don't ever see other dog breeds and know only greyhounds. They see few people other than their caretakers and that is for a few short hours a day.

Coming to retirement for a greyhound can be traumatic at first. They don't know about stairs, glass doors, windows, tile or linoleum flooring. They may be the only dog in a home when they've spent their whole life with no less than 30-50 dogs at all times. They probably have never ridden in a car before. Some may be dealing with career ending injuries in addition to this whole new world of retirement.

This unique life experience combines to create a creature with a gentle soul (yeah, go figure). A couch potato who sleeps most of the day but who can reach 40 miles an hour given the chance. A creature who will be absolutely devoted to you, heart and soul. Who will capture your heart in return. Who will ruin you for other dogs and make you a fanatic and unapologetically so.

Since the first brindle girl came home in my back seat with her tail tucked tightly between her legs, I have had more adventures than I can ever relate. Adding her "brother" a breathtaking amber-eyed white and blue behemoth only added to the laughs we've had every day. I changed, on that day I brought my girl home from being a person who always liked dogs to someone who was completely nuts about greyhounds. Someone who began living, breathing and dreaming about greyhounds. Someone who began photographing only greyhounds. Someone who began collecting all things greyhound. Someone who began reading every book about greyhounds she could find. Nuts. Absolutely nuts.

In this blog I hope to chronicle my change and how much better my life became as a result. To put down the daily ridiculous things that happen to us in order to remember them. Time being such a thief and memory a fickle thing at best, I hate to lose even a minute. And with that...let the blog begin. Oops, I think it just did.