The End of a Chapter

Spice and Easy

No melodrama.

No comments of what a great thing I did - no. It was my privilege.

I guess ten years ago, Carolyn and Greg asked me to be named in their will with two of their other friends to be responsible for placing their dogs should something happen to both of them. Sure I would and I was honored. I barely knew the other two friends at that point.

We never dreamed... Greg and Carolyn were my age. We were young.

A month before she died, Carolyn said she was just worried about her eldest two, Easy and Spice. They were old and had been together since birth. Easy had thyroid cancer and wasn't expected to live much longer. Could they stay with me when she - Carolyn - was gone? She just needed to know where they'd be.

Of course.

Easy wasn't expected to live beyond January of 2009. Spice on the other hand would be typical of Wistwind dogs and live well into her teens - fifteen, sixteen, even seventeen. But Spice got her own brain cancer, just like Carolyn, and suddenly she was gone.

That was purely awful. I mourned the loss of Carolyn and Greg afresh. And Spice, oh God had not made a sweeter being.

Easy kept right on. He slept on our bed. He played with squeak toys like a rowdy puppy. He rolled and rolled and rolled in the grass. He never felt bad, though his tumor kept growing.

I am saving up for a small used motor home. I want to take all the dogs when we go to dog shows. It is physically painful to leave the old dogs at home, but around here it's too hot for them even with the van tarped, and it's no fun for old dogs in a hotel room.

Last weekend I went on a long awaited trip to Minnesota. I picked up Crystal who had gone to Sweden with me and we talked and talked. I got to see my dear, wonderful friend Laurie (who takes these magical photos) in person - we talk on the phone every day. And I got to see Sam I Am's brother Rivet, and Lindy Loo's sister Simmer who live with Laurie. I got to see Laurie's 89 year old dad, with whom I am a little bit in love.

And we showed in a big giant Whippet show. Swede William was a star and a half and finished his Championship with a huge win: a five point major, which is as big as they come. But that was Saturday.

On Friday, Swede William was Reserve. It's an honor to be Reserve at a Specialty (it means next best, almost, dang close but no cigar), and I was thrilled. See, Swede William's color is very common in Europe, but not in this country. It's all due to silly fashion and prejudice. (The written whippet standard says famously, "Color is immaterial".)

Out of sixty-six whippets, Swede William was the ONLY blue fawn. So he has to be extra good and he was oh boy was he!

When I got done showing on Friday, I saw there was a message on my phone from Bill. Bill does not call me during the day at a dog show and my heart stiffened. I thought oh no Mama Pajama or Fat Charlie. I wished my heart would beat again because I didn't have any air.

I called Bill.

Easy? No! Easy? How? He had taken his walk in the morning, barked at a Stupid City Squirrel, wolfed down his breakfast of Cheerios, Grapenuts and yogurt and rolled in the yard. And he had had a grand mal seizure.

I bawled then when Bill told me. Bill had never had to take a dog in for that; he's a gentle soul and that is my responsibility. Easy was still groggy from the seizure and in fact was starting to seize again. So he was not a bit worried which was a blessing. There was no decision to make. But still. I wasn't there. I was at a dog show in Minnesota in my van with my very good friends and all those losses: Greg, Carolyn, Giacomino, Spice, then Martha, and now Easy. Woo-wee it was loud for a little bit, I sort of keened. I sort of forgot where I was; and luckily I was not ringside, but down by a kind soul's motorhome.

Arms were hugging me. They had all been there. They understood. But I got a grip.

Then Saturday morning Swede William won and that was all he needed to finish his championship. I have fun showing dogs, and I think it's important to be an ethical breeder. How horrid would it be to not have any whippets, or wire fox terriers, or collies, or papillons? But I don't live and breathe for championships. It's fun and a thrill and a challenge.

Well, when I was standing with Swede William, waiting for his Winners Dog ribbon, the dam broke. Maybe it was my imagination - of course it was - but I had this overwhelming sense of Carolyn's presence. Like she was right in front of me smiling, and Greg was sitting in his fold up chair, smiling too.

Here came the tears! Big snotty ones that aren't a bit pretty. What did everyone think? People didn't know about Easy, except for Laurie and Crystal and the motorhome friend. There I am standing with my dog who just had a big giant win for which I can take no credit (Lisa in Sweden, his breeder, gets all of that) and I'm just a-bawling snot bubbles. And there was Carolyn with a big grin. Just all around me.

Every time I looked at Easy I saw Carolyn. I often saw Greg and Spice, too, but every time I saw Carolyn. I think after you're dead that there are more important things than dog shows. Maybe Carolyn's presence had nothing at all to do with Swede William's win. Maybe I was finally saying goodbye.

Like I've closed the cover of a good book, hating to leave the characters. Knowing they'll stay with me, but not be a part of my every day anymore.

Carolyn and Greg

It was a great long friendship, and I've been much luckier than I deserved.

hug your hounds and your friends

Friday My Town Shoot Out - Look Up Look Down

So LAST week's assignment was Look Up Look Down, but I got confused and did THIS week's topic (circles) last week. So here is Last Week's topic this week.

I am a dedicated acrophobe, so no no no you won't see any photos from great heights. Oh no.

There is nothing more uplifting than looking down and seeing Mama Pajama with a snow nose:
(Mama Pajama survived a horrible anti-immune disease at age six, which claimed most of her ears, one lung, and a good deal of her kidney function. It did NOT claim her spirit or her life, and at twelve and a half she is my hero.)

Hardly anyone in these parts bothers to shovel. They are tickled by the snow and figure it's going to melt anyway. Looking down Monroe St.

Looking up at the appropriately named A.I.R. Studio sign. (A.I.R. stands for Artist In Residence. If you want to come live in Paducah's Art District for a week or a month, this is the spot.)

The whippets are fascinated with looking down the storm drains. So am I. They are made of brick and they are ancient. At night they serve as a raccoon Interstate. Whole families emerge to check out whats going on in Lower Town.

Looking up in the newest gallery's window, I think "Hey! There we are!" Only I can't imagine walking whippets in heels! Studio 7 features these art rugs.

Looking up at Paducah Yoga Center.

Looking down in front of the Yoga Center - ah, yes, the famed Snow Angel Pose!

Looking upstream: on the left is the Ohio River; on the right is the Tennessee River. I thought we were in Kentucky?

Looking downstream towards the Mississippi. I think Kentucky has an identity problem.

Looking up Broadway from the river.

Looking down Broadway towards the river. The farthest trees are in Illinois.

Looking up a giant snow bank at Sam I Am the King of the Mountain!

And looking down at little Lindy Loo who wanted to be.

Well that's it from my town. If you want to see fantastic photos from towns all over this world by much better photographers than I, just click on the camera on the right of this blog. It's really fun!

hug your hounds and stay warm and safe

Happy 12th Birthday, Mama Pajama and Fat Charlie!

Mama Pajama and Fat Charlie, photo by Laurie Erickson in May '09

Two of the most wonderful dogs in the world were twelve years old yesterday.

My long time readers will know that these birthdays are more special to me than one would expect. (How could any dog's twelfth birthday be any more special, you could rightly ask, but hang on ...)

Fat Charlie had a freak accident at a field trial in April of 2000. His Achilles tendon was severed. That he has all four legs is a testament to the veterinary care (including two surgeries) he received. He even got to race one more time. Watching him chase toys as he wears an I-dare-you-to-catch-me smile on his twelfth birthday face, is oh so good for my heart.

Most readers know that Mama Pajama was scheduled to be euthanized on May 12, 2003. She had a horrid autoimmune disease, neutriphilic vasculitis. She lost most of her ears, a lot of her kidney function, and one of her lungs to the illness. After six years of managing the disease with steroids, she has at long last been able to go without prednisone for the past three months.

She is silly again. She now does whippet spins (just picture a top - if you're old enough, or a speeding bicycle tire gone horizontal if you're not) out in the yard, purely for the fun of it. She takes the time to chew her food, no longer feeling starvation brought on by the corticosteroids.

And, after six years, she's continent again.

The little whippet who was once the #1 AKC Lure Coursing whippet in America, who can tell a story with the best of them, and who is the inspiration for the main character in my novel is twelve and she feels great!

To celebrate, I took Mama Pajama and Fat Charlie, and Easy and Spice (both of whom will also be twelve in October) out to the Kennel Club property to run. No young'uns! Just the four old friends. The weather gods were respectful of the importance of the day; they lowered the temperature by eight degrees and the humidity by 40%, and even threw in a cooling breeze to show their magnanimity.

Nice.


There were games of keep away. (Easy, left, Fat Charlie with toy)


Easy: "My toy!"


Fat Charlie: "I got this one!"


Spice: Zooooooooom!!! Too fast for you!!!

Summer time, and the livin' is Easy

Easy and Spice stop for a drink

When Mama Pajama was very ill, she wrote this:

My human Patience is a terrible worrier. She worries that she’s not doing enough to make me comfortable. They tried another new medicine, but it started to mess up my kidneys like the one that almost killed me, so they stopped it right away. I have Patience lift me into her lap – I can’t jump even into her lap anymore – and I try so hard to make her listen. I tell her it’s not the length of a life that’s important; it’s the living of it. I tell her how much I have loved every moment of my life, even now. I tell her that those of us souls who are highly evolved enough to have been dogs, know that worry is a sinful waste of energy and life.
And I tell her, as best I can, the Good Universe gave her to me and that I love her, and that I know she loves me, and that is enough. The rest we must simply accept as it comes, with courage and dignity, as all the worrying in the world won’t change a thing.

And then I lick her leaky face.

Mama Pajama: Was there not some mention of steak and ice cream?


Hug your hounds

A Quilt Week Walk -or three - Come on Along! (and a treasure)

First, look at this lovely painting that a dear, dear reader sent of Giacomino and Maria!

Thank you Sharon, I absolutely treasure it!

Today marks the end of Quilt Week in Paducah.

30,000 quilters come to our city of 27,000 (they outnumber us!) to experience all that is the Annual Quilt Show and Contest of the American Quilter's Society. People from Australia, Japan, Wisconsin, Colorado, Sweden, France, Brazil, and all over this good world.

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.

Francie wondered what the heck all of these cars were doing in our little neighborhood. Hmmm?

The first walk completed, we headed off on the second walk.

L to R - Fat Charlie who really had to poop bad, Francie, Delia, and Luciano. Legs? Whose legs? What legs? Those are not Tracey's gorgeous long legs. They are not. I said "No your legs aren't in the photo. Don't worry about it. Nowhere near."

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.

L to R - Francie, Tracey who appeared to be getting in this photo on purpose, uh-huh, sure looks to me, Swede William, Lindy Loo, your writer, Sam I Am.

Oh, yeah, now she's even posing!

Paducah's charming Renaissance District (downtown, and our adjoining neighborhood of Lowertown) was teeming with fun people. And so many of them were missing their dogs at home.

"Look! Greyhounds!"

Oh, dear readers, I would be one wealthy person if I had a ha'penny for every time I heard those words. And each time, ("Are they all rescued?") I have to decide whether to smile and walk on, or explain that these look like greyhounds, only they're smaller and they're actually their own whole breed. Whippets.

People don't like to be wrong.

Sometimes they try to convince me. "No, them are greyhounds."

Sigh.

But during Quilt Week, particularly the Brits and the Aussies chorus, "Lovely whippets! Lovely dogs!" Smilin' words.

After all that walking, Tracey and I had worked up a powerful hunger and it was lunch time and we noticed, lo and behold, that we had arrived back in our neighborhood at our favorite coffee house, Et Cetera.

The dogs checked the pretty flowers for huntable bumble bees, and we...

... PIGGED OUT! Homemade spinache quiche right out of the oven, fresh strawberries with yogurt and granola and a peach Izzie for me. YUMMMMMMM. Tracey started out with quiche and just strawberries, but she went back later and got the yogurt and granola too.

(Did I mention yumm? I think I did. In case I didn't: YUMMMMM.)

Et Cetera owner Allan is painting a labyrinth. It is way beyond cool, and another example of the magic of this place.

When we got home, we wallered on the porch. After all that pigging out, wallerin' was about all I was good for.

Easy is learning that folks who walk by our sidewalk are okay. Last evening, instead of barking at a group of home tour-ers, he ran and got the giant moose toy and brought it to them. He set to pulling Mr. Moose's mane off, which lodged in Easy's teeth, giving him the silliest beard!

Neighbor Auntie Karen had her iPhone and got these precious shots (you can click to enlarge, use your back button to return):

hug your hounds

Easy and Spice

Easy

Spice

It give me the greatest pleasure, Dear Readers, to introduce you to Easy and Spice. Easy is officially Wistwind's Easy Livin CD, ARX, CR, LCM, CanFCh, TRP, CGC, AV. (When a dog has that many titles, we call it alphabet soup!) Spice is Wistwind's Spice Twice, FCh, TRP. I think that she has her Canadian Field Championship, too. And she might have her Lure Courser of Merit (LCM), but I'm not sure.

They were born on October 29, 1997. And, as you know, they were bred and loved and treasured by my friends Greg and Carolyn Mountan, both of whom recently passed away.

So Spice and Easy now live at our house.

The blending of the canine family has been as smooth as the skin on a baby whippet belly. (That's smooth!) I can't imagine - still - what the last year was like for these two eleven and a half year old siblings. Though their tails wagged and they sat on laps and begged at the dinner table during their first week here, they also had moments of looking lost. They stayed right next to me. Spice tried to bury some of her food instead of eating. If I moved while they were napping, they jumped right up. Wagging, but a little worried.

I must brag a bit on the Warburton Waggle. They have been so generous and gracious! No arguments over toys, treats, beds, couches, anything. Easy and Spice were very close to Greg as well as Carolyn, and they want to snuggle with Bill, especially Spice. Delia has shared her personal manservant. And even her chair! Amazing.

Spice in Delia's chair!

Now, after onlytwelve days, Spice is eating all her food. Easy has a favorite stuffie squirrel. Yesterday he was bouncing around the yard with it, Tigger style. Shaking it dead, tossing it in the air and pouncing on it, bucking up and down. Wagging and rahring. My heart was beaming so hard, I think the rays must have shot out of my butt and toes and nose and hairs. And oh how those two enjoy their city walks! They come and tell me if I'm tardy.

They're no longer glued to me. The curl up with their new housemates on couches and beds. If I'm doing something boring downstairs they'll go on upstairs and claim the prime spots. They are settling in.

Easy and Sam I Am

But I can't call them my dogs. Even though I love them as such, when people say, "Are these your new dogs?" I say, "They are my friends' dogs. They've come to stay with us."

And that's just it: Easy and Spice will forever be Greg and Carolyn's dogs. I simply have the lovely privilege of taking care of them for a while.

hug your hounds

Enough

Yes, Dear Readers, you have been kind and more through this rant. I will share a few important or funny details and then get back to being a good blogger - sticking to stories of the good stuff (like poop picking up techniques) and the joys of living with these wonderful, amazing animals.

I remember at the National a very generous Canadienne offering to lend me a skirt to show Swede William in, since I had left my show clothes hanging on my bedroom door in Kentucky. Oh, Dear Readers. I recalled that conversation, lying in bed the other night. It went like this:

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
nice
with your dog.

Patience: Really? That would be
great.

KC: Okay, just come up to my room anytime.

P:
Ummm.

KC: What?

P: Well, I still get nervous when I
show... and...

KC: You don't!

P: I do. And
when I get nervous, I get the butt sweats. I don't want to get
the butt
sweats in your cute flippy skirt!

KC: (laughing)

P:
But thanks anyway.

KC: (Still laughing) Who doesn't get the butt
sweats! Don't worry about
it!

P: No, really. But thanks.

Sigh. Thank goodness the Kind Canadienne has a gentle heart and a great sense of humor.

Carolyn's Friend Number One (hereafter known as Saint Friend Number One) drove Easy and Spice all the way to TOLEDO. (I had driven to Toledo from Atlanta to see my sister.) There was a park adjacent to the hospital parking lot with a nice place to walk, and lots of squirrels. Easy and Spice got to sleep in bed with me and Swede William. It worked out just fine. They were very excited to see me, and I them, and William was glad to make their acquaintence. We had a couple of days to bond before heading back to Paducah.

I was worried about incorporating them into the waggle, especially since I had been gone so long. I stopped about a half hour out and pottied and fed them. When we got home first, I went in and oh did I hug my hounds! And I hugged my Bill. I had to face the house without a Very Old Voice welcoming me home. After greetings were thoroughly exchanged, I put up the waggle and brought in Easy and Spice.

Easy

Easy (you can see his tumors)

Spice

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!".

The good news is that after that initial marking spree (which only lasted as long as the home tour did) there has been not one accident. You may recall that Easy had surgery for thyroid cancer in January of '08. That was supposed to give him a good quality ten months to a year. We prayed that he would spare Carolyn the heartache of losing him, and good boy he did! The cancer is back, and wearing a collar was causing bruising, so, he is breaking my cardinal rule of wearing a tag collar at all times. He goes naked. I am using a front attaching harness on him for his walks and it works just GREAT!

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

and thank you for your amazing kindness, understanding, and generosity

We're Home/Thank You/Figuring Things Out - part 3

I woke up Sunday morning knowing what I had to do, but not accepting it. It wasn't light out, and one southern mocking bird was singing away in the dark at the top of his lungs, as if life were something to sing about. Giacomino was curled up against me and Bill was awake. Both of us were crying.

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
surgery again....

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

We're home/Thank you/Figuring things out

Oh, friends.

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