Thank you

Well, y'all sure do know how to make a body feel good! Even a dumpy old worn out body in a pink hoodie footie!

I worked 26 of the last 48 hours. But I'm done now until after the National. Yup we leave ('we' being friends Lee, Dee, and I) day after tomorrow for a week and a day in Lexington. Lucky this year: our National goes all over the country. Last year it was Tuscon which is a whole heck of a pile further than the 4.5 hours to Lexington!

Bill used to go to some Nationals with me, but now he feels compelled to keep his gallery open. Or it's just a good excuse to stay home. But that means the old dogs will stay with him.

And so will Sam.

My Facebook and Whippet World friends know that Swede William and Lindy Loo had four perfect puppies on December 18th. Sam, my sweet therapy dog who raised Lindy Loo and Swede William and who is perfect HATES these puppies. HATES them. From the moment he saw them. HATES them. Did I mention that he wants to eat them? HATES HATES HATES them.

So far we have had to keep them separated. (This is not normal whippet behavior.) Anyway to shorten a long sob story puppies will go with Lindy Loo and Swede William and Sammy for the first time in his life will not go to the National.

But I will get to see Laurie from Minnnesoooooooooooooota, and Swede William's breeder Lisa from SWEDEN, and bunches of friends from all over that I don't get to see enough, and Lee and Dee will get to see their first whippet National, and Lindy Loo and little Mia and Swede William will get to show and I'll get to come home to Bill and Sam and four Very Old Dogs that I miss like chocolate cake and breathing. (Delia and Luciano just turned eleven. Mama Pajama and Fat Charlie will turn fourteen in June. Bless!)

Little Alison Wonderland, Lindy Loo, Swede William and the Jabberwalkie on his dad's back

Glamorous Mia who lives with Lee and Dee and will be Little Ali's BFF

hug your hounds and thank you again for your sweet generous kind comments

Funny little stories...

Oh hello dear readers! Yes, yes I have missed you terribly.

My name is Patience and I am not not not a writer. I used to write funny little stories, mostly about my sweet dogs. And then life whapped me upside the head. And then it whapped me in the gut. And then it whapped me with a sucker punch to the kidneys. It kept whapping and whapping, and if you read my blog for the last year I was writing it, well, I don't know how you did. Because it was nothing but "WHAP", wail, "WHAP", wail, "WHAP", wail, "WHAP", wail, and so on ad nauseum.

Finally even I figured out that my stories weren't so much funny anymore. Heck they weren't even stories, so much as PDWs. (Public displays of wailing.)

The worst part is that Life really didn't whap me at all. It whapped people I love and some of the sweetest old dogs ever what graced this earth. (Told you I'm not a writer: 'ever what graced this good green earth'? I just like how it sounds, so that's how it stays.) I stand around here all unwhapped, virginal in my unwhappedness. I should be doing cartwheels and off-to-see-the-wizard clicking of heels.

Instead, I'm Madame Morose.

I found myself wandering around this new land, a land so null and void of Funny Little Stories that it made Job's famous dung heap look like an SNL skit (the OLD Belushi/ Aykroid/ Curtain/ Radnor/ Morris/ Chase/ Newman cast, I'm talking - pee your pants funny). Not that my life in any way resembled Job's. No no no. I had nothing but good, and I recognized that, it was just that I couldn't come up with a Funny Little Story for the life of me.

I got tired of reading my wails and I was sure that you were too. Sick and tired. So I stopped.

Kind and generous folks have encouraged me to start up again. I've tried a bunch of times. But my Funny Little Story maker is broke down. I can't find the Funny for the life of me. Poor, poor, poor Bill. He married this Young Honey who was all sparkly and entertaining and now he's stuck with Madame Morose who cries at breakfast because there are assholes in this world who want to de-fund public broadcasting. (Because the amount of money per year spent on public broadcasting represents about 0.003 percent of the federal budget, or $1.35 per American citizen, and I know that extra $1.35 per year in MY pocket will sure make a big difference to me. In fact, come to think of it, if I had that extra $1.35 per year I'd probably be able to find the Funny Little Stories again.)

Okay, there might just be a Funny Little Story about the HoodieFootie that Bill gave me for Valentine's and which I've worn constantly since. Except at work.

So. Here I am. I am not funny. This blog is not going to be what it was. Maybe if I write consistently again once in a while a Funny Little Story might come gasping to the surface for air and then I'll let you know that it did.

I don't know what I'll write about, but don't expect much. I don't want to disappoint.

hug your hounds