Another August

Four years ago on August 18 Sweetie left the Gulch, and I wrote the only decent poem I've ever written. Actually, the poem was already there. All I had to do was write down the words.

MOON DOG

End of summer moon

Floats full. Golden

Just above the cloud.

White greyhound

Lies on her back,

Paws bat at the shining globe.

Playful.

Happy.

Free.

Free of the body that failed her,

Gave her pain,

Held her down.

Once beautiful, sleek,

Snowy, silky.

More recent, a bruised and swollen

Insult.

My celestial friend

Gave love,

Knew love.

Waited for release.

“When can I go to dance in the August sky?”

So here it is August again--2009--and Sascha has left me behind. I want to say, "I'm not ready to let her go." But someone wise said, "It's not about you. It's about her." And the gift I can give her is release

Photo of Sascha by Tami Washburn

The Good News Network

When last we heard from Ghoundmom she was very sad and very discouraged, no doubt from the cumulative weight of losses. Admittedly the sadness is still there--probably it won't ever go away. I'm happy to say, however, some of the old optimism has returned! A friend said yesterday she wants to contact Ted Turner and suggest he start a new 24 hour news channel--GNN, or Good News Network. And here's a story that would qualify as a lead for GNN:

We received a call this week from Deborah, a greyhound breeder/owner from West Virginia. One of her dogs, who had last been running in Daytona Beach, Florida, in 2003, had turned up stray in Cedar Park, Texas. It appeared that Dancer had been someone's companion animal, as she was wearing a martingale collar with tags and appeared to have been spayed. Animal Control in Cedar Park was called, but the finder, a wonderful guy named Doug, declined to let them take the dog when they told him she would go to "the pound". Somehow he read tattoos and knew to call NGA, who gave him contact information for Deborah. Deborah was willing to take Dancer back, but was hoping to find the adoptive family.

We knew it was not one of our dogs, but we agreed to help. We called Doug for more information. He was able to read some of the information on the well-worn tags. There was a GPA-Indianapolis tag but the phone number on the tag was not a working number. There was another tag which, together, we figured out was a 2008 rabies tag from an animal control in Illinois. I found a phone number and called, and was given the names of the Dancer's owners and the telephone number of their veterinarian, also in Illinois.

We called the vet clinic. The person answering the phone said, "Oh yes, we know Dancer. What a sweet dog!". The owners, Mike and Darla, had recently brought Dancer in for a checkup because they were moving to Texas! The clinic did not have a cell phone number or any forwarding information, but said they'd call around to see if any friends or neighbors, or other greyhound owners, knew where to reach Mike and Darla.

We called Information in Central Texas to see if by any chance they had a listing for Mike and Darla. They did not. Then we called Doug to give him an update. We agreed we'd keep trying.

Clearly Doug is pretty creative and technologically savvy, for he called back to report his success. He had Googled Darla and found a web listing for her former employer in Illinois. He sent her an e-mail at that address and within minutes, he said, he had a phone call from Mike, who was on his way to pick up Dancer. It seems the family had moved to Central Texas four days before this series of events. The cable people came to do installation and--guess what!--left the gate open. Dancer took the opportunity to get acquainted with her neighborhood. And you know the rest!

Photo of a happy Radley: Elizabeth Jayne/ejayne.com

No matter how discouraged I find myself, mulling over man's stupidity, or the Universe's cruel tricks, episodes such as this are what feed me. How much better could a day be than one that consists of being part of reuniting someone with their beloved companion?

Are there lessons here in this happy story? Yes, probably. Always have your cell phone number on your dog's tags. Most of us have cell phones these days, and those numbers stay the same even when we move. Get your dog microchipped. It can be pricey, but there are inexpensive clinics and such where you can have it done. What ever you do, register that microchip with your name and information Pick a friend or relative who is likely to stay where they are and put them as a backup contact for you. Know that you may someday be part of a chain that helps a hound find her way home! Most of all, hug your hounds! Tell them every day that you love them and will always protect them!

It's what we do!

Murphy and Raj

Two throw away dogs--the kind I once heard described as "trash dogs"-- died within the last 24 hours. They were two hounds that people had decided were not worth saving. Murphy, because she was a saluki/greyhound mix, was never "official". She spent her young years probably chasing live rabbits in order to gain sustenance. We don't know how old she was when she arrived at Town Lake Animal Center more than 10 years ago, having suffered two broken legs and a destroyed hip when she was hit by a car. A shelter volunteer on an errand to the veterinary suite came back ashen, saying he'd seen the worst thing ever. Murphy lay on a thin blanket on the floor with a pain patch, softly moaning. Beth and Jon, who never said "no" to a greyhound, brought her into GPA and took her to Dr. Ransom. He did the best he could do, patching up the shattered little spindly legs Beth sat by Murphy and stroked her and cared for her until she began to heal.

At that point, she came to Greyhound Gulch as a foster dog. Almost immediately she became a permanent member of the pack. Her motto became, "Just pretend I'm not here." She caused less trouble than any other dog ever to come through that gate. Always easy-going but never really cheerful, her hope was always to avoid notice or controversy.

Over the years she suffered a life-threatening auto immune disorder, never really diagnosed. She survived it somehow and regained the weight she had lost so dramatically. She always bore the scars, however, on the tips of her ears and the atrophied muscles of her skull.

She endured a huge abscess on her neck that popped up for no known reason. Tennis ball size, it, too, went away and was thought to have probably been caused by an insect bite.

We began to laugh that Murphy was part cat and had nine lives. One morning a series of events, which we didn't witness, ended with a huge dog bite wound on her neck. We rushed to the nearest vet clinic, where they sewed her up. Then the doctor called me and asked about her gait. I told him she had always moved in her own funky, idiosyncratic way and he said he thought it was more than that--she refused to walk or stand. X-rays showed a dislocated hip--dislocated in a way that made it more complicated to fix. Off we went to the specialty clinic where they reduced the dislocation and put her in a hobble. "Cage rest" for days and days allowed the hip to heal as well as it could, and the scar on her neck gave her the air of Dr. Frankenstein's monster.

But like the Timex commercial, Murphy kept on ticking, her spirit undaunted.

Honestly, I thought she'd live forever. But at age Whatever-She-Was she fooled me. A massive tumor on her spine made it impossible for her to stand or walk, and surgery couldn't make it better So Little Murphy Lou left the Gulch for the last time yesterday. One thinks that the hurt over the loss of one more dog will get to be less. But so far, it has not. The bookcase shelves that hold urns and ashes and paw prints and collars and favorite toys get more and more crowded And still there is an overwhelming sense of loss with each one..

Another "throw away" was lost this morning at the Emergency Clinic. A swift onset illness could not be "fixed" and Raj left his loving family who were with him at the end.

Raj had been picked up by animal control after living as a stray, eating from dumpsters and any other source he could find. (This was a habit that followed him all of his days--he was never sure there would be another meal. And so the compost heap and a bag of bird seed were treasures to him!) His tattoos were legible and so we knew his registered name, but he was dubbed "Raj" in hopes he could recover enough to look as regal as his name.

From an emaciated, flea bitten, heartworm positive wreck, he came to be sleek and sassy. He was treated for every internal parasite one can think of, and endured months of intestinal problems. He, who had been so badly used by humans, never lost his affection for people. He was adopted by a family who loved him without reservation, and he spent the last few months of his life in warmth and comfort. He was always happy and loving.

Is there a moral here? A point of some kind? I don't know. Today I am reeling from the cumulative loss. It's all very well and good to say that we've done a good thing, giving these derelicts loving homes. But there are so many of them and so few of us. Today I feel like Sisyphus, and my task feels insurmountable. Tomorrow will surely be better.

Do Not Go Gentle

Sandy left us today. I washed his face, so he would look good when he meets Sweetie and the others. Tami brought him French fries and played a song she thought he'd like. Dr. Susan wasn't able to be here, so Dr. Kris eased him on down the road. Bruce stroked his fur and shed tears. It's been a rough six months or so. Almost every night I would tell him, "Sandy, if you don't want to wake up in the morning, it's OK." And every morning he woke and we began again that dance that we did.

The poem that Dylan Thomas wrote about his father's death could almost have been written about Sandy. He did not "go gentle into that good night". Sandy was a survivor, a real scrapper. From the time he was found as a sadistically abused puppy in West Texas, throughout all his life, "Give Up" was not in his vocabulary. He came to the Gulch four years ago, wrenched from the home he'd learned to trust, and he had to learn it all over again. He saw all males as the enemy. His tail switched back and forth constantly from anxiety. Even the anti-anxiety medication he brought with him did little to make him feel "right".

Over time he grew to trust my two adult sons, but continued to bark in a unmistakable repetitive "WOOF" whenever delivery people or workmen were around. He was okay with the other members of the pack at the Gulch, but wouldn't take any guff off the youngsters. Even though he was thin and frail, he had them terrified such that they would circle wide around him, rather than risk his wrath.

As time went on, and he became more thin and frail, confusion set in. Sometimes he would go out onto the porch and just stand, staring. "Now what was it I came out here for?" Lost muscle mass contributed to weakness. He began to lose his footing on the tile floor and frequently fell. We tried booties of several descriptions, and then sticky wax applied directly to his pads. We learned there were only certain ways he would tolerate being helped to his feet. He never bit anyone, but it was not for lack of trying. His appetite waned. We tried everything we could think of to keep him nourished. Checking out at HEB recently I was asked by the woman bagging my jars of baby food and bottles of Pedialyte how many grandchildren I had. "None," I replied. " This is for my dog." She could not have been more shocked if I had said it was for the Martian I kept tied up in the backyard!

Acupuncture helped stimulate his appetite and calm him, to some degree. Then we reached the point of administering subcutaneous fluids to keep him hydrated. Still he was not ready to Give Up. Dr. Susan discovered if he was in a cranky mood she risked being bitten, even though she bribed him with Charlie Bears.

For his 15th birthday on April 1 we had a party. He feasted on turkey hot dogs, spread with spray cheese. Lara brought him an assortment of baby food and a beautiful, soft pale green blankey. He was claustrophobic and did not want to be covered, but oh! how he loved to rest his head on that blankey when he bedded down at the end of his day.

We had three very bad nights in a row and I decided, as Tami had said, he wasn't going to make it easy for me. I made the arrangements to send him on his way. Sure enough this morning when he woke, he stood erect and tall for a minute, the J-curve absent from his back, the sagging legs almost straight. He ate most of his breakfast--kibble and chicken livers. He peed in the middle of his bed and tried to bite me when I attempted to towel him off. Then he lay down again and drifted off to--who knows what? Dreams of better days that used to be? Of a new life to come?

This cranky old greyhound/saluki with the really bad teeth taught me many lessons, including some I'd rather not have learned. I learned my patience is not infinite, nor my compassion seamless. I learned I have a long way to go before I can call myself a bodhisattva. I learned that love comes in unexpected packages, sometimes with bad breath. I learned once more how much my life is enriched by the sighthounds who enter for a short time and then leave me behind to grieve.

One thing of which I'm very sure: Wherever he is this evening, Sandy will continue to "rage, rage against the dying of the light". It's not his nature to do any less.

'Til Death Us Do Part

I've thought a lot recently about the lifespan of greyhound adoption. We know that the average lifespan of the greyhound is somewhere around 12 to 13 years. But the lifespan of the adoption is another matter, it seems. We've had an old girl returned to our group with the comment that "She's been my best friend for six years. But we're moving and can't take her with us." We've had an adopter who was sleep deprived for months because her aging greyhound waked her at all hours of the night. Obviously the lifespan of the adoption of a dog means different things to different people.

There's more irony attached to this post than any reader can possibly guess. After typing the title and the first paragraph, I had a meeting I needed to attend. In order to protect 14.5 year old Sandy from falling and being injured, I closed him into the back room with an x-pen. I had already replaced the "pretty" rug with a $10 one from Costco that could be hosed down if need be. I gave him medication the vet had approved to ease anxiety, and I left for three hours. When I returned, I could hear Sandy barking from the car port. He was pacing and panting anxiously. He had "pooped" and walked through it--over and over. It took me an hour to get the room cleaned, and another three hours to get the odor out of the house. I found myself being very angry and scolding him. As if he knew what he was doing! As if he were being a "bad dog". Once I calmed down I reminded myself than he had been frightened, imagining abandonment. And I was ashamed of myself for my lack of compassion toward a scared old man.

An aging dog is not a lot of fun. His vision and his hearing may become less acute. He may suffer flatulence and bad breath. He may have painful joints, making his sleep (and yours!) fitful.He may lose his footing frequently, legs spayed out around him. He may become incontinent, making for multiple clean-ups. He may even develop dementia--barking for no apparent reason, becoming irritable, seeming to forget what he intends to do when he goes outside. He may need costly medical care, frequent medication, and trips to the vet. His appetite may be finicky, causing you to resort to chicken livers, ground bison, Pedialyte, baby food, or some combination of those things. He will need to be protected from the other dogs in the home, as they will turn on him when they realize how weak he has become.

People have said to me in the past, "It's easier to adopt a child than it is to adopt a greyhound from you folks!"

My answer has often shocked. "Well, maybe it should be more difficult to adopt a dog. If things go the way they should, a child will grow up and become independent and be able to care for himself. A dog never will. A dog will always be dependent on you, to the day he draws his last breath."

Your adoption agreement doesn't say "For better or for worse, in sickness and in health" but perhaps it should. It's a serious commitment. You're not an "owner"--you're a "guardian" of a sentient being who will love you to the very end and who needs your patience and your care.

And now I need to re-read my own words, and commit them to memory.

Greetings from the Gulch!

Frequently when people ask me a question about greyhounds I respond, "If I don't know the answer I can always make one up!" I am rarely found without an opinion on Things Greyhound. And so I asked a very skillful friend to set me up with a blog -- the perfect forum I think in which I can share information (and my never-to-be-humble opinions) with those who are interested in greyhounds. Maybe you already share your life with one (or more). Maybe you're thinking about adopting one. Or maybe you just wonder why those who do own them are such fanatics about them. Anyway, welcome to The Roo.

I adopted my first greyhound, Koa, in November of 1993, through GPA. He had never raced, in fact was unnamed, and I thought he was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Fortunately, he was The Perfect Dog, as I knew nothing about greyhounds. I thought all greyhounds were like Koa but came to realize that that was not the case. The Drop In Dog is a blessing, somewhat rare.

I've undergone a long, interesting process to this point where I oversee adoptions for a group in Central Texas, and have my own pack of 6 sighthounds, plus 1 foster dog. I've learned a lot -- some of it painfully -- but will never be without a greyhound again. I want to spread this pleasure to others, both for the sake of the people who will grow to love them, and for that of the dogs who need homes. The racing industry appears from the outside to be struggling. Whether or not it will survive is not my basic concern. I just know there will be greyhounds needing homes for years to come, even without race tracks. If I can find, to quote my friend Lee Livingood, "the right hound for the right home" even once then I've done my job.

There are right ways to go about adopting a greyhound -- or any other breed for that matter -- and there are wrong ways. I've seen some very serious situations arise when people thought they could short stop the process by taking the dog offered "Free to good home" from a man outside the pet store. I hope to prevent that to some degree by presenting to you

Ten Top Reasons You Should Adopt Your Greyhound From a Group

10) When you adopt from a 501(c)(3) tax exempt group much of your adoption fee can be listed as a tax deductible donation. You should ask the group to tell you how much of that fee is deductible! What an unexpected bonus!

9) The dog you adopt through a reputable group will be spayed or neutered. In some states the law states that any animal coming through a shelter or adoption group has to be sterilized. In addition to helping with the problems related to pet overpopulation, you are protecting your own dog's health. Some forms of cancer are headed off by surgical sterilization. And certainly, an unneutered male dog who gets out to look for the Loralei in the neighborhood is at risk from cars, coyotes, and other threats.

8) A reputable adoption group will have checked the health of the dog. You'll either be getting a healthy dog or you'll be told about any continuing health problems there may be. He will have been treated for internal parasites, if there were any (and there often are) and he'll have been given his vaccinations. He'll have been checked for heartworm, which is a very real threat in Texas, and you'll be told his status. (Our group will have treated for heartworm before making the dog available for adoption.)

7) You'll be given a recommendation for a good veterinarian for your greyhound. Sighthounds are not like other dogs in a lot of ways, some of them physiological. Certain things about them are different (for example, they do not metabolize anesthetic drugs in the same way other breeds do). For this reason, you need a vet who knows sighthounds or at least is willing to learn about these differences. A good group will give you recommendations.

6) You'll be given information about the differences between greyhounds and other breeds. Yes, I know everyone says their breed is "special". But greyhounds really are. We give our adopters a copy of Lee Livingood's Retired Racing Greyhounds for Dummies so they are not apt to be blindsided by the ways in which greyhounds are unlike the black lab they used to have or the shih tzu who lives across the street.

5) There will be support available to you after you adopt from a group -- information about health and behavior, recommendations for a trainer, social events for you and your hound. I always tell people who adopt from us they're getting more than a dog -- they're getting an extended family. Having said that, let me hasten to add that we do not want to be intrusive. We want to be there when an adopter needs us -- period. However, if they're looking for an opportunity to volunteer and help the program along, we're very happy to have them join us.

4) Many groups microchip the dogs in their program so that an adopter has that additional safeguard against losing the dog. The group may merely provide a tag with phone numbers to call in the event a dog strays, but they can probably provide you with information about microchipping -- sometimes at low cost events.

3) Before your adoption certain observations will have been made about the dog's behavior. While I love all greyhounds, there are some that would not be appropriate in some situations. You don't want to take home a dog that is going to kill your cat. You don't want a dog that is going to bite your child. These things happen. But an adoption group will have some idea of how the dog is going to act and will be able to give you some ideas about which dog is suited for your home and which is not. My personal belief is that, in general, groups that are foster-home based (rather than kennel-based) have a better handle on this, but there are certainly exceptions to that.

2) Should the adoption fail for any reason, a reputable adoption group wants their dog back, or at least wants the right to approve the new home for the animal. Things happen in people's lives. An adopter intends for the adoption to be a lifetime arrangement, but people lose jobs, they get sick, they go into nursing homes, they even die. Any group worth its salt wants that dog to come back to them. If you have adopted the dog from some sleazy guy at the car wash driving a dog hauler he is not going to take the dog back, even if you know how to find him, and so you have to take it to a shelter -- or worse.

And the number one reason you should adopt your greyhound for an adoption group is (drum roll please!)

You'll be encouraging people in the greyhound racing industry to Do the Right Thing in placing dogs that aren't money winners for them. If they know they can place their unneeded dogs through an adoption group they are going to be far less likely to release them to rabbit runners, coyote hunters, match racers, or shelters. Years ago, before there were legitimate adoption groups, many dogs were just killed when they were no longer useful to their owners. One hears all manner of horror stories -- whether true or apocryphal -- about the inhumane manner in which hundreds of dogs were disposed of. When you adopt a greyhound through a reputable group, you're not only saving the life of that one dog but probably of an unknown number who follow.

If you're considering greyhound adoption, do your homework. Look up the groups in your area. We have four groups in our immediate area -- each with a slightly different philosophy about the way in which adoptions should be done. And if you expand your area of looking, there are at least half a dozen others nearby. While I'd like to see the dogs from our program moved, I would not discourage you from adopting from any of these groups. A dog saved is a dog saved, no matter the philosophy behind the process!