Where's the umph?

I've noticed something.

I have become exclamation mark disabled. In my informal writing (email, blog, groups and lists) I usually evoke emphasis with

bold,

italics,

bold and italics,

CAPS,

BOLD CAPS,

BOLD AND ITALICIZED CAPS,

and three exclamation marks.

These tools, well, they're familiar friends really, have left me. Left town altogether. Vamoosed.

Hmmm.

I think it's this new bloggy place to express myself. I mean this blog is for you, dear readers. So I can't bore you with wallowing. Ah... maybe another reminiscence?

Maria loved to lure course. I can't find any photos of her coursing, because she was in the days before digital photography. In lure coursing three dogs of the same breed chase a lure - three white garbage bags - on a string around a series of turns (think of the cats cradle string game, only instead of your fingers, there are pulleys nailed into the ground).

Whippets LOVE this game. Well, they love any game that involves running and chasing.

Maria was pretty fast, and her small size made her very agile; she could turn on a dime. She got her field champion title in fairly short order.

But there are RULES to this game. Number one rule is no aggressive activity ever. In lure coursing muzzles are optional, and most don't use them. (They are used for dogs who feel the urge to bite at the moving string or dive at the baggies, most often.)

Maria developed her own rules. RULES, I should say. Once she had moved up into the Field Champion division, some of the more experienced runners would cheat. Meaning, instead of following behind the baggies, they would guess which way the course would turn, and cut the corner. Maria was Highly Offended by this and would respond by running over to the cheater and SCREAMING, no, by SCREAMING in his or her ear.

"CHEATY PANTS CHEATY PANTS YOUR MOTHER IS A BASSET HOUND!!!"

I don't know why, but the judges took this as a sign of aggression, and no more lure coursing for the mouthy little redhead.

But she could race.

In racing, the whippets run in groups of six, out of a starting box, for 200 yards straight. No turns, no cheating. In racing they chase a furry lure, with a squawker inside, and a white garbage bag too. In racing, muzzles are mandatory, because all six whippets get to the end at around the same time, all bent on mauling the evil squawker lure.

Oh Maria did LOVE to race.

But by the time we started racing, she was not so fast. This did not diminish her love of it. This is a picture of Maria (#1) and her best ever friend Willow (#6). It looks like they are first and second, but I am quite comfortable in my assumption that they were last and next to last.

Can you see the smiles?

Maria only had one litter. Four girls and a boy. In the picture she is resting on Delia, with Promise and Pippin. I've never known her happier, and she loved her Luciano and Delia with all her maternal heart until her last day.

Showing Maria was a blast! She never did get her last win for her championship, and when she started to get bored with it we stopped. I could have sent her with a professional handler; she would have gotten her last win quickly. I had good handlers offer, frequently. But I just couldn't bear to send her away, or even to hand her to a professional ringside and then disappear. She drove my friends CRAZY. Good friends who were kind enough to hold her for me while I was in the ring with Caruso, Jazzbo, Giacomino, Willow, or Jessie.

Maria squeaked, trembled, cried, "MY TURN!!! MY TURN RIGHT NOW!!! I SAID IT IS MY TURN!!!!"

(To those of you who have held Lindy Loo ringside, she gets it honestly.)

There. It worked.

I found my exclamation points!!!

hug your hounds

Floating Boulders and Southern Ice Skating

Our lives are still kind of topsy turvy.

Fat Charlie, who is 11 years old, and is sweet as sugar, stands and wags and stares at me. Two hundred and sixty-seven times a day.

I think he's trying to tell me that I lost her. That in my senile servitude, I've dropped off his Maria and forgotten to pick her up. So he's gotten three breakfasts a day and countless kisses, and I'm trying to go on and make life around here as usual.

Would you like to come along on our walkies today?

First is 14.5 year old, Giacomino, aka Very Old Dog. I was afraid he would be unhappy, walking alone, since he's walked with Maria for 13.5 years. She did not feel like walking with us for the last week (except Thursday; she went along on Thursday), and Giacomino felt silly and happy.

This is a great spot for pee mail, and sometimes there's a cat poop to try to nab.

Is that not the sweetest, most adorable face?

[Oh don't be so sentimental, silly human! Let's go walkies!!! The sun is out!]

Giacomino just goes around one block. He loves his walk.

The next walk today was Mama Pajama (Fat Charlie's litter sister), 8 year old Luciano, and Fat Charlie. Luciano had already walked to the river with his sissy Delia and Bill earlier. But he wanted to go again. (Looch and Delia are Maria's son and daughter.)

PEE MAIL!!!

Here we are downtown, and I took a picture of us in a store window.

Yes, my hat has a whippet on top, with his own hat and scarf!

In front of the Federal Court House downtown. These guys walk about a mile.

Then it's the Wild Bunch's turn.

Lindy Loo, Sam I Am, and Swede William.

Our delicious and wonderful neighborhood coffee shop, named Et Cetera, has a post for dogs and they always put fresh water out. My dogs have never been tied there. If you click to enlarge, you will see Lindy Loo, who is Maria's great granddaughter, is VOICING her displeasure at this arrangement.

Swede William wanted a do over, in case his girlfriend Teka or his Nana Lisa might see. Also he wanted to show how he had hog-tied Lindy Loo. Sammy's just being good.

We have a new ice skating rink in Paducah!!! It is WAY popular.

And on the river was a tug pushing several barges full of HUGE rocks. (Notice Lindy Loo's concern.)

Okay, they'd been as good for as long as they could. Chaos.

Nothing has made so much sense lately, so rocks the size of easy chairs floating down the river... there they were.

In front of the store where I sell my goodies.

It is a pretty downtown.

I hope you enjoyed our walks! We are trying to get back to normal. Maria spent her life creating smiles and laughter, and I feel she would not tolerate this sorrow for long.

Hug your precious hounds

Remembering Gifts

Maria was my smallest whippet. Diminutive only in physical mass, her presence was luminous and cosmic. And, as I've mentioned, brassy.

She came from a "show kennel" before I knew better. One of too many puppies from too many litters, Maria did not know how to enjoy lap time. If you put her on your lap she would stiffen like an ice sculpture and try to drip off. Until her last two years. Something switched in her brain, and though she would grunt when you lifted her, she would soon relax.

But she was a cuddler from the get go. On the couch, in bed, under my blanket.

And she was a gift giver.

The following is an excerpt from a chapter in my first book, Mama Pajama Tells A Story, titled The Gifts.

After a particularly long, harrowing day at work, my husband and I fell into bed, exhausted. As we turned to each other in the dark, we were each struck by the thought that something was terribly wrong with the other.
There was a smell. A very bad smell.
OK, there had been plenty of garlic in the pasta, but this odor went way beyond garlic breath.
First we thought the other had suddenly developed a gross deficiency in his/her personal hygiene. Then we thought the other must have a terrible infection somewhere awful.
I sat up and turned on the light.
"Bill," I said.
"Patience!" he said.
"I don't have any infected, unhygienic anything," we both said.
I jumped out of bed and peeled back the sheets. Nothing. I lifted the pillows, and

there was our little gift: a putrefied slimy long-dead baby bird.
Maria had snuck it in from the yard and buried it under the pillow. Just for us!
After we changed the sheets and took a shower just for good measure, Bill and I laughed ourselves to sleep.
Years later, we still check under the pillows before getting in bed.

She shared with us the gift of being a world champion squeaky toy squeaker. She could squeak a squeaker three times a second nonstop for the entire time it took to fix dinner. I loved it. Drove poor Bill crazy. And, if the mood struck, which it usually did, she could de-stuff a stuffie faster than I could say, "Maria, what are you doing, it's too quiet, where...?"

Many a time our yard appeared to be a Colorado January, when in fact it was Kentucky August. Stuffie 'snow' everywhere.

She was the most efficient self-coverer. She could wrap herself in a blanket so effectively, that you could peer in a crate, or pass by a couch, or sit on your bed, and not realize there was a little whippet tucked in. In her dotage, she gifted me with the privilege of covering her.

"Arf." Translated: Servant!

[Patience continues with what she was doing.]

"Arf." Translated: I said, Servant!

"Coming, Maria."

"Arf. Arf." Now.

"I'm coming!"

"Arf. Arf. Arf." A little whippet could freeze to death, let's get a move on.

"There you go, all covered up, snug as can be."

[thirty seconds pass]

"Arf." Not quite comfy enough. I moved. You are allowed to try again.

She would start barking at me for her diner, which is served at five, at three. And if I said, "MARIA!" in exasperation, she would look stricken for two seconds, and then realize my error, and wag that tail, and bounce off her front feet as she redoubled her barking efforts.

I could prompt, "Maria, what does a cheerleader say?"

And if we were alone, she would say, "Rah, rah, rah," clear as a bell.

If I were showing off for company, she would say, "Arf, arf, arf, arf, wooooooooo!" and get the whole pack howling.

Giving me the gift of humility, of course.

If she were here, she'd be barking at me to get off my duff and walk the dogs, so I will, and I'll maybe reminisce a bit more, later.

hug your hounds

A Lifetime of Laughter

Never has a soul brought more laughter into a home.

Such spark.

Such sass.

Little Miss Mouth of the South.

Which makes it way too quiet now.

Too dark.

Too reverent.

No cheerleader saying rah rah rah.

Delia is looking for you,

Her sweet mom.

Me too.

I'm going to keep thinking I hear you.

I hate my empty arms.

Empty bed.

Extra bowl.

But you made me laugh out loud

For almost fourteen years,

and I thank you.

Now run

And tell God to hurry up with dinner.

And snuggle with your best friend Willow,

And Gracious,

Caruso,

And roach in the sun with Opie.

I miss you, sweet pea.

Maria
February 7, 1995 - November 18, 2008

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

The Grand Poopbah Prizes

The Mouth of the South, the Lady Maria, is happy (really happy, she says she's tired of all this announcing!) to announce the Grand Poopbah Prizes in celebration of our Blog-o-versary:



FOUR count 'em FOUR prizes for Reader Appreciation of the Dog Poop Never Going to Blog blog:

1. a tennis ball rope toy (or smaller appropriate toy for a smaller winner)
2. Brown Poopon squeakie toy!!!!!
3. A SQUEAKIE POOP !!!!!!
4. a custom made collar in creepy Halloween crawlie things trim

To enter, simply click to comment below!

Fat Charlie and Luciano say: THE END!!! Back to dog stories now.

hug your hounds and thank you

We Have A Home for HENrietta or Fartin' Earl

But I do not know who you are!

The random drawing winning comment was:

dog lover said...
Thank you for the link to Frodo's story!! I think that

acupuncture can often do miracles when medicine cannot.

Love the pictures of Maria, too!!

Soooo, dog lover, EMAIL ME and let me know if you want big or little, Henrietta or Earl. And congratulaions!

I must say that the last prize, the Grand Poopbah Prize has the entire whippet waggle quite excited. Tomorrow is our Dog Fair at the Kennel Club and promises to be a long day - and a FUN one! - but I will try to announce the last prize tomorrow.

Mama Pajama is so excited about the Grand Poopbah Prize that she was going to give away the secret. So Maria had to sit on her to keep her quiet!!!

hug your hounds

Ninefold

We went to the Kennel Club property today. All nine dogs and I. Usually, I take the three youngsters, Sam I Am, Swede William and Lindy Loo, and the object of the trip is to run. And run and run. I throw toys and encourage zoomies and throw more toys. And if I do take more than three dogs, I only put them out in groups of two or three at a time, to avoid high speed collisions or disagreements.



It was beautiful today. I don't mean nice, I mean if today were a food it would be home grown fresh gigantic strawberries dipped in Godiva chocolate, chilled, and with the juice running down your chin. Sixties. Warm sweet sunshine. Light blessed breeze.



I took them all.



I tossed their regular toys in the fenced area, and I set up my dog show folding chair and plopped my camera on it. I filled a bucket with water and clipped it to the fence. I had thought about bringing my book, but decided against it. I would just sit and watch my dogs.



I brought them all out of the van and into the yard. It was a little bit gutsy of me. If someone had started mad zoomies, disaster might have ensued. For once in my life, I didn't dwell on the worst case scenario; I sat in my dog show folding chair and I enjoyed the day. I enjoyed the dogs.



There were some mini zoomies, but Madame Fun Police Delia said, "Oh, I think not! Not on my watch." She wouldn't bother Sam, or Fat Charlie or Luciano. She was intent on keeping the young 'uns, William and Lindy Loo in line. Very Old Dog and Maria appreciated this. They walked and trotted around the perimeter with their noses in the grass, stopping to press their nostrils down into the dirt after a scratch to release the fresh scent. They don't see so well, and their hearing is diminished, but those noses are just fine. The smells of exquisite earth and spring roots must have taken those two old dogs right back to their grand glory days.



Mama Pajama was one of the finest running whippets in the country. That little dog was fearless, focused, and flat out fast. But since her illness, she has not enjoyed being in any situation which could involve being accidentally crashed into. When I've brought her to the Kennel Club property before, she would wait anxiously at the gate to go back in the van. It would take much coaxing to get her to play, and then only if she were alone in the fenced area. But today, maybe since zoomies were at a minimum, or perhaps because I was sitting in a chair instead of hurling toys like a pitching machine gone spastic, Mama Pajama enjoyed herself. She too sniffed and snuffled along the entire fence line, sometimes lifting her lovely head as high as she could, savoring some airborne aroma floating by.



We had no agenda. After a while, Mama Pajama, who is usually off by herself in the house, climbed up in my lap and settled there. Very Old Dog, who is perpetually, trippably* glued to me at home, wandered the far reaches of the enclosure, never giving my whereabouts a first thought, much less a second. Maria roached and rolled, and then her daughter Delia and great granddaughter Lindy Loo plopped down and copy-catted, for a roach-a-rama threesome. Swede William and Lindy Loo would grab a toy and do mini zoomies, avoiding Delia, only to have special Luciano swoop down and steal the toy right from their mouths. He'd smile triumphantly with a mouth full of stuffie, and then lose interest and drop it.



Fat Charlie ran and played and grinned at me and then flattened himself in homage to his God, the sun. He let his dear sister Mama Pajama hump him in high spirits. She only does it for a couple of seconds, and only when she's exceedingly happy, and only to him. He played a little with the young 'uns, and chased Sammy for a bit. But mostly he laid his angelic self down, right near my chair, and smiled his pleasure.



And dear Sam I Am. He had worked hard the last two days. At the hospital, at the women's shelter, and even at the Public Radio station, where he helped with the Spring fund raising. He was never without a squeaky toy in his mouth. He sopped up the ablutionary rays of that glorious southern sun and filled his lungs with cleansing country air. He relaxed. So did I.





Hug your hounds.







*I made that word up, but I like it.

The Gang's All Here!

Your wish is my command, of course!

First there was chaos.


And then there was utter mayhem:

And then, thanks to Molly's help and Laurie's genius, there was perfection!

Lying: Mama Pajama, Fat Charlie

Sitting: Lindy Sexy Butt Loo

Standing: Giacomino, Maria, Sam I Am, Swede Does Any One Want Some Of ME William, Delia, Luciano

L to R: Lindy I Am Irresistible Loo, Fat Charlie, Maria, Sam I Am, Swede Dear God In Heaven Help Me William, Delia, Luciano, Giacomino

Lying: Mama Pajama

I wish I could figure out why some photos are click-and-enlargible, and some are not. Just blogger magic, I suppose.

hug your hounds

Way too short - way too long

Laurie and thirteen year old Spats:

Oh our lovely visit with Laurie and dear Spats, Rivet, and Simmer was just way too short. It felt like it was only beginning, and there she was today, already packing up to go home. A forecast of a snow storm across Illinois teased at keeping them here one more day, but the storm petered out and they got on the road at about 10:45 this morning.

We had a delightful time. As mentioned, the dogs were stars. Not a sneer or a snarl offered during the whole visit, and Lindy Loo's virtue remains intact. Sam I Am would listen for his brother Rivet to emerge from the guest room each morning. He'd cock his head at the sound of the door opening, and then jump up wagging as he heard Rivet plink, plink, plinking down our ridiculous stairs. When Rivet's handsome self appeared at the bottom of the steps, Sammy turned inside out with wags and smiles and bounces and woo-woooooos. "Look! It's my very own brother! Again! This morning! Right here in our house!"

Sam I Am's brother, Rivet

And we did get to do a lot of fun things. We went to visit Phyllis and Maddie (I'll post those photos later.) We ate ourselves silly. We practiced Agility at the Kennel Club, and were so impressed with our incredibly talented dogs! I was able to watch Laurie take impossible photos like this one:

Laurie left me with these priceless photos and so many more:

Two treasured Very Old Dogs, Giacomino and Spats

Giacomino and Maria

Molly and Mama Pajama

And as to the "way too long" part? Oh the travellers had a flat tire on the way home. After a little scenic detour through Central Illinois (well, that dang I-74 can just sneak by without so much as a howdy do, if you're admiring the beauty of your dogs in your rear view mirror), Laurie called to say that she had a flat. Bill and I were worried sick, until she called back saying she and her dogs were tucked into a toasty warm hotel room, with free wireless and a king sized bed. They will have about five more hours to drive in the morning, after they switch the donut for a real tire.

Hug your hounds

SPIES!!!!

It hurts my heart to tell you this, dear readers, but the whippets were the victims of espionage.

And by none less than their arch enemy, the felonious feline, Dinsky. Other wise known as the C-A-T belonging to Aynex, whom we love anyway. Up till now, anyway. Apparenly, Dinsky stowed away in Aynex's purse and secretly filmed Maria's PRIVATE birthday party.



Yes, Dinsky did catch Maria trying to nail her great grand daughter Lindy Loo, but she was trying to steal Maria's cake! And before you get all impressed with Dinsky's talents, just look at this:



Crazy cat.

Thanks, Aynex! Now everyone knows how high and squeaky my voice is and that I dropped the poor thirteen year old dog on her birthday! (No dogs were injured in the making of this film!)


Hug your hounds and chase a cat for me

Happy THIRTEENTH Birthday, Maria!

It's late, and both of the Servants are just a'snoring away, sounding like two old steam engines. But they managed to get some photos of my birthday feast, and I thought I'd go ahead and post them.

I must say, the Servant had me worried with her lollygagging and sluggishness, but once the two giant meat loaves were in the oven, I allowed myself a little nap. The person Molly, who almost shares my birthday and is close enough to be a sterling human, totally saved the day by baking my cake. The Servant came flying back from the store, flung a bag of flour and a cookbook at the Molly, and said, "You can make the cake while I peel the potatoes!"

Many of my favorites were here. Lee and Dee, Harvey and Jeannie, Aynex who has a C-A-T but we love her anyway, Sweet Heather and Yes! Baby Ben. The Servant totally messed up the invitation to Karen and Steve. Sigh. I don't know what to do with the Servant. And we missed Deb and Merle, but Deb has a sick throat and sneezles, though she managed to send me a favorite Chumly birthday e-card.

I did forgive her once the gigantic meat loaves came out of the oven! Oh yes I did and how. There were meat loaves with marinara sauce, and roasted potatoes and carrots, and corn which we love to eat because it comes out whole in our poop, and then there was my delicious cake which the Molly made of bananas and cinnamon and it had whipped cream slathered on it which Harvey shared with Very Old Dog

and me of course. Mama Pajama used this as a diversionary tactic to help the C-A-T woman Aynex, whom we like anyway, finish her cake and ice cream, but Aynex likes chocolate ice cream and the servant started shrieking something "no no no"-ish. (We don't know why she bothers to shriek, because none of us listen ever, and, actually I'm quite sure that none of the humans do either.)

These were all my wonderful gifts, to top off the whole evening. That is not me lying in the middle of the moose with five squeakers and the chicken whose shorts are aflame. That is a likeness of me, painted on a table runner in 1996 by the manservant's daughter Sara who is an artist too.

It isn't every evening that a dog turns thirteen. My Servant is so fortunate to have been able to enjoy me all these years. I am especially good at creating joy and laughter. I have a twinkle in my eye, which comes straight from the fun in my soul. I look spectacular, but my legs get a little shaky at times. I still rule this household, and I do it with a keen sense of humor and silliness. I can squeak a squeaky toy 573 times in the time it takes the Servant to dish up our breakfast! And I do every morning: 573 squeaks before their coffee! How can they not sit down to their oatmeal with a smile?

Well, that's it. I'm thirteen years old now.

hug your humans-

The Lady Maria

(if you would like to read more about me just click on the label "Maria" right below Asta's sweet card)

OH LOOK! Sweet Asta sent Maria a special card which she made all by herself! Isn't it adorable?

Thank you Asta! Extra hugs for you!!!