Barry

I can't remember if Barry found my blog first, or if I found his. But the very first time I read what Barry wrote, I respected him.

And the more I read, the more I respected Barry the writer, Barry the gentleman. He had a wonderful outlook, a delightful gift of story telling, a fun sense of humor. In every post I felt how deeply Barry loved his wife Linda. I shared his walks with his exploring buddy Lindsay the English Springer Spaniel. I enjoyed his wonderful Canada through his eyes and heart.

I made friends through Barry's blog. Kerry, and Kat. Laurie, Bagman, and Patty. And I felt so close to Barry.

When he wrote that he had been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer I cried. I cried to Bill. I had read so many of Barry's posts to Bill. Barry blogged through his diagnosis and treatment, sharing his personal journey. With the courage and honesty and humor that was Barry.

I worked on Wednesday - gosh that was just yesterday. I did check my email before falling into bed. There was a forewarded message from Bill's address:

Dr. Renzulli,

I am sorry to go through you – but this is the only way I knew to get a note to Patience. I read her blog often….starting with the ice storm. I am from Paducah so her entries often strike a wonderful chord or two. Through her blog I found another blog by Barry Fraser. (I watched as the Waggles rang bells for Barry). Barry was such an inspiration and entertaining at the same time. But, sadly, I wanted to let her know that Barry passed away on Tuesday.

Bloggers and email friends become close like pen pals of old. Strange as it may seem it IS a small world after all.

Kind regards,

Carolyn

Thank you, Carolyn.

I cried. I cried for my loss, but mostly I cried for Barry's dear wife and for his dog. I wanted to write something worthy of Barry, but of course I can't. What I can do is invite you to spend some time in a wonderful place and get to know a hero.

Go here: An Explorer's View of Life

Go there and pick any post. I hope that blog is up forever. It is the best testament to a great human being. A wonderful man.

hug your hounds, and send a prayer out for a spaniel in Canada who's lost her buddy, and to a wife who has had to let go of her hero

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

This I Believe Party

Our local NPR station, WKMS, and our wonderful magazine, Paducah Life, sponsored a This I Believe essay writing contest, and yesterday they held a party to celebrate. It was held at our most wonderful independent movie theater, Maiden Alley Cinema. (Maiden Alley, just a block off the river, used to host another ... um ... business ... er ... clientele... oh, never mind.) This weekend the theater is playing The Man on the Radio in the Red Shoes, a documentary on Garrison Keillor.
At the party, there was an open mic (mike?) session, and I read this:

I believe that if you walk through a busy airport with a big bunch of daffodils that you just picked from your garden people will smile at you. Everyone. Daffodils have the power.


I believe that a lifelong laughing friend of the heart can recline, supine, paralyzed by a cancer in her brain, locked by her disloyal body in a little dark room, with the blinds drawn so she can “rest”. This friend who always laughed and helped, loved open fields and dogs running, and brought more smiles than any daffodil, now in her special hospice gown with oxygen and sensory deprivation. I believe that her soul will triumph and I won’t understand the mystery of it.

I believe that God reveals himself in the friend with cancer when she cries, “Oh help me” and in the baby who smells right and who searches my face with virgin blurry vision. Those eyes not fully of this world. Yet. Still.

And yes, I believe there is God deep in my Old Dog’s eyes, eyes of knowing and acceptance and love resounding. Tolerance.

God is revealed in the gentle back rub of a soul mate; that touch which asks nothing but to give comfort. Feeling the softness of skin on skin. Humanity in touch.

I believe in community. In a fine southern river town where people care. In the mysteries of that water, quiet, deadly, beautiful, peaceful, powerful as heaven.

Constant as a friend.

hug your friends today, be they human, hound, far, near, gone, new, needy, laughing or sad

Hey! Woops..... LOOK OUT!!!!!

I fancy myself to be a person who spends enough time with and energy on my dogs, that they are reasonably pleasant to be around. I love working with animals; have since I was too young to know why. My childhood dog, Rex, knew more tricks than any old circus dog. I've put obedience titles on several of the whippets. Granted, some of our performances were a little Monty Pythonesque. OK, some were downright comedic events, but we also won a few classes along the way.

The one thing I had trouble with since moving to this corner city lot, is the dogs going barking berserk at our picket fence when another dog walks by on the sidewalk. Back at the farm, the dogs were encouraged to sound wild alarms if a dog were outside their fence. We had foals and ducks and a strange dog could be a danger. (This did not stop them from knowing when a friend was in need. Hence we welcomed Loosey the lost coon hound, but back to the story at hand.) So it was terribly confusing for them when their mad screaming at canine passersby here in the city resulted not in praise from me, but dismay.

I tried everything to get them to understand that the sidewalk was neutral territory. Nothing worked. I had to do something, because dogs are always walking by, and the whippets would work themselves into such a frenzy, that they figured if they couldn't bite the trespasser, they'd just bite what they could: each other. Then in desperation one day I hurled the large, lightweight plastic green watering can which was sitting next to me on the porch, into the air. Not aiming at them, of course, but at the ground behind them, or the fence.

Well, dear readers, magic happened. I never said a word. I kept the large light weight soft plastic green watering can in reach at all times. Interloper on the sidewalk. Mass of whippets swooping. Bark, Bark, Ba-! Large lightweight soft plastic green watering can flies through the air and lands behind mass of swooping barking whippets. Mass of startled quiet whippets turn and look at me. I sit innocently on the porch, minding my own business, humming an absent tune. "La, la, la." Whippets lose interest in attack mode, and instantly decide to play with toys, or come wagging for a butt rub, or roll in worm stink. No more barking, biting frenzy. Magic.

So for the last few years, if a dog and its walker wandered by our sidewalk, the waggle would swarm, then look up at the sky for a plumetting large lightweight soft plastic watering can, and then decide to occupy themselves otherwise. Even though there hadn't been a flying watering can forever. Peace reigned in our little corner of the world.

Arrive Lindy Loo. Lindy Loo is the great-granddaughter of Maria, the original Mouth of the South. Lindy Loo does her great grandmamma proud. I can't remember last summer (really, not a day of it), nor can I tell you for the life of me how Lindy Loo has achieved the age of twenty-one months without having met the large lightweight soft plastic green watering can. She does not limit her alarm sounding to members of her species, but includes children on tricycles, humans of different ethnic backgrounds, mentally creative folks who audibly converse with themselves, and persons who dress inappropriately in her rather dull, conservative opinion of these things. In other words, if it dare to pass by our side walk, Lindy Loo barks her fool head off.

So. Yesterday I was picking up poop in the back when I spied our sweet neighbor Julie walking her darling pair of rescued Chinese Cresteds, Rosie is a powder puff, and Eschon is the naked variety. Bill was reading on the front porch, and the waggle was enjoying the lovely day, lying in the papasan chairs, digging holes in the flower beds, playing tug with toys.

"ALARM!!!" cried Lindy Loo. "Interlopers on our sidewalk," she screamed at the top of her lungs!

Well, I dropped the pooper scooper thingies (thank all that is good) and grabbed the trusty old large lightweight soft plastic green watering can as I ran across the breezeway. I jumped down the steps into the yard and let her fly!

Now, herein lies the problem, dear readers. When we play Frisbee or even tennis ball in our yard, the dogs get to chase and capture the thing about two out of every seven throws. The other times I have to go through the gate, into the street, retrieve whatever I threw, and toss it back into the yard. Aim is not my forte.

I watched, first in eager anticipation of Lindy Loo's shock, then in fascination, followed quickly by concern, which rapidly morphed into abject panic. The large lightweight soft plastic green watering can arched gracefully through the upper atmospheres, flew way up over the fence, and was re-entering Earth's orbit directly over Julie and the unsuspecting Chinese Cresteds' dainty little heads.

"JULIE!!! LOOK OOOUUUUUTT!!!"

Bill had left his quiet spot on the porch to hush Lindy Loo, and he was across the fence from Julie.

"What the...?" He instinctively ducked and covered, having been a child of the fifties, as the UFO hurled itself Earthward.

Of course at that very moment, our good friends Lee and Dee arrived from the other direction. Lee on her marvellous three-wheeler bike with the flag sticking up the back and the great big baskets for carrying anything, and Dee walking beside. They looked up in the sky and said, "Well!"

And the large lightweight soft plastic green watering can landed with a clunk in the street right in front of Lee's marvellous three-wheeler bike. Julie, the cresteds, and Lindy Loo were oblivious of their near death experience. Bill was laughing hysterically at me. Well, so were Lee and Dee. I was wilting with relief that I hadn't scared dear, sweet, gentle Rosie out of her powder puff little mind. Lindy Loo was still barking her head off at the cresteds.

Julie went on her fortunate way. Lee and Dee joined us on the porch for a glass of wine and to continue laughing at me. Lindy Loo scanned the horizon for her next victim. I kept the large lightweight soft plastic green watering can handy, but Bill discouraged any further attempts at behavior modification.

He wanted to make sure our liability policy was up to date.

Hug your hounds

(Click here to return to Whippet World)

Come Along for a Walk, Or Three!

The rain brought beautiful spring weather. Western Kentucky has long, lovely printemps, though we have gotten a late start this year. Usually by now the dogwoods are blooming, and we just only have daffodils. But, the delay has made this glorious spring time all the more blessed.

The first walk is (front to back) Maria, Giacomino (V.O.D.) and Mama Pajama.

This is the first thing we saw!

too slow, human anchor!

the little historic Texaco Station is now an information center where our creative friend and C-A-T person Aynex works

Aynex says she doesn't like dogs. Liar, liar, pants on fire! Happy Birthday, Dear Aynex, Happy Birthday to Youooooooooooo!!

Very Old Dog, Shadow Dog

The next walk was (L to R) Sam I Am, Lindy Loo, and Fat Charlie

Scanning for Evil Squirrellies. Nothing terribly thrilling happened.

The last walk was (l to R) Swede William, Delia, and Luciano (Looch). We went down to see how high the river was.

The river is way high! It's almost in the park.

These benches where we sit and think about things are in the River!

Guess we won't walk here!

What's that Johnny Cash song? It's 41 feet and rising. I wonder if they're going to start closing the flood gates. I think they close them at 43 feet.

Dead fish are the best for rolling in.

Only seagulls performing on the riverfront stage today! There is more seating and a drive below the stage.



Our lovely downtown Paducah














The world famous Quilt Museum of the American Quilters Society. In a month, there will be around 40,000 quilters here for the HUGE Quilt Show. That's Lewis and Clark, and their famous Newfie. You can't see Sacagawea, from this view, but she looks like she was about eleven.






Our great good friends Harvey and Jeanie were there when we got home.


We hope you have a beautiful spring day, too, and if not, I hope you can enjoy ours vicariously.







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

For Dog Lovers Only

There are some things that only dog lovers can understand.

Now, that said, I do try to be socially acceptable, for the most part, in non doggy circles as well. I am a total NPR geek, listening during all my waking hours, which helps me to be marginally conversant with people who don't know a dew claw from a stop pad. And on the rare occasion when the television is on, it is usually turned to Antiques Road Show or Bill Moyers or American Masters on PBS. (Except I have this morbid fascination with the Biggest Loser, don't even ask me why, and I do like Law & Order and the Medium, so there's some hope for me.)

Yesterday, as the dear Very Old Dog hinted, Bill had surgery in Nashville. We left the house at 4:37 AM for the 8:00 AM surgery time. The dogs bounded downstairs at O-dark-thirty, in a high state of anticipation because usually an arising at such an hour spells a dog show or field trial and no one wants to be left home. Oh the sad faces when the realization struck that there would be no canine travellers!

Very Old Dog, I believe, could even get politicians and kings to behave with one of his looks of disappointment. (World Leader: "Send the Troops into harm's way to make me more powerful!" Very Old Dog, worry wrinkles in his dear brow: "I'm disappointed in you, World Leader. Perhaps you could work on a diplomatic solution and not make people die and lose their loved ones." World Leader, scratching Very Old Dog behind his ears: "Yes, well, um. Never mind. Let's schedule some peace talks.")

But much to the collective doggy delight, our dear friend and neighbor and wonderful canine artist Karen came to their rescue. And knowing I would be relieved to hear that all was well, she called me on my cell phone.

Want to get some attention in a crowded waiting room at a busy surgicenter of a major teaching hospital? Easy! Just have the following conversation:

Hi! Thanks so much for looking after the kids! I just hated leaving them alone so early. I bet they were happy to see you. Did they scream? What? Maria won't stop whining? Oh, she wants to be tucked in. Yes, there's an extra blanket there to cover her. Still? Did you cover her head? Yes, cover her whole body, head and all, so you can't even see her. She likes to feel like she's suffocating!

William and Lindy and Sammy can play outside for a while. No, don't worry about putting their coats on. [It was a record cold day.] I know, but if they want to stay warm, they can run! Oh and sometimes William pees on Lindy's head. Yup she is always putting her nose where it doesn't belong right at the wrong second. If you see yellow on her face could you wipe it off with a wet paper towel? I'm sorry to ask you to do that, but it gets really stinky if it stays on there.

No, you do NOT have to pick up! That was NOT part of the deal and I can do it when I get home. . No, don't worry about it! If William eats poop it won't be the first time and it won't be the last, just don't let him kiss you goodbye when you leave!

After profusely thanking my generous friend, I flipped my cell phone closed and looked up from my conversation to see every single horrified eye in the room fixed in abject revulsion on my face. Why do I have to give my dogs human names? Why could I not have been discussing "Spot" and "Fluffy"?

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I'll post a photo of dear Nurse Delia ministering to her manservant in just a bit. And here it is:

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hug your hounds, even the poop eaters

(Fortunately, Delia is not a poop eater!)

Community

We live in a magical neighborhood. In the last five years, people from all over the country have come to this small southern town at the confluence of the Tennessee and Ohio Rivers, just up from where they join the Mississippi. Artists. Because the people who live here are the Nicest People in the World. You can read more about that here.

And everyone has dogs. Our neighborhood is full of dogs and people who love them. And some cats, too.

Two days ago, the whippets told me someone was at our front door. We poured downstairs and found our neighbor Kathleen, who loves Buddy, her twelve year old sweetheart of a bully dog. When I opened the door, I saw the trouble on her face.

"Oh, Patience, I just saw a loose dog and she's in bad shape. Bad shape. She's starving. And she's had puppies."

We spent an hour, each in our own car, crawling back and forth through the neighborhood alleys and streets, with no luck. I walked my dogs, keeping an eye peeled: nothing.

Yesterday I saw the dog for myself. She was trotting down the sidewalk on Jefferson, a one way street. I had to go around the block to get to go the right way on Jefferson, and by then she was gone. But what I had seen chilled me. She was beyond emaciated. She was walking skin and bones. And from each side of her mouth hung ropes of drool. Could she be rabid? Could she have some oral abscess? I called Kathleen and told her I had spotted the dog. "Kathleen, I don't think you or I should approach that dog." I told her about the saliva. "I think if we see her again, we should call Animal Control."

Today, my neighbor Deb called. "Patience there is a puppy in Chad's garage. Could I pick you up and come see her?"

"Is she the color of sand and really skinny," I asked?

"Yes!"

"Don't approach her, Deb. I think she is seriously sick and she could be dangerous," I warned.

"Oh," said Deb. "Merle and I have already petted her and Chad gave her some food." Hmmm.

"OK, come get me at the side door."

I put my puzzled dogs in their downstairs crates with their biscuits, and put a hat on my scary undone morning writer's hair, and a coat on against the rain. Again this rain. Sweet Deb swung by and drove me the kattycorner half block to Chad's gorgeous property.

And in Chad's garden shed on an old wrought iron lawn chair with a folded cushion, was a dog curled in a tight, I don't care if I live or die ball. It was the most skeletal living dog I'd ever seen, and I do whippet rescue. You couldn't look at her and not have your throat get too tight and you eyes sting. You just couldn't look and not feel a stabbing in your heart and your gut suddenly felt like you shouldn't have had that coffee because it was burning and maybe you needed to excuse yourself and puke. She was that skinny.

Well, I didn't know what to do. I knew if we called Animal Control she wouldn't live through the day, and that might have been a kindness, but I couldn't have survived seeing that pole/loop thing around her neck and her struggling and being heaved in The Truck. Chad came out and said he had given her water and a little bit of puppy food and the second time he did, she followed him to his porch. No, he answered, she hadn't growled, hadn't shown her teeth, hadn't done anything but duck her head out of the way when he tried to pat her. Like she'd been hit before, he said. I dropped a biscuit from my pocket onto her chair.

She swallowed it whole.

Then after all my advice to Kathleen, I stroked the top of her head. Bone. "I think she's a Pit/Lab cross. She could be all Lab, it's so hard to tell in this state, but no, her coat is too short. I think she's a Pit/Lab cross," I said to Deb and Chad, like that meant anything to them. What was I going to do?

"OK, here's the deal. I'll go back to my house and get a crate. If I can get her in the crate, I'll take her to my vet. Bill has been asking what I want for Christmas, and here it is - a big vet bill! If I can't crate her, I think I have to call Animal Control." Head nods all around. Deb drove me back around the corner (well it was raining) and I grabbed a crate, a hot dog, a martingale lead and my check book. And Bill's famous Rendezvous! I didn't want a sick dog in the Whippet Wagon.

I gave the dog a tiny piece of hot dog. She lifted her head but those yellow eyes were empty. I gave her another tiny piece. I dropped a bigger piece in front of her chair and she dripped down off her perch. I placed a piece in the doorway of the Vari Kennel, which she inhaled, and then I threw the rest of the hot dog in the back of the crate. She walked right in, snarfed the meat and lay down in the crate. Didn't blink when I closed the crate door. Didn't blink.

"All righty then. My vet is going to kill me!" But I think I've mentioned on this very blog that I am Blessed with the best vets in the world. "Bring her right in," said Gail. Chad came back out of his house with a wad of cash for the vet visit and the bag of puppy food. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Deb volunteered to come along. The dog didn't make a sound as we drove.

Deb and I carried the crate into the exam room. Ol' Poke 'n Stick, as my whippets call their dear friend and healer, is off on Thursdays, and his associate, Doc Rennie came in the room. Rennie has a smile that makes you feel like you're in a special space, and a heart just full of love and respect for her clients of all walks. She's purely beautiful. "What have you brought me, Patience?"

Rennie opened the crate door, amidst my warnings that I didn't know if the dog was aggressive, or anything about her at all. The good vet spoke to the dog and let her sniff around the exam room. Eventually and with absolutely no struggle or fuss or notice, Rennie had scanned the dog for a microchip (none), had drawn blood for heartworm (positive), had listened to lungs (clear), palpated belly, (full of worms but not full of puppies), checked gums and teeth (very pale and only around two years old), gave her a dose of Panacur in a bowl of A/D while testing her for food aggression (none, and she sat on command), put a kennel leash around her neck to see her reaction (a little worried but fine), and elicited the first feeble wag of the tail. Deb and I for the most part stood uselessly wiping our tears and marvelling at the skill, the gifts, and talent of Rennie the Remarkable.

Oh, Dear Readers, I know this is long for a blog. And I beg your forgiveness, but some stories just have to be told and that's all there is to it.

Deb said she would keep Elsa until we could find her a forever home. (Oh yes, we started calling her Elsa because she looked so much like the lioness in Born Free.) Deb has cats and an understanding husband with a huge big heart. I worried about the cats, beautiful Maine Coon cats. Deb said she could close off the back kitchen. I stopped and got a collar and a leash, my camera, a dog bowl and some food for sensitive stomachs, and a big foam bed. (Recognise your gift, Laurie? Thanks!) We got the collar on Elsa and let her out of the car at Deb's.

The dog was being polite, but still was not connecting at all. As we walked her around a small grassy section, she never acknowledged us, but was searching for things to get under, places of shelter. Then we took her in Deb's kitchen, letting her sniff around, dragging her leash. She drank a ton of water. We heard that tummy rumbling: puppy food from the morning, biscuits and a hot dog, a can of A/D and wormer, and a ton of water. Yah, let's take her out and try again!

Voila! A monstrous big pile of poo! On lead! A miracle! I fingered the whippet sized sandwich ziplock in my coat pocket. "You're going to need bigger than sandwich size, Deb." "We'll get quart sized. Gallon!" she laughed.

And we went back inside. And then there started to be a Change.



Elsa walked up to me, a hint of a wag, and leaned against me accepting my strokes and scratches. Then she walked over to Deb, and lay down next to her, again with a little wag. And her eyes weren't empty. They were coming to life.





I know Deb and her sweet husband Merle have taken on a very sick dog without batting an eye. I know that I am blessed beyond comprehension with the Most Wonderful Veterinary Practice In The World. I know this whole neighborhood will be pulling for Elsa, the way Chad and Kathleen did, without thinking twice.




This was the last picture I took today. What a difference! She started looking at us. Her eyes were no longer empty and dead. Can you see it? She's in there! And I think, from everything I've seen so far, she's a really, really good dog.

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[Addendum: the whippets were truly stellar and terribly deprived yesterday. After spending all afternoon in the Great Elsa Caper, I came home, let them out, fed them and took a shower. When I got out of the shower, Bill was in need of his own trip to the human variety of ol' poke and stick, and we spent the evening at the E.R. Bill is FINE. He has some follow up studies to do, and he's going to see his regular doc today. He had his second episode ever of Transient Global Amnesia,
the first being eight years ago. I mention it only because when the E.R. doctor asked Bill who the President was, Bill said, "I don't know but he's a real jerk." That's my Bill!]

Upgrading My Own Star

Looking at the front corner of the dogs' yard, back at the farm

I lived in western Massachusetts, in the Berkshire Mountains until I was ten. Then we moved to Maryland, where I pretty much stayed put for the most part until five years ago. This is where the dogs and I walked when we lived on our farm.

spring and summer

fall

and winter.

OK, those winter walks were a big part of what convinced me to move to Western Kentucky. That, and the fact that Bill fell in love with this town, and with the idea of the Artist Relocation Program. Sounds like the Witness Protection Program or the Wildlife Catch And Release Program, doesn't it?

Well, it's nothing short of a miracle what a magical, caring, close-knit community has formed here, by moving a bunch of artists from all over the country. And on top of that, Paducah has to be the world's friendliest town. People who have lived here forever are so warm and kind and welcoming. But, at first I was terribly homesick.

I made a photo show of our walking route here in Paducah. I don't know how to get it on this page, but here's the LINK. You can appreciate the difference in walking through those photos above, and walking in the photoshow, and I left out the Evil Kitties and Stupid City Squirrels that abound on every block of the walk. So, I am still occasionally homesick.

Yesterday, on the last walk with Luciano, Lindy Loo, and Swede William, we stopped in to see how our Very Good Friends' house was coming along. They are rehabbing a delightful house which was built in the 1850's. It is looking so fantastic, but it is not looking so finished. We wish it would hurry up and get finished, because while it is uninhabitable they and their four German Shepherds (thank you Ariel) and their little Benji rescue are all living in their motor home out at the kennel club property. It is a big, spacious motor home, but still.

I was having another attack of the homesick meanies yesterday. Just some bad juju had gotten me down. I shared my bad day with my Very Good Friends - I'm just so generous that way - and invited them to dinner. Shoot I was feeling better already, just seeing their friendly faces and I wanted to keep feeling better.

Now, one of the things I dearly love about this part of the world is the lyrical southern drawl. You just can't feel bad for too long when the word bad is pronounced with three syllables. "Ba-eee-yad." One time this summer I was hanging around at a dog show with these same Very Good Friends and Vicky. I asked Vicky if she were going to camp on the showgrounds. Simple question. Three blank stares.

"What?"

"Are you going to camp?"

More blank stares.

"Am I gowen to whut?"

"Camp! Are you going to camp?"

I looked to my Very Good Friends for help. None. Blank faces all around.

"I don't know whut yower askin' me. Kimp? What the Hayel is Kimp?"

The light bulb in my dim little yankee brain went on. Ah.

"Cay-yaamp! Are you going to cay-yaamp here on the show grounds or are you staying in a hotel?"

All three faces lit up like beacons of hope to a shipwrecked crew.

"Cay-yaamp," they all exclaimed! "Whah didn't you say so?"

So yesterday while I was all busy feeling baeeeyad, my Very Good Friend, Lee, replied to my dinner invition by saying, "That would be great. I just have to go and get my own star upgraded first."

"You are getting your own star upgraded?"

"Yah, I've gotta get it upgraded to digital."

"Well, if I had my own star, I'd get it upgraded too! I need my own star. I bet I would never get down in the dumps if I had my own star. How did you get your own star and how ever do you go about getting it upgraded?" I was completely enthralled with the idea of having my own star, upgraded or not.

"It came with the car."

I started laughing hysterically. Laughing too hard. I desperately wanted my own star. ON-STAR would be nice, too, but I had no idea until that moment that we were discussing satellite technology. The dogs started being rowdy because they were bored by now and because I had obviously found a way right out of my funk into the land of hilarity.

Later, back at our house we had a delightful dinner of pasta with mushroom, scallops and artichoke heart cream sauce (doesn't that just sound smiley?) and huge helpings of laughter.

And I felt like I had found my own star. Right in the kitchen, with the begging dogs, the best husband, and the laughing kindness of my Kentucky friends.