Best Wishes for a Dear Wire Fox Terrier

The whippets have a friend out in blog land who needs some good thoughts and prayers. She has the same name as a wonderful 15 year old whippet who is so very special to us, and who is FINE, so we didn't want to scare anyone. This wirey friend is named Snickers, just like our 15 year old whippet friend.

But Wire Fox Terrier Snickers is needing some positive healing energy.

So, some other very cool blog friends of ours, Jake and Fergi, are asking everyone to set your alarms
And at exactly 11:00 PM GMT on Saturday 14 Nov 09
(Go to this link to find what time that is for you)
5:00 PM Saturday evening in Iowa (that's 5 PM in Paducah, 6 PM on the East coast)
as Snickers' family sits down to eat

Turn toward them (in the central USA)
And join together in a silent minute
Of prayer, meditation, contemplation, reflection
Whatever feels right to you.
Followed by whatever means of communication
You choose.

Arrooing
Barking
Howling
Yipping
Yapping
Wooing

To wish and send Miss Snickers and her family
whatever is in your hearts
That will help them feel the Love and Support
They need right now.
Personally, we’ll be sending Miracle Whippet Magical Wishes.

Then
Blow a Kiss
and send your Love and Prayers and Best Wishes
to Miss Snickers and her Family
and they will feel their arrival
in the breeze.

hug your hounds

in gratitude for their

good health

Reunion!

Oh how I would love to climb inside my dogs' brains and hearts and just once, see their world through their eyes. I could only guess what they were thinking, as Special Humans from their past marched right back into their home.

Linda arrived first, for all intents and purposes another purchase from the grocery store. Linda is Sammy's nana, but she has been a huge part of all of my dogs' lives. Giacomino, Fat Charlie, Mama Pajama, Luciano, and Delia saw Linda, Willow, and Jessie (Sammy's mom), nearly every weekend, and a couple of times a week for their whole existence. Then we moved six years ago, and we lost her. The glee when I returned from my normal errands run with the Krogers bags, and Linda! I had found her!!! Only Swede William and Lindy Loo are out of the Linda loop, but they had met her as puppies and a whippet never forgets.

They were not done celebrating, no they were not, when the next day, who should march right on in the back door? Oh my stars, it was their Rhonda!!!

Accompanied by the Nice Lady, Crystal, who is practically family because she has stayed in our home for a couple of overnights. But Rhonda!!!! Right here in living color. Rhonda, who had been at dog shows, lure coursing, race meets, and road trips. Rhonda, who dogsat Fat Charlie and Giacomino at her house. Whose bags smelled of Giacomino's one and only wife, Snickers. It was Rhonda!!!

And while they were still celebrating the reincarnations of Linda and Rhonda, two more angels appear: Cheryl and Terrie.

People who shared every day of the week, when the whippets and those two people and I worked in the same office. Fat Charlie and Mama Pajama's nana Terrie, and their very own Cheryl, who now has three whippets, two of whom are immediate family, because she fell so deeply in love with mine. Dogs remember love like that. Dogs remember.

Not only had the missing humans materialized, they brought with them scent-images of dog friends and relations. Nose pictures of Giacomino's siblings Jazzbo and Lilly - Fat Charlie and Mama Pajama's mom. And their sisters, Mollie and Jessie. And Sammy's siblings Tucker and Graffiti. Noses found dads, grandads, great grandaunts, moms, cousins, nephews. Little hints of smells on clothing, in suitcases, on purses.

The tails kept on wagging. Eyes sparkled. Noses sniffed and sniffed, which started the tails wagging all over again.

I thought it was too much for Giacomino. He'll be fifteen in April, and he seemed to be overwhelmed. He continued to perk up, though, and I realized something. The last time a Special Person came to visit, Bill and I disappeared for Way Too Long. He had just recovered from our trip to Italy, when he lost his lifelong cuddle buddy, Maria. He had just recovered from that, when Special People arrived in droves, and I think he was terribly worried that I was going to disappear again. But I didn't disappear, and on Linda's last day here, she got to see him pull me around the block on his walk and gallop to me in the yard. Eyes shining, legs akimbo, tail wagging.

And I had a blast! You know you're with wonderful dog friends when not only do you not have to be embarrassed when you're stooping to pick up the eighth dog's poop on your walk, but your friend remarks, "That is really good quality stool. What are you feeding these days?"

Oh, but I miss them so.

hug your hounds, and your friends, too.

A Mutual Rescue

I forgot to share this week's iPet of the Week!



It's a fabulous happy story, about Dru Bear the Maltese/terrier mix.

Marie rescued Dru Bear from the Lexington pound, because the then six year old looked so terrible. Then Dru Bear turned right around and rescued Marie back, just by loving her so much. Marie figured if her little dog could love her with such a huge big love, then she could love herself a little bit.

Read all about it HERE.

Hug your hounds

snug as...

three bugs in a rug.

[Luciano, Lindy Loo and Swede William demonstrate]

We believe in creature comforts around here. (And in the bottom right corner of that photo is my red flannel paw print jammies with the heating pad chord hanging down! We are equal opportunity creature comfort providers.)

Maria had another couple of days of not feeling up to snuff. She seems to be feeling a little better tonight.

hug your hounds and keep them warm and safe

A LIttle Hero - Buddy

This week's iPet of the Week is Buddy, who actually saved his human's life.

What an honor it was to interview Buddy's dad. He is such a genuinely nice man, who clearly adores his dog. And Buddy is quite the terrier-ist! His favorite toy was a monkey which came with him when he arrived. All that is left is the decapitated head! And Buddy tosses it around the living room with abandon.

It's a great, magical story.

Hug your hounds

Home Again

Thank you all for your kind understanding of my craziness!

Ariel, one of my dearest dear readers, left the following comment:

... you are SO lucky to be so happy with your life at home that you don't want to
leave it!

Yes! I am! And no, I don't!

Not that we didn't see beautiful places. Here is the sunrise from our last day in Castel Nuova:

Made even more special, knowing that Bill's grandparents looked at this same sunrise, 100 years ago.

Here at home, on this gorgeous autumn morning, are the views that make my heart feel whole.

Fat Charlie worships his god, the sun.

Maria says, "What?"

Friends stop by for kisses.

And a Very Old Dog, who was as goofy as a puppy on his walk this morning, won't stay far enough away from me to get a good picture.

Home.

Hug your hounds

Heart Attack

No where else on Earth could I write the following and not be involuntarily committed to an inpatient Psych unit. Oh how I appreciate you, dear readers!

I can tell you that I spent a two week, most-expenses-paid trip in Italy, Italy for heaven's sake, feeling like my heart was being attacked.

OK, before even you get out the straight jacket for me, let me explain. That two week trip was the longest I had gone without hugging a dog and/or horse for forty-four years. If you count my first ever pets, my parakeet Birdie, and my cats Stripy and Blackie, (does this explain why my dogs now have names like Giacomino?) then it was the longest I had been without animal companionship in fifty years. I am fifty-four years old.

To see photos of the beautiful places we visited, and some beyond delightful plein-air drawings by my talented husband, check out his blog! (He'll enjoy the visitors, too!!!) We stayed a week in Tuscany, the glory of which has been the subject of great art and literature. We saw David in Florence, the Tower in Pisa, the Piazza in Siena, and vista after beautiful vista from our home base of Fonterutoli. (Font-uh-ROO-tuh-lee). There was a road, with its original stones, into this village built by the Romans in 900 A.D. (Bill has photos on his blog.)

We went to Rome and saw the sights. And we went to a wonderful village in the province of Puglia (POOO-lee-uh) where Bill's grandparents were born and raised. Twenty-one Renzullis met there for a family reunion. There were no other tourists (in fact at first the locals thought we were there to evangelize them! HA!) and the beauty of that place will stay with me for my life. Such was the magic in that town, that my heart felt the least attacked there. We could look out of our hotel window, see the 300 mile wide valley where most of the wheat for all of that Italian bread and pasta is grown, and far off in the distance see the Adriatic.

the view from our window

But through it all, I felt like I couldn't quite fill my lungs. As though I had been amputated. Not like I had lost a limb; rather, I was the limb, lying useless and severed. Disembodied.

Because of the immense generosity of my neice, Molly, I didn't have to worry about the health and safety of the dogs. They know her well, and adore her, and I trust her as I would no one else. I did worry that I had placed a terrible responsibility on her, and I overemphasized that I was leaving her with very fragile old dogs, whose every day was, at best, iffy, whether I was home or not. In my defense, it didn't help that we had very little Internet access during the whole stay. I went to a pay-and-show-your-passport place in the nearest town, and learned that Maria, who will be 14 in February, had been vomiting and had stayed at my vet's for the afternoon getting IV's.

There's not enough air in this country. Why can't I breathe?

Luciano had given Molly a black eye. His special self was jumping up to kiss her while she was bending down. Whippet heads are hard. Oh boy. Hang in there, Molly. Bill's daughter let me send some messages from her blackberry, but nothing came back.

No news is always good news. Molly was visiting with friends after the dogs went to bed. The computer wasn't cooperating with her and kept 'poofing' her messages. Had Maria died and no one would tell me? What good would it do to ruin my vacation? What, Bill? Oh yes, that is a gorgeous view. What the heck is wrong with the air? No matter what I do, my lungs feel empty. I'm drowning here.

I sent a blackberry message to my dear friends and neighbors, Lee and Dee. Is Molly all right? Were the dogs all right? Please! Were Molly and the dogs all right? Yes, they replied. Molly and the dogs were just fine. Maria was back to barking and begging, and she was eating well.

OK. I should be able to breathe now. Why do my arms feel leaden? So empty and useless.

In Rome for two days, if I sat on the bottom of the marble steps in the hallway, the WiFi worked. Molly was doing fine, the routine was less scary, and Maria continued to eat and be merry. They were all enjoying Molly's head-counting "biscuit meetings" immensely, and Giacomino was sleeping all the time.

There is something wrong with my heart. It squeezes too tight when it pumps. Or it doesn't fit in my chest anymore. Maybe some of it is missing, and it's rattling around in a too-big pocket.

Bill's grandparents' home town

No Internet in the whole town of Castelnuova. But such was the power of seeing Bill walk the streets where his grandparents had played as children, of seeing the town with his own eyes, which he had heard about all his life, my heart seemed to fit better again.

And I would be home soon.

The dizzying hour and a half bus ride rocking and zigzagging down the mountain into Foggia sped by. And the packed train, sardines for three and a half hours to Rome, was fast and pleasant. I felt a little giddy.

Tomorrow!

We got up at 5 AM to get to the airport. Rome to Milano, then Milano to Chicago, then O'Hare to Amy's house, then the seven hour drive home. Just over 25 hours of traveling. Molly wanted to get the dogs up and witness the whippet joy, but I just wanted their lives to return to normal. It was nearly midnight, and they were in bed. I went upstairs.

Giacomino was waiting at the baby gate at the top of the stairs. He was wagging, and his ears were standing straight up, but his eyes were confused. No so with Bill's Delia, whose soft-crate zipper has been broken for years. Her Bill was home! She danced and sparkled. Her Bill was home! I went into our bedroom and put all of me that would fit into each crate and kissed each dear occupant.

"I'm home," I whispered.

I know, from doing whippet rescue, that a whippet starts to bond to a new human after about a week to ten days, and by three to four weeks they are part of that human's heart forever. I had been gone for fifteen days. And I saw the confusion in their eyes.

I'm home.

For the first two days, Giacomino stayed asleep, and when he was awake, he had a blank stare, like he had gone someplace inside himself and couldn't see out. Maria had another episode of vomiting and we went back to the vet. Her blood work and belly xrays were great! I went on an errand, and returned to the chaos of Excessive Greeting Disorder. Molly, ever astute, said, "That must be music to your ears." Oh, yes. We said a sad, grateful goodbye to Molly and she went back to her own dogs, whom she missed as much as I did mine.

And now that I've been home for six days, Giacomino's eyes are no longer blank. Maria is barking more, though she's not back to her mouth of the south status, and Delia is Bill's extra appendage.

I am a foolish old woman. I have no problem with that. As I type, I am surrounded by eight somnolent dogs. My heart fits in my chest and I can breathe. I am who I am.

I'm home.

Hug your hounds

A Moment with a Very Old Dog

[Giacomino - pronounced jocka-MEEno - is fourteen and a half. We rescued him, starved and sick, from a for profit breeder who had sold two of his littermates, at five and one half weeks of age, to a pet store. We thought we could find him a home. He was in our house for about ten minutes when we realized something. He was home.]





Very Old Dog has been my shadow for over fourteen years. Even though I learned, long ago, never to step backwards without looking, I have still stepped on him 459 times. When I shower, he curls up on the bath mat. When I type, my chair ends up scooted in too far under the computer desk, because he has sprawled out beyond the edges of his bed, and if I move back I'll run over his sweet nose. Right now, in bed as I type on my newly repaired and once again functional laptop, his head is on my right foot.





The dogs all went to bed last night a little past nine, (lobbying for their snacks early) but I finished some sewing. I came in the bedroom an hour later. Very Old Dog was sound asleep on the foot of our bed, (I lift him up and he gets his snack there) where he has his own pillow and blankets. I brushed my teeth, and when I climbed in bed, my Very Old Dog got up - no simple task these days and nights - and moved up to the top to rest his head on my arm. His coat is so soft. And though most of his brindle patch has faded to white, his ears are still black. They often stand straight up now, straining, because they don't hear much anymore. But they feel as silken and soothing as they ever did.





He looked at me, and sighed, and snuggled in and then even with my limited human understanding, I realized something. Very Old Dog always used to lie next to me on the couch, or climb in my lap in a chair, and lately he hasn't been. It dawned on me that it isn't because he doesn't want to, which is what I thought. He can't. He can't get up on a couch. My heart broke a little bit.





Today, I picked him up and held him in my lap whenever I could. Even extra for lost time. And I will tomorrow and every day I can.





Hug your hounds

Very Old Dog

From when he was a tiny scared bit
Of someone else's trash,
To now.
A great, creaky uncle so gentle with the world.

Fourteen. Fragile as the hopeful wish
Of a poor child,
At night.
Until he sees my walking shoes go on.

How extraordinarily privileged we are.
To share this soul,
Goodness.
Someone else's trash. My treasure.







hug your hounds

Time for a Walk?

Could we go for a walk, just around several blocks?
Do you s'pose that is too much to ask?
I see that you're tired and your job has you wired;
Is a walk an impossible task?

I lay here on the floor with my ears to the door
Waiting patiently for your return.
Now you're home, oh hooray! And if you'd only say
Those sweet words for which I dearly yearn.

I was good all day, though I did go astray
And surf that perfectly grand stick of butter!
I could easily see that you left it for me
Right there in the countertop clutter.

And I chewed up your shoe, cause it smelled just like you
And that made me feel close to your heart.
I must say that my tummy feels awfully rumbly-
Oops! There went one: I let a big fart!

No, don't plop in your chair! You'll get stuck sitting there,
And I'll never get my exercise.
I'll explode into bits and collapse into fits.
Wait! I know! I'll stare deep in your eyes.

See how I adore you, and now I implore you
To take me and the ball to the park.
Oh it's working: you're up, and you've put down your cup!
"Yahoo, yippee, tra la la," I bark!

I don't ask for much and isn't it really such
A most glorious wonderful day?
You are smiling now too, this is so good for you;
You're the very best human, I say!





hug your walkin' humans

He's home!

Ah-woooooooooo!








ahhhhhhhhhhhh



hug your humans

Catching up

As you know dear readers, we have had a lovely visit with our wonderful friend from Minnesoooota, Laurie, and her three dogs, two of whom are immediate family. Laurie is a professional photographer so on top of having fun, fun, fun with a soul sister, I have a personal paparazzi! The weather gods being what they are, horrid angry ugly things, poor Laurie would have been warmer and certainly would have enjoyed more sunshine had she stayed in the frozen tundra. But on the last day we were at least able to bundle up and take our walks.

Sam I Am and Swede William and Lindy Loo and their Servant.

Isn't this cool? She got our reflection in a downtown shop window. Laurie is so clever!

That's the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers on the other side of the flood wall.

Then I took Laurie's camera and she posed with the Terrific Trio:

Then I was a little devilish and said, "Here doggies!"

Oh I am naughty. Notice that the dogs have all of their tag collars mixed up. We took them off to do the magical photo Laurie took of all NINE of my dogs, which you haven't seen yet, hint, hint. And we put them back on willy-nilly in a hurry. Swede William is sporting Delia's fuchsia collar here.

Then Laurie took her camera back and captured Bill getting the mail when we got home.

And we had a delightful visit with Phyllis and Maddie. Laurie and Molly were both so excited to meet them. I took these photos, but Laurie took so super photos of Maddie. Sshhh! I'm going to surprise Phyllis with them for her birthday in May!

Maddie is doing so wonderfully. She got her teeth cleaned, and apparently she came with a longstanding urinary tract infection. Now that she has been treated for that she is quite spunky! But, she is so gentle and careful with Phyllis. The neighbors take Maddie along when they walk their dog, several times a week, so she gets regular exercise.
You simply cannot help getting leaky eyes as you watch these two dear souls. Phyllis is such a gentle, kind, classy, sparkly, fun lady. And so is Maddie. And the devotion between them is lovely.

hug your hounds and your friends too

Hormones and happiness

Lindy Loo is now at day eleven of her season. Meaning that from here on out, no, from last Sunday on out, there can be not a nanosecond of Swede William and Lindy Loo occupying the same air space without strong physical barriers separating them. Neither of them is particularly pleased with this turn of events, most of all Swede William. But they are both most gracious good sports. So far.





Here is how we manage. Downstairs, just off the kitchen is the dog room, with crates for when we go out of the house without dogs. In these special horny times, when we are downstairs for meals, either Lindy Loo Enticing Butt or Swede William Hornus Toadus is in a crate with a special chewie. They take turns. When we are upstairs working or writing, I have brought in a crate from the van and plunked it in the TV room. This view is from my computer chair.



They take turns in that crate as well, again always with a special delight. A peanut butter filled kong, for example. My dogs are crated only for short periods normally, so a peanut butter filled kong is an extreme delicacy. I feel a little sad, because Lindy Loo Who Must Now Be Denied and Swede William Who Would Like to Accommodate Her usually spend their mornings tearing around the yard and barking at hapless passersby (Lindy Loo, not William), and sunning on the papasan chairs on the porch and curling up and snuggling when they come in on the couches. They are the best of best of friends, and what must they think of my sudden reversal of their fortunes?



Hormones being what they are, Lindy Loo the Brazen Booty Bong Girl is shining all of her light on darling Very Old Dog. His Necessary Bits were donated to science years and years ago, but he still can sniff out a Chance of a Lifetime when it is flaunted before him, don't you worry about that! Recognising the opportunity is one thing; doing anything about it is quite another. Thankfully, aside from a long snuffle of Parfume de Youth and Heaven, the clever old boy doesn't try.

When everything becomes too much for Swede William Who is Being A Trooper So Far, he will get to go visit Lindy Loo's brother Emmett, and Edgar, and Heather and Baby Ben. This will be a Fun Adventure for him and we are so very grateful beyond words.

hugs your hounds, in a platonic, decidedly un-Swede William way, of course

Company is coming!

who's at the door?

Our dear friend Laurie from Minnesooooooota is arriving tonight for her annual visit. She is bringing her famous thirteen year old, Spats (the most titled whippet ever with something like twenty-eight or a million and thirty titles), and Sam I Am's brother Rivet, and Lindy Loo's sister Simmer. (At one point I considered naming Lindy Loo Sizzle, so we would have had Simmer and Sizzle.) Lindy Loo decided to celebrate the upcoming visit by coming into season. Oh joy oh rapture! Oh great timing. Oh $h!t.

Twelve whippets in one house with a bitch in season. Well, the only intact boy in the whole group is Lindy Loo's future arranged-marriage husband, Swede William. Being an eighteen month old with raging hormones, Swede William isn't so very choosy in just whom the object of his affections needs be. That said, he is the lowest dog on the totem pole here, and daren't go beyond a wishful sniff of any of the dog butts in this house. No sirree. One time he took a notion to romanticize Mama Pajama and she took a notion to perform a Swede William nose-ectomy, without anesthesia.

I fear that Swede William will labor under the delusion that our little guest Simmer will fit deliciously into the category of "any port in a storm." I do not believe that Simmer's stud muffin Rivet (muffins or no) will take kindly to this whimsy. I also fear that Rivet, only recently departed of his muffins, will take a shine to Swede William, in the Brokeback Mountain sense of the word, since Swede William's nose has been attached to Lindy Loo's Tinkle Can for four days, thus inheriting much of her ambrosial bouquet. I gave him a bath. Of course, Rivet will most definitely take a shine to Lindy Loo, in a decidedly un-Brokeback Mountain sense of the word, so why worry about Swede William?

Then there is the Fun Police, Delia, who follows a strict zero tolerance policy on any hanky panky in her house. Period. You get a silly sexy face on your doggy self, head up, tail up and wagging a rumba, one eyebrow jauntily cocked (or anything else), and Delia appears magically from where ever in a zoom blink, all hackles and teeth, to tell you "Oh no you don't!" Not on her watch. Not going to happen.

I will confess, dear readers, a tendency to worry. I brood. I distress over things which have not happened, and probably never will. I dwell in It-Could-Happen Land. Most likely the dozen will be model canine citizens. The humporama I dread will never materialize. It will be wonderful to see Laurie and her sweet dogs, and we have so many fun things planned. The weather promises to be disappointingly horrid. (What did I ever do to anger the weather gods so?) But it won't dampen the fun of the visit one bit. And, as Laurie generously mentioned, anything Western Kentucky can throw at us has to be better than Minneapolis.

Come back for updates and photos.

Hug your hounds

Dog Angst

How amazingly strange.
The word angst is not in my 1984 Webster's New World Dictionary, nor is it to be found in my 1992 New Webster's Dictionary. (Note to self: maybe it's time for a new dictionary?) On Mirriam-Webster online dictionary, the word is defined as a feeling of anxiety, apprehension, or insecurity and is said to have appeared circa 1942, a result of Freud's reign.
American Heritage dictionary defines angst as a feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression.
WordNet gives us an acute but unspecific feeling of anxiety; usually reserved for philosophical anxiety about the world or about personal freedom.
And the Cambridge Dictionaries Online goes a little farther: strong anxiety and unhappiness, especially about personal problems.

So. Do dogs experience angst? We like to think of our carefree companions as experiencing life as it comes, loving the moment and making the wagging best of any situation. After all, they don't have to worry about a mortgage or the rent. Their food appears magically before them, usually on time. Certainly all of you who are reading this have dogs who are warm and safe at night. How could a dog experience philosophical anxiety about the world?

Ha. One look at Delia during the past week and you could have no doubt about the existence of doggy angst. Her world was turned upside down. Her Bill was poorly. No heading out to the studio with him at 8:30 each morning, to lie in her special bed, or on his chair, breathing in the familiar art smells. Sneezy pastel dust, benign acrylics, pungent oil paint, turpentine. No singing along to Johnny Cash or Pavarotti. No standing at the glass front door to the gallery, scanning for squirrels and feral cats, or dogs walking by with their owners to bark at. No treats and loves from Bill's friend and studio-mate, Harvey. And it got worse.

She had to go on her walks with me. Angst, all over her being. Dripping from her like tears from a widow. She would don her coat and leash and then run to Bill's side. Yay! A walk! No, she couldn't leave her Bill. This was so wrong. Deeply, personally, philosophically wrong. Now, Delia is a polite dog. She would wag and wiggle and show the proper exuberance to me for taking her. But she would cast worried glances back at the house, and once the walk had turned itself towards home, her step was just a little more lively, and her pace was quickened.

Visit any veterinarian's waiting room. Doggy angst in spades. Observe the wide eyes, the panting tongues curled in concern. What did those definitions say? Oh, yes, there are feelings of anxiety, apprehension, or insecurity thick in the air in the waiting room. There are always some youngsters who don't know better. But keep looking. Look at the face of that boxer and imagine the word bubble above his bugging eyes. "Hello? This was a mistake! We were going on a fun ride in the car, and you got confused and brought me here? Last time you brought me here, you forgot me and they cut off my boy parts! Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?"

And the little rotund dachshund pacing between the the laps of the elderly couple. His lap, her lap, his lap, her lap. Pant, pant, pant. "There is the door. Right there. Out the door, people, out the door! They are going to poke me if we don't leave now. They are going to cut off my toes. There could be blood. Out the door, let's go. OUT. THE. DOOR." This is a dog experiencing strong anxiety and unhappiness, especially about personal problems. Angst.

I think what we humans call Separation Anxiety, a term that appeared only after the practice of long term crating became popular, could fall right into the angst category. Of course crates, used properly, are a great boon to modern dog owners. I have nothing against crates and my dogs happily jump into theirs. But, I wonder about the six month old puppy, whose owner pops him into a crate at seven in the morning and returns at six at night. The puppy goes out to do his business and then goes back in the crate while the owner goes out to dinner. Day after day. An acute but unspecific feeling of anxiety; usually reserved for philosophical anxiety about the world or about personal freedom. Angst.

Delia's troubles, I am happy to report, are fading. Her Bill is feeling better. A little studio time with him today will make her walk with me much more tolerable.

And I have a confession to make, dear readers. I am right there with Delia on this one.

Hug your hounds.

And hug your special humans, too.

An Update on Shelby - you won't believe your eyes!

[If you came here looking for the funny story, click on "For Dog Lovers Only"]

Remember Shelby? (We called her Elsa at first.) She was found in our neighborhood, about (per our wonderful vet) twenty-four to forty-eight hours before she would have starved to death. Our most wonderful and dogless neighbors, Deb and Merle, have taken her in to foster her. The wire fox terriers in Florida, Jake and Just Harry's human Joan kindly asked how Shelby is doing.

Well....

Here she was in December:

And here she is last week:

She loves her cuz!

Deb made her a warm coat.

I think Deb and Merle are doing an awesome job. What do you think?

But we still must find Shelby's forever home. Deb and Merle have been beyond kind and generous, and I really want to help them. Ideally, Shelby's forever home would be someone with a huge heart who can help her through her heartworm treatment. Who wants to continue with Shelby's obedience training (she LOVES to learn), and who loves to play ball and Frisbee. Shelby is a big strong girl and her wagging tail can clear a table! Small children probably wouldn't stand a chance.

Any ideas? She is such a great dog.

Hug hour hounds.

First Night of Class

Our Kennel Club held the first night of beginner Agility classes tonight. Lindy Loo (lying on top) was in the first class, and her BFF Swede William (Lindy Loo's extra cushion in the photo above) was in the second class. They are both about a year and a half old. Sam I Am went too, as he is entered in a trial in a couple of weeks, and I thought maybe he'd learn by, I don't know, osmosis possibly.

I love watching animals learn. I loved it when I worked with young horses, and I love it with dogs. Our teacher is one of our Kennel Club members and she's patient and kind and explains things well, so neither the dogs nor the humans are having anything but fun. Lindy Loo and Swede William have gotten a little headstart; yet another Kennel Club member took pity on me this fall and graciously has given me some private lessons at her home. I could tell she has started us off on the right feet, because both of the puppies were thrilled tonight to see the equipment.

We think that humans are the only ones who learn by observation, but I don't believe it for a minute. Back when I trained young horses to accept a saddle and rider, I soon realized that it was exponentially easier and less traumatic when the horses had seen other horses be ridden. When youngsters came from broodmare farms where they never had seen a horse under tack, no matter how used to being handled they were, they were much harder to convince that this was a reasonable proposal!

I had messed up training poor Sam I Am the teeter. (In Agility, one of the obstacles is a seesaw. The dog runs up one side, hesitates slightly as he reaches the fulcrum point, and then runs down after the teeter tots.) Sam was afraid. So for two training sessions last year, I stood Sammy next to the teeter while the advanced dogs ran over it. And every time a dog banged the teeter, I gave Sammy a treat. Bang! Treat. Bang! Treat. After watching all those dogs and getting treats just for watching, he stopped being afraid. Now I have to work on slowing him down on the teeter!

In tonight's class there was a beautiful big Doberman. Just a gorgeous dog with a gleaming coat that a Pantene commercial would crave. His handler blatantly adores the dog and is justifiably proud. To introduce the dogs to the A-frame, a pause table that was set at about a foot off the ground was placed on the side almost at the bottom of the A-frame. The dogs were to jump up on the table, and then ease onto the A-frame and creep down to the bottom. Just a few steps. The Doberman thought this was not a clever thing to do with his Monday night. He climbed willingly onto the table, but was intimidated by the pitch of the A-frame. Our instructor wisely didn't want to frighten him, and when he placed just one paw on the obstacle, she had his handler give him a treat, and tell him he was brave, and that was it.

I looked at the Dobe as the other dogs climbed onto the table and down the A-frame. He'd watch, and then glance at his handler. And wag. I could see his brain working. When it was his turn again, he climbed right up on the table and then put one of his big, gentle paws on the A-frame. And with trepidation but without hesitation, there went the next foot and the next and the next and he had his courageous bulk on that steep ramp and there he was with his back feet on and front feet on terra firma and he was getting treats and whoops of praise and he fairly beamed and his human beamed right back and is there anything much cooler on Earth?

Nah.

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It's amazing what dogs will do to please us. Astonishing how much they trust us.

hug your hounds

A Chicken for the Miracle Dog

Elsa is thriving under foster parents' Deb and Merle's loving care. The Great Rescue happened on Thursday. On Friday, day two, I went to visit and was greeted with big full tail wags. My niece went with me and sat on the floor, and Elsa sat on her lap. Looking at Deb. Wagging.

We bumped her up to a half a cup of sensitive stomach kibble four times a day, plus the A/D with the Panacur once a day. Her belly looked even skinnier because it was less bloated on Friday; losing the belly worm load. But she looked the tiniest bit less gaunt. Better hydrated. Shoot, she looked alive instead of like the standing dead. We sat and wondered about her past. Elsa took a long, peaceful, deep nap, opening her eyes only if Deb left the room.

Friday evening the phone rang. It was Merle. "We have a new development." My heart sank. Was she having bloody diarrhea all over their lovely house? Was she screaming in pain? Panting uncontrollably from Congestive Heart Failure?

"What is it, Merle?"

"She wants to play. We need some toys for this dog."

Oh my goodness, you are kidding me! "Bill, I'm going to run to my shop and get some toys for Elsa. I'll be right back."

Bill looked incredulous. "The water is almost boiling. You can't go now!" Bill had been given the all clear from his doc, and was celebrating being alive and well and in full control of his faculties by making a new and delicious pasta dish.

"Ok, I'll grab something from here and just run it over to Deb and Merle's and be right back, I swear." I grabbed a hard green squeaky ball which was a little too big for the whippets, and a rolled rawhide, and a large rubber ridged chew. It was all I had which was big enough for her. I jogged down the street with the treasures.

I was met at the door by a beaming Deb, a laughing Merle, and a wagging yellow skeleton dog playing tug with a knotted towel. I threw the squeaky ball and the skeleton dog ran after it and pounced and brought it back just a'squeaking and a'wagging. We all clapped and laughed like big goofs. We were big goofs. Big happy delighted amazed goofs. And it was only day two.

This morning, day three, I called to see how things were. I feared that Elsa had in a moment's boredom, oh, I don't know, eaten their dining room table. No, she had been great. Still some loose to liquid stool, but not frequent. Still not a single accident in the house. She had chewed on the rawhide, and was learning the "out" command with toys. Merle would have her sit, give her the toy, have a kibble ready, tell her "out", and trade the toy for a kibble. A natural at this dog training stuff!

I stopped by this afternoon with a couple more toys. Deb had already been to Petsmart and gotten her a Kong, (perfect!) some training treats and biscuits. I brought a dead rubber chicken. This particular dead rubber chicken has (had) a squeaker and a little bit of stuffie stuffing for disemboweling pleasure. Elsa had at it:

If anyone ever needed an example that Life Is Good, here it is, in living skeletal color! If anyone ever needed an example that people are good, there are Deb and Merle, bringing a dog they can't even keep back from the very brink.

And someone is going to get a great dog.

Hug your hounds!

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A Dog's Christmas

My dear canine friends, I've a story for you.
I beg you to listen: what I say is all true.
Your Humans are human and can't help their behavior,
They get all confused 'bout the birth of their Savior.


See, it's that time of the year, when the humans are hopping.
"No time for our walk today, gotta go shopping.
And tomorrow we have to put up all the lights.
You understand, don't you? You'll be all right?"

No time for your Frisbee, no time to throw balls.
Got to wrap all the boxes and deck all the halls.
"I'm sorry," they say as you're back in your crate,
"Office party tonight, we won't get home til late."

So you sit in your crate for a very long time.
You're warm and you're safe and they know you'll be fine.
But you're bored and you're worried and you don't understand
Why this time of the year things get all out of hand.

As if rushing around like a nut's not enough,
They keep filling the house up with all kinds of stuff.
There's holly and candles for all to see,
Then to prove they've gone starkers THEY BRING IN A TREE!!!

Yep, fellow dogs, they bring a pine tree right in
They put glass things on the branches and plug the lights in.
You think "Hey! Indoor plumbing!" But they say, "Get away!!"
"This is Our Special Tree for Our Special Day."

And don't think for a moment those tree balls are for you.
Though they bounce on the branches and call you, they do!
You haven't been chasing your own ball for weeks,
Or played tug o' war with your toy that goes "squeak."

As their Big Day approaches, their tempers grow short.
They're tired and stressed out and all out of sorts.
They've spent way too much money, whatever that is.
On gifts, decorations, and on something called "status."

See, they're only humans, and they always forget
It's not about presents or getting in debt.
The Birthday they're celebrating is all about Love
About gifts of the Spirit, sent from up above.

And that same great Father who sent them his Son
To teach all the humans to love every one,
Sends us to remind them, my good fellow hounds:
We exemplify love with positively no bounds.

So when their Big Day is ending, their presents unwrapped,
And they've eaten their feast and settled down for a nap,
That's the time when we dogs can show by example
That it's just about love, and can give them a sample.

They will feel something’s lacking, will see something's missing.
This is the time you can teach with your kissing.
They've ignored you for weeks with their rushing around,
Still you shower them with Love - the True Love of a Hound.

Whisper quiet, Dear Dogs, "It is not about Things!"
"It's not about buying new cars or rings."
The True Gift of Christmas is Love, sweet and pure.
And at Love, none can out do a dog, that’s for sure.

copyright 2006 Patience C Renzulli, not 2206! duh.

thank goodness the dogs love me anyway.