Monday, April 27, 2009
So I'm driving back up to Toledo today.
One of Martha's friends has graciously invited me to stay, saving me beaucoups de hotel money. But she isn't a computer person, so I'll only have a few minutes of access if I find a coffee shop or something.
I'm leaving Bill with all nine dogs. He's a saint. Please send him and the dogs positive thoughts.
No Bill, no dogs, no computer. Oh boy. I am building some kickass character this year. (It feels like the old bra commercial: no visible means of support!)
hug your hounds
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Quilters love Paducah. And, dear readers, it is reciprocal. Paducah loves the quilters. We are the home of The Museum of the American Quilter's Society, and because of all of this, Paducah is known as Quilt City, USA.
These quilters aren't ho-hum, no, no, no. They are fiber artists. Take a look HERE. If you're new to quilting, check out Mountain Chapel, My Home Town, and Feather Story. HOLY SCHMOLY!!! Can you believe they do that with fabric!!!! Zounds.
But walks must go on, Quilt Week or no, they simply take on a new and exciting flavor. The first walk is Mama Pajama, Spice and Easy. We go collect Tracey and Francie and meet sweet neighbor Stefanie, who joins us. (Tracey said, "Don't you put me in this picture on your blog. Don't you do that!" So I didn't.)
L to R - Spice, Easy, Mama Pajama, Francie in the foreground, Stef holding the leads
Then we said hey to our sweet neighbor Kate, who was out working on her beautiful gardens.
The third and final walk is the longest. We go all the way to the river with the young'uns, which takes us through downtown. There we can take pictures of ourselves, reflected in the store windows.
People don't like to be wrong.
Sometimes they try to convince me. "No, them are greyhounds."
But during Quilt Week, particularly the Brits and the Aussies chorus, "Lovely whippets! Lovely dogs!" Smilin' words.
The dogs checked the pretty flowers for huntable bumble bees, and we...
When we got home, we wallered on the porch. After all that pigging out, wallerin' was about all I was good for.
Neighbor Auntie Karen had her iPhone and got these precious shots (you can click to enlarge, use your back button to return):
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The fundraiser was a Vintner's luncheon. Wine tasting. I write a weekly column for our most AWESOME community e-calendar iList Paducah dot com, the iPet of the Week. iList Paducah bought a table, and I was invited as a guest. I'm the best guest to invite to a wine tasting luncheon, because I don't drink wine. Anymore. I miss drinking wine, oh yes I do. But with a not so great family history, and a personal history of looking forward to five o'clock starting at, oh, ten in the morning, I decided three years ago to quit while I was ahead. Dammit.
I was doing something Friday morning, I don't know what, (I'm sure it wasn't visiting blogs or playing Wordscraper on Facebook) but next thing I knew it was eleven and I was supposed to be there between 11:30 and 12:00.
Now, I know people with better priorities would have had an outfit all picked out and jewelry and shoes and maybe they would have had their hair done. I figured I had those hanging clothes I had forgotten to take to the National. Yup there they were. And that would go okay with my only pair of dress shoes, which aren't so dressy after two, three years of dog shows in the mud, dusty buildings, wet grass, etc. They are black flats with a little ballet slipper sort of faux bow. They were black once. Now they are blackish with lots of scuff marks on the toes and heels that let the gray leather show through. Stylin'!
Oh, who looks at shoes, I say.
So I quickly showered, no need to shave legs since I'd be wearing black pantyhose, and realized that I need to cut my hair. (Haven't made time for a real haircut for three or four years. I just use my big sewing scissors and hack away at it.) No time now. I needed to be at the Carson Center in twenty minutes and still had to dress, put on make up - that would entail my 3 year old mascara and 8 year old blush, do I get my money's worth or what - let the dogs out and put them up with their treats.
I couldn't find the pantyhose. I knew I had a pair. I saw the photos of the black pantyhose oh so inappropriately paired with the pale peach pants I showed Swede William in at the National. I checked the laundry (clean and dirty), the suitcase, the drawer, the closet, inside the pale peach pants in the dry cleaning basket, and then, defining insanity, I checked the same places all over again. And again. One more time for luck.
During these searches I happened upon my (formerly Bill's) trusty old black ribbed support socks. While I was gone, sweet Bill had washed them. Apparently he had washed them with dog bedding, because they were bristling with little white dog hairs. I mean every square inch of the socks had 647 little white dog hairs sticking out.
I searched again for the panty hose.
Tick, tick, tick.
Tempted to can the whole luncheon thing. Not feeling so festive. Wanting to cry. Again.
Oh Patience! You silly twit! You are a 55 year old, thoroughly married woman. Bill was in Chicago. (I don't know how that pertains, but he was.) You need to get out and laugh.
Right. On go the hairy support socks and the ancient dog show shoes. Under the lower-calf-length skirt. Out went the dogs, in went the dogs with their biscuits, Easy and Spice loose in the kitchen/dining room because that's where they are happiest, and off I drove to the Carson Center in the Warburton Whippet Wagon, sitting forward hunched against the steering wheel because I had a black blazer on and the seat back is covered with little white hairs, too.
The The Luther F. Carson Four Rivers (Performing Arts) Center is huge. They had thoughtfully stationed a volunteer outside the appropriate set of doors to direct wine tasting guests. I could see her reflection in the glass doors after I passed her. I saw her pleasant expression contort in shock and then register abject horror as her eyes swept down my retreating backside and arrived, unwillingly at the shabby shoes and hairy ribbed support socks.
So, me being me, as I greeted friends, acquaintances and complete strangers, I felt compelled to show them my hairy ribbed support socks and dog show shoes. "I couldn't find my pantyhose," I explained. As if this was a common occurrence to ladies everywhere dressing for vintner's luncheons.
But after all it was a charitable bunch of good souls. Everyone laughed good naturedly. And everyone felt better about their own appearance!
I aim to please.
hug your hairy hounds
Monday, April 20, 2009
The Board meeting started at 6:30. In the morning. When the meeting time was announced, I asked if 6:30 a.m. is an actual time? Does it exist in reality? Apparently, yes, it does.
Swede William stayed in bed with his brand new friends Lavender and Colin and his human friend Crystal while I showered. I've gotten so incredibly techno that I can set a wake up alarm on my cell phone. Yes, I am impressed with myself, as I'm sure you are as well. It's silly, because if I set an alarm, I wake up minutes before it goes off anyway, but there you go.
I dressed (remember I had cleverly left my hanging clothes on the back of the bedroom door in Western Kentucky) in the only pair of non-khaki, non-denim pants I had. A pale peach silk pair of oldies but goodies, with a cotton camel turtleneck sweater - a recent hand-me-down gift from a generous friend (had you recognised it, Deb?) - that didn't really match, oh well. It was warm and comfy. I took a good-natured little Swedish whippet out for a walk around the hotel grounds as the sun groaned over the smoggy horizon, plopped him in his crate in the van with breakfast, and kissed him.
Did he protest the early hour? Being alone in the van? Dining solo? He did not. He was snugly in his Wistwind Goretex and shearling coat and he gave me a Scandinavian wink and a nod: I'm cool! Life is grand! Go do your silly human thing; I'm going back to sleep.
The Board meeting was not finished by the time Board members had to show their puppies, so we would reconvene during the lunch break. I honestly can't remember what I did. I'm sure I immediately got William and went for another good walk. We must have watched for a while. Oh! The conversation about the borrowed skirt and the butt sweats occurred. I avoided the booths as much as I could, only I had to buy some liver for bait. (See Swede William's adoringly attentive expression in the top photo? Liver.)
The meeting concluded at lunch. We would reconvene once more after the votes had been counted to elect Board officers.
Time for Swede William's class, Open Dogs. All of the dogs entered the ring in the Atlanta Hilton ballroom with the wild carpet. The class was so large that, after having a first impression look at the entire entry, the judge split the class into thirds, keeping only the first third in the ring. William was in the second third. Again (this is a little scary) I can't recall what I did in the meantime, but when the judge had chosen his 'keepers' from the first third, and the second third went back into the ring for their turn, Swede William and I were among them.
The dog loves, loves, loves to show. He can get a little persnickety about the judge examining his bite (well, who knows where those hands have been) and I was worried. Seemed like just about everyone at the National wanted a close up view of William's eyes. (The American whippet standard calls for a dark, "nearly black" eye. This is a genetic impossibility in dogs of William's color - which is why you don't see many showing in this country. William's eyes are as dark as genetically possible, but people want to see for themselves.) A handy way to look at a whippet's eyes is to grab his nose and turn his face up to you. And about 236 people had done that so far that day outside the ring. So I worried that William had had enough of strangers' hands on his muzzle.
Oh and a word about the judge. He's oh my God handsome. Cary Grant handsome only better. Oh how I wished I could have shown him Lindy Loo, and her handsome brother Emmett. And I wished I could have shown Sam I Am in agility and rally, and Looch and Delia in Veteran's, but it was not to be. I was going to fulfill my promise to William's breeder Lisa, and William would show in the National. Dammit.
He was a Very Good Dog. He didn't mind hunka hunka judge's hands in his mouth one bit. He did everything right. And he made the cut!!! Woohoooo! That's a big deal to make the cut at the National. He would come back in with the other keepers.
Only now the Board had to gather to elect officers. We discussed. I said, "I have to keep track of time, because my Open dog made the cut." We discussed more. I tried to see what was going on in the ball room, but couldn't. More discussion. "I think I better go now. Whatever you decide is fine with me."
William and I dashed back into the ballroom, to a chorus of "Patience, get IN there! They're back in already! Hurry UP!" from the spectators. The dogs were all lined up in the middle of the ring, facing the crowd. We had missed the grand entrance and first go around. I found an opening in the middle and squoze in. Redfaced.
William was just happy to be playing again.
And he finished third in Open Dogs at the National.
Good boy. Congratulations, Lisa. Not only did you breed a handsome, correct, fast whippet who floats around the ring with ease. You bred a dog with the best temperament in the world, and a shining, wonderful heart! Well done and thank you.
hug your hounds
(photos by William's friend Joe Stewart, who kindly held a jealous screaming William ringside at shows when he was a pup and I was in the ring with Lindy Loo and Emmett)
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Kind Canadienne: Oh I have a skirt that would be perfect! It's very cute.
Brown houndstooth, and it's flippy and has pockets. It would look really
with your dog.
Patience: Really? That would be
KC: Okay, just come up to my room anytime.
P: Well, I still get nervous when I
KC: You don't!
P: I do. And
when I get nervous, I get the butt sweats. I don't want to get
sweats in your cute flippy skirt!
But thanks anyway.
KC: (Still laughing) Who doesn't get the butt
sweats! Don't worry about
P: No, really. But thanks.
Sigh. Thank goodness the Kind Canadienne has a gentle heart and a great sense of humor.
Easy, bottom in the black bed, Spice on the bench, with Sam, Lindy Loo and Swede William
Easy and Spice walking with our friend Francie
I let Fat Charlie and Mama Pajama in first, and they sniffed for a second until their eyes and tails showed their recognition of their old pals. They hadn't seen each other in four or five years. And one by one the rest of the waggle came in. Easy and Spice were gracious, and I was really proud of my guys and gals. There wasn't a raised whisker. Not a hackle to be seen. Just lots of wags and sniffs and life was grand.
I showed Easy and Spice their new digs. Easy and Spice showed that they belonged here by peeing on every bed, chair, doorframe, expanse of floor or carpet, wall, you name it. It was rather comical, me following them around with a bottle of woolite oxy in one hand and a clorox rag in the other, occasionally shrieking "Oh please! Oops! Oh well. Ack! Oh Not THERE! Woopsie!".
Fat Charlie by rights should be the bed dog now. He's letting his friend Easy have that priviledge, and Easy, who's been a couch dog but never a bed dog before is a natural at it!
I see Carolyn every time I look at her sweet dogs' faces. And that's good. I'm grateful for fifteen wonderful years with a once in a lifetime dog and that's good. I have the most courageous big sister in the world. And I ask your prayers for her.
hug your hounds
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I should not have worried. Swede William was a s.t.a.r. No, he was a S.T.A.R. And the trip was longer than the seven hours it should have been. I drove the 2.5 hours to Nashville, and headed east on route 40, like I always do. Kind, dear friends kept me company on the phone, talking about everything and nothing. They talked, I croaked. I had done some serious harm to my vocal chords.
And then Heather called from Paducah.
"How's the trip going?" she asked.
"Great," I croaked. "I'm almost to Knoxville already."
[pause] "... Knoxville?"
As soon as she said it, I knew.
"Oh NOOOOOO," I groaned. "Oh, Heather, I'm on the whole wrong road, aren't I? I'm on I-40 and I should be on I-24. I'm heading home to Maryland instead of down to Atlanta."
Thank goodness she had called. I had gone about 150 miles out of my way. I got off, and studied my atlas and found a perfectly nice route south to reconnect me with I-24. It was snowing. Bill called. I told him what had happened, but tried to put a good spin on it. "Great blog material. And the sun has come out. It's a beautiful drive."
Susan called. I explained my navigational error which would significantly delay my arrival. I would miss seeing her and Early, to my bitter disappointment. She made my heart sing. She and Early had bonded magically. Jenna, her Queen-Whippet-Who-Never-Let-Another-Lowly-Dog-Touch-Her-Person was curling up with her head draped over Early's middle and sharing the hotel bed happily. Early seemed to know that Susan was his person. "If my friend held him for a minute and I went somewhere, his eyes never left me. Right away! It was amazing. I adore him. I feel like he's been a part of my life forever. It's a perfect fit, Patience!"
Ah, now these were welcome happy tears.
Swede William had ridden the whole way, including the extra hours in lost land, without a squeak. He also hadn't closed his eyes. He had been lying down, either flat on his side, or sphinx-like, but every time I snuck a glance, his eyes were open. Strange doings, this business of being the only whippet in the whippet wagon. But he wagged and danced at the potty stops, and happily jumped back in the number one crate, right behind the driver's seat. And he was so polite. He never even mentioned the duh detour we had taken.
When we first arrived at the National I thought, "This was a big mistake." Everyone was missing Carolyn, and each kind expression from friends who understood, who knew about Giacomino, was just the spark to get a bonfire of screams burning in my throat. Couldn't you just see me walking my beige whippet through the Atlanta Hilton, with my eyes bugging out all mystified, and instead of saying hi how have you been, man your puppy is beautiful, opening my mouth and screaming AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA like the shower scene in Psycho??? I kept my mouth SHUT and nodded silent hellos. The booths - Carolyn and I had set up next to each other every year since 1997. It was coming a big whopper of a scream.... Not cool, Patience. Not cool! I went back outside and walked William around the grounds.
It all worked out. I managed not to scream, not once. And surrounded by dog people, dogs, friends, knowing that Early was doing so well, and comforted by Swede William who was just being SUCH a good boy, and staying in a room with the most generous kind people in the WORLD, the screams went away. For good.
I left Atlanta and pointed the Whippet Wagon with one little saintly beige whippet toward Toledo.
hug your hounds and your sisters
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I got to talk to my sister. They extubated her in the afternoon. I talked to the ICU nurse. Martha's pain was well controlled by the morphine drip. I'm coming, I said. I don't know when yet, but I'm coming. "Okie dokie," Martha said in a hoarse whisper. That morphine is good stuff.
My friend, Swede William's dear breeder Lisa in Sweden called. She listened to me ramble. And then she echoed Bill's exact words: "A week, a month, a day means nothing to a dog. It means everything to us, but nothing to a dog. Do not wait too late. That is where we can be cruel; that is where we can be selfish." Words I myself had spoken in the past to another dear friend.
We had a lovely walk around the block in the warm sun. He started to fall several times but I caught him. It didn't dampen his enthusiasm. I spent the day scanning photos. Oh and Lisa in Sweden had reminded me that I needed to trim William's neck fuzz for the National. This is not an activity to attempt through swollen tears, I later realized. I thought I had done a fine job. William's neck looked like he had encountered a maniacal, fuzz buzzing, fur-craving beaver badly in need of orthodontia.
I can't go into the next hours, except to say that I am blessed with the most wonderful, compassionate vets in the world. When I left them, something snapped in me on the forty minute drive to the crematorium. On the way there, I started to keen. Sounds just came from me. And on the way home the keening became screaming. Can you imagine? There I was driving on Lone Oak Road, in my big old Warburton Whippet van, with my unshowered bed hair, just screaming. I've never screamed as loud and it kept coming. I couldn't make it stop. I got frightened and I called Bill. "Talk to me," I screamed. "I need to hear your voice. I can't stop screaming." I scared him and he wanted to come get me. "No," I screamed. "I'm almost home."
Somewhere a plan had taken shape. I would drive to Atlanta the next morning. Carolyn had been on the Board of the American Whippet Club. Another board member was having health issues and would not be able to make it. If I didn't go, I didn't think there would even be a quorum, and nothing would be voted on, new officers wouldn't be elected and it would be a mess. I would show Swede William, go to the meetings, deliver the Willow Award, and then head up to Toledo, meeting Friend One with Spice and Easy on the way. That night the bed was so damn empty.
Tuesday morning I checked my email one last time before packing and heading to Atlanta. (Remember the Comcast outage? This LINK will take you to Comcast's official explanation.) Some of the lost emails had dribbled in during the night. And then my breath caught. There was an email from Carolyn. The subject line said "Re: Easy." I thought perhaps her brother or sister-in-law had emailed me some info from her computer. But it was an actual email from Carolyn, which I had gotten back in December. It must have been stuck on some server somewhere, and when Comcast's glitch got fixed... I had been trying to figure out when Easy's cancer surgery had been. I couldn't remember if it had been in January of '08 or November of '07. The email said,
I thought it was his lymph nodes but Greg took Easy to see ROn today
and we are pretty sure that his thyroid tumor is back - it has been
almost a year. Right NOW , he is eating, drinking, playing, barking, and
basically acting , eating normally but I am not sure how long it will
last. Ron X rayed his chest today and said it is perfectly clear so at
least that is good for now............. The surgeon thought it would
coms back in his chest first ....... I do not plan to put him through
And with that miracle electronic glitch, Carolyn was able to answer so many questions for me. The surgery had been in January. No more surgery for Easy. I had done right by my own Very Old Dog. I got out my suitcase, relieved that this would no longer cause worry for a Dear Old Soul, and I stopped screaming, and began a good old-fashioned cry. I miss Carolyn. I miss my Giacomino. Oh my poor sister.
Hug your hounds
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Friend One would be driving from western Pennsylvania to the National in Atlanta on Saturday and could take Early along. Susan (Early's angel) would arrive in Atlanta on Sunday. Friend One would leave Atlanta on Tuesday, and I would arrive. Susan and Early would go home on Tuesday. Early would get to meet Susan's other two whippets in the neutral territory of the Atlanta hotel. If for any reason things didn't work, Earl could go back with Friend One or with me. I had then the privilege of calling Susan and telling her all systems were go. We cried. Then I called my dear friend Rhonda, who loved Carolyn, knew Early, and knows Susan. My left ear is still ringing from her squeals of delight. "OH it's PERFECT!!!" she cried. "Susan is PERFECT!!! Oh I'm SOOOO HAPPY!!!! It's PERFECT!!!!"
I went to bed happy that night. I wanted to tell Greg and Carolyn that it was all coming together. That their sweet dogs were all going to be in the right place. That they would be pleased.
On Saturday morning (this is important for later) Comcast email went down. I put a note on my Facebook page that I couldn't get any Comcast email, and I heard from friends from Massachusetts to I don't know where on Facebook that their Comcast email wasn't working either.
A week or so before all of this, I had been out working at a Kennel Club Show and Go (or at some board meeting downtown or something... I can't remember, but I was gone for a couple of hours). Bill was home with the dogs. Giacomino had lost his footing right in front of Bill's eyes and had fallen out in the grass. And he couldn't get up. Poor Bill was beyond distraught. He gently lifted him, but Beans' four legs just didn't work. Bill carried him into the house and covered him up on his bed in the kitchen and sat by him. He knew that when I got home, we would have to make that awful phone call. I walked in, saw Bill's ashen face, and knew something was terribly wrong.
Only Giacomino didn't know, and when he saw me he jumped - okay, wobbled - onto his feet and said, "Hi! You're home!" Bill nearly fainted with relief. My Very Old Dog - who would have been fifteen on April 17th - had spinal stenosis. A narrowing of the spinal column in his neck made his legs numb. With this last fall, things worsened dramatically. He couldn't tell if his front feet were right-side-up or knuckled down. We tried some steroids, which maybe helped a little. Not really. But he was eating and happy, and could still enjoy his walk around the block, albeit with much more help from me.
So, where the plans stood, this year I would only go to the National for the day of the Board and General Membership meetings. Usually I set up a booth to sell my collars and book, enter all the dogs and am gone for nine days. But if I drove Tuesday, did the meetings on Wednesday, and drove home on Thursday, Bill would only have to worry over Beans for two nights. I entered Swede William, whose class would be on Wednesday afternoon, since I would be there anyway. I would meet saintly Friend One in Lexington on the way home to collect Easy and Spice. (It wouldn't have been fair to Bill, or Easy and Spice, to bring them into this house and then have me leave for the National.)
Saturday morning (the same Saturday that my email was down) the phone rang. Or maybe it was Friday night. I didn't recognize the number. The grandmotherly voice on the other end asked in a Midwestern accent if I were Patience. Yes, I am. Then the voice told me that she was sorry, but my sister Martha had undergone emergency surgery for a bowel obstruction last night, only when they opened her up they found massive ovarian cancer everywhere. The tumors were too large and involved to remove, so they had done an iliostomy to relieve the obstruction, left the tumors, and Martha was in the ICU in Toledo.
I can't even remember my end of the conversation. I couldn't talk to Martha because she was still on a ventilator. I needed to get to my friend's house as I was dog sitting. I felt dizzy. It was a beautiful day. I went to Heather's house and walked Emmett and Edgar. Heather lives in a gorgeous old neighborhood, and I'm not sure I had brushed my teeth. I needed a new plan. I couldn't make my brain work. I had just studied in my RN review course that the brain processes emotions and events while you sleep. It prioritizes and compartmentalizes stuff during REM sleep. I would sleep on it and try for a plan Sunday morning.
I was at Heather's from around 11:30 to 4:30, when the next shift of dog sitters arrived. When I got home, though Giacomino had been safe and quiet, he couldn't stand without help. He was tired, because he had worried while I was out. A horrible, burning realization crept into my gut, and bile spilled up into my throat. I had to go to Atlanta and to Toledo. I would be gone for a lot longer than five hours or two days.
I looked at my darling Very Old Dog and felt that my world was closing in on us.
Oh, God. Oh, God, no.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Your amazing outpouring of kindness makes my fragile heart smile.
Thank you for understanding.
I probably shouldn't be blogging. What I write will be neither cheery nor entertaining. Dear Readers, please do feel free to go to the next blog and check back in a little bit. Writing (next to hugging my hounds) is the best way I know to process "stuff" and I need to do that.
Carolyn and Greg had years ago named three friends in their will to take care of placing their dogs, should something happen to both of them. I was one of those three. (Never in our wildest dreams did we think... ) About four weeks before she died, Carolyn asked me to keep her oldest two, eleven year old siblings Easy and Spice. Easy had been a great good buddy of my Fat Charlie's, and Spice was Maria's mirror image. (Actually, Carolyn said - tearfully - that she was worried about where they would go. I said they were welcome to move in here, and she said that would be good.) Easy had surgery to remove his cancerous thyroid last year. It was supposed to give him a good quality ten months to a year. We prayed that Easy would outlive Carolyn. And bless him, he did.
Carolyn had helped us immensely, by letting some of the dogs go "visit" friends in the fall, knowing that they would stay. She couldn't bear to place Easy and Spice, Early, Beauty, or Jack, and trusted us to do that for her.
We had homes for the others, except Early. Early had lost a hind leg in a freak accident (actually after two surgeries to repair a fracture) as a six month old puppy. Carolyn had taken him through all his training and gotten him certified as a Therapy Dog. It was important to her to find a home for him where he could be a whippet and run and play, and where he could work miracles as a therapy dog.
I was on a mission. Not that generous people who would adore him hadn't volunteered to give him a loving home. But I felt a strong, personal burdon. I put out some quiet feelers. And then God, or the Universe, or a higher power, or whatever you believe in took over. Susan had two whippets. Her aged greyhound had just recently died. She had been active in greyhound rescue for years. She had been active in Animal Assisted Therapy and still does visits regularly. She has a perfect whippet yard, and goes to the beach. She trains obedience. She has a happy heart.
Even getting Early to Susan - from western Pennsylvania to southern South Carolina - was a breeze. We would all meet in Atlanta. I would be there just a day for the board and general membership meetings. Another friend (one of the three) was driving down and could bring Early. Susan had entered her whippets in Obedience and would be there. It worked.
We had to wait for the reading of the will, and though I knew that the dogs were getting excellent care, it haunted me to think of them sleeping in the house alone. It haunted me.
And then all hell broke loose.
[But the sun just broke through and I'm going to walk now. I hope I can hang on to Easy and Spice when they see all the Stupid City Squirrels around here.]
hug your hounds