It Can't Be Comfortable

... but this is Lindy Loo's favorite sleeping position.

I would say it's an anomaly, but it's her Uncle Fat Charlie's very favorite position, too.

Happy napping!

Hug your hounds

Sleeping photos

Gaucho and Verdi who are fellow Dog Bloggers, asked to see photos of all the dogs sleeping. I'm pretty sure that's what they asked, but they asked it in Spanish, which none of us speak. Anyway, here is a feast of sleeping whippets:

Whippets snuggle when they sleep. (Delia and Very Old Dog)

Whippets sleep in piles.

Whippets sleep under covers.

Delia sleeps on Bill.

Whippets, like Swede William, sleep upside down.

Whippets sleep on cushy pillows. (Lindy Loo)

hug your snoring hounds

Saturday

I got a comment on this post which made me happy. (All of your comments make me happy.) Here it is:

• May I say too that as Star's birthday gift to me, I received your terrific book.... I ordered it through Barnes and Noble so they know people are interested in it.
  I was worried that you are giving away too much on your entries. Not true! I am delighted to find the book is packed full of much more than can be imagined. I'm looking forward to hours of chuckles and tears. Thank you for tempting me into its purchase.
  Hugging my hound,Kathy (and Star the Wonder Dog)

Thank you for your kind words, Kathy! You made my day.

It is cold, for Western Kentucky. Too cold for walks on cement. So I loaded up Fat Charlie, Luciano, Delia, Sam I Am, Swede William, and Lindy Loo and we drove out to the Kennel Club property. I didn't take Very Old Dog, or Maria whose thirteenth birthday is in a few short weeks, or Mama Pajama; it was just too cold. We met our friend Heather (Baby Ben too, but he was sacked out in his toasty car seat with the engine running) and Lindy Loo's brother Emmett and his big adoptive brother, Edgar.

It is strange. The sun is southern strength in Western Kentucky, but the wind comes from Canada. Straight on down that wind blows. Quite frankly, we wish the Canadians would be a little less generous this time of year. We wish they would keep their stinkin' cold old wind. Heather and Edgar and Emmett were all ready out in the fenced area when we arrived, and Heather said, "Oh, P-p-p-patience, it's c-c-cold out here." Only it came out as, "Euh, P-p-p-puhshunse, uht's c-c-c-uhld ewt heeew" because her lips were sort of frozen in place and weren't all that functional. The dogs were running zoomies and hardly even noticed.

I mixed and matched combinations of dogs, so that no one would get their shorts in an uproar and a grand time was had. I had to take off Swede William's and Lindy Loo's coats; they were zipping around so fast, that soon their tongues were hanging out, even without their coats. Fat Charlie chased Sam I Am, who grabbed the squeak toy and played the part of the "bunny". Around and around in dizzying huge circles the two flew. Fat Charlie grinned in disbelief. Used to be the time when no way could Sammy run faster than Fat Charlie. But he did today.

The timing was perfect; as Luciano and Delia were winding down, another club member arrived to use the fenced area. I said, "Hi! My guys are just finishing their run. Your guys will love it!" Only by then, my lips had frozen, so it came out, "Heuy! Meuy geuys ur juhst funshung thuhr run. Yuhr geuys wul luhve ut!"

I moved the van to a spot where the wind was blocked by the Kennel Club building, but it was still smack in the sun. Everyone had gotten their coats back on before getting in. I took Sammy into the building for a little practice in agility. Woo hoo, he was stupendous! For the first time ever, he did the weave poles without looking at me for direction. He put his head down and weaved on his own. This might not sound earth-shattering, but boy oh is it for me! I emptied my pockets of every delectable and proffered them up to him. I took out my squeaky frog and tossed it for him to grab mid air and squeak and zoom. I fell on my knees and thanked All that is Good. I let Sammy zoom through some tunnels and jumps because they are his favorites, and then we went home.

It was while I was picking up the yard at home that I realized how fortunate we are here. OK, there are a bazillion reasons, like Heather, and the Kennel Club, and Betsy who donated the fencing and Dee and her nephew who put it up, and my husband who is the best person in the world. But when I was picking up poop, I noticed that the ground in my yard was frozen like a rock. The very front, where the sun shines all day was soft, but the rest of the yard was like concrete. That's when it dawned on me; the ground wasn't even frozen out at the club. If the ground had been frozen, the dogs could not have run without hurting themselves.

And tonight my Minnesota friend, Laurie, mentioned that it -6 there, going down to -15. Not wind chill, which will be -35, but actual temperature. Yikes. I bet their ground is frozen everywhere. I bet I better stop whining. I am so grateful that we could go and run.

The dogs slept all evening. They all had expansive dreams of running, which proved contagious to the three who stayed home. They knew perfectly well where the others had been, having thoroughly sniffed each returning runner. Maybe the smell of the field would spark their memories. I hoped they were getting tons of running in their dreaming brains. I hoped they were running through warm fields of sunshine.

hug your hounds

A Dream

Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet, when absent souls in fancy meet.

-Sir Thomas Moore

I had a dream last night. Most likely sparked by a friend who spoke of a dream he had of his dog who had died last year. I felt a twinge of envy at his dreaming fortune. I used to have a rich dream life; now my dreams are sparse, vague, and melt into fog sooner than my head leaves its pillow.

But this morning I woke with a dream enveloping me, wrapping me in baby blanket clouds of comfort. I was holding Gracious, my first whippet, who died in 2004 at age thirteen.

In life Gracious was a strong spirit. She communicated with my dogdumb disadvantaged self with a shattering eloquence. I knew when Gracious was pleased with me, disappointed in me, when her life was good. She was not called Her Royal Highness for naught.

Not that she couldn't be silly. She could do "woozles" with the best of them. Butt high in the air, head poking, retreating, snaking at a squeak toy, then she would grab the toy, spin in dizzying, repetitive circles and then take off in butt tucked zoomies only to throw the toy, pounce on it, and start the game again. And then she would look at me, eyes afire with fun, and wag her joy my way. And in its purity, in its honesty, that joy was infectious. A person who could resist the spell of Gracious's joy was, well, this will sound judgemental, but a human who was not affected by Gracious's generosity of spirit was, quite simply, unworthy. Undeserving. Pitiable in their selfishness.

Gracious had the best memory of any dog - or human for that matter - I've ever encountered. I nearly lost her at a dog event when she saw a person she had lived with for a few weeks back when she was eleven weeks old. She was a yearling at the time, and she saw her old friend and bolted to greet her. She hadn't seen her for nine months, and had lived with her as a three month old puppy for a couple of weeks, but she was a Special Person to Gracious for her entire life. And I learned to hold on to Gracious's lead extra tight whenever we were somewhere that Lesley might be.

I got Gracious when she was six months old. I was her fifth home. After she had been with me for three months, I went to see a faraway friend for a week. When I returned, Gracious was nearly bald. Her hair had fallen out. I promised her I wouldn't leave her again. And I didn't.

And then there was Linda. All of my dogs adore Linda. Well, so do I! Gracious bestowed the highest honor to Linda: she gave my dearest friend her one and only puppy, Willow. And there was absolutely no question of her gift, or of her pleasure and satisfaction at Linda's acceptance.

And there came reunions of the highest order! Throughout Willow's life, at least once a week Linda would drive the hour to our farm to visit and walk, and Gracious and Willow would revel in the fantasticness of their reunification. Gracious would greet her daughter, and thank Linda and share her glee and light would shine in our small kitchen and we would every one benefit. It was a delicious contagion; a warm smile erupts as I remember.

But my dream this morning was of the quiet times with Her Highness. In life, when Gracious curled next to me, that is, when it was her idea and I was deemed deserving, she shared her deepest heart. Those of us who have completely loved an animal know this sharing. If you haven't experienced this, if your dog is tied to a tree out back, I could write a million words, yet you would not understand, and I am sorry for you. And it was this, exactly this, in my dream.

I held her in my sleep as I had held her for thirteen years. There is nothing quite so soft as a whippet's ear. Dreaming, I absently nuzzled her ear with my fingers. I felt the warmth of her body in my arms. I felt her breathing. It was so very real. I shared her heartbeat again. I embraced her spirit, and I loved her. Finally. Again.

I woke with a feeling of that contagious joy. I had tears, but they were tears of great good fortune. It was a good dream.

Gracious at age twelve, candid photo by Steve Surfman

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Dog Dreams

On the dog lists, there is frequently a new owner who cries for help:

"I think my dog is having seizures. When he is sound asleep he will twitch his legs and his eyes roll around and he yelps in pain. What do I do?"

Ah, dog dreams. This morning - technically it was, I suppose, the middle of the night, three or four AM - Very Old Dog had repositioned himself from our determination of "his spot" on the bottom of our bed, to his determination of "his spot" on my pillow between Bill and me. He had kindly but firmly reminded me of the clause in his contract where

3 (c) Human Servant shall at all hours, immediately awaken and raise bedsheets to allow access to Canine for snuggling under covers.

OK, so I was a little sketchy on the "awaken" part, but I had managed to lift up our covers and enjoy the warmth and closeness of Very Old Dog. Unfortunately, Bill was fulfilling another clause in the contract

3 (f). Human shall move to the very edge of the bed, taking up no more that six (6) inches of mattress space, and shall uncomplainingly endure doggy toenails digging into all parts of Human's body, including but not limited to chest, back, face, rump, and private parts.

You get the picture: Bill clinging for dear life to remain on his own bed, me feeling warm and snugly with Very Old Dog, and said Very Old Dog entering his deepest REM phase of sleep.

This dog was so full of fun in his youth and middle age. He was a dog who would run butt tuck zoomies in figure eights just for the sheer enjoyment of the running. He would play ball until he dropped. He would chase squirrels up a tree and then jump ten feet up the trunk for fun. He still tries - hard - to join when the youngsters now do zoomies and leapies, scaring the living bejesus out of his Servant. He's got some bad discs in his neck, and his legs go all wobbly, and zoomies and leapies are life threatening events. So his Servant, sadly, must do everything in her power to curtail such activities.

But not when he's dreaming. I watch with delight as my darling Very Old Dog paddles madly in his sleep. I imagine him running through autumn crisp gold fields of oat straw, zigging and zagging and leaping to get a better view, just because he can, and just to afford me the thrill. I see my torpid dog's tail thumping on my bed, and I picture him racing by me in his dream, sporting a devilishly delighted grin as he skims past my vulnerable shins, accelerating as he goes by, gaily wagging his pleasure. His eyes, blinking and unseeing in his sleep, sparkle with life and joy and boundless energy in his dream. He purely winks at me as he runs by. And when I hear the quiet, "Yip, yip, rahr, ruhr," of his sleeping voice I translate that into battle cries of the hunt. Oh is there no more beautiful music than that of a hound in full tongue? Or the barks of a joyful reunion? The woof of anticipation at the soon-to-be-thrown toy or ball?

I know my Very Old Dog's dreams are full of pleasure. They allow him the pure canine thrills which now elude him. Perhaps that's why he sleeps so much more these days.

I hope I am a part, even a small one, of his dreams. I hope I was a good enough Servant to be included in remembered good times. I hold him close and I feel the dream melt away. He sighs, snuggles into the pillow, and waits for the next dream to take him back to his glory days.

Every day is a gift. Every day is a treasure.

Dream on.