The Lone Turd

Once upon a time, there was a single, solitary turd. He was born from Britta's butt, but he knew not who Britta was, nor that she was a dog. He did not know the amount of preparation that had gone into his coming about. And he did not know that within seconds of his birth, he would be headed to his demise.

Oh, the frustration that went into his being! First, Britta had to alert her Momma that she needed to go out. Of course, the turd was conceived long before this - at least a day. But let's not start at the beginning. We will start in the middle, like Pulp Fiction. Once Momma was alerted to this need, she had to get up from under the warm covers of her bed. She had to put on pants. A big thick jacket. Shoes. She had to search for her hair clip, so as to clip her hair up so wind will not blow it in her face as she searches in the grass for the future turd and what should have been his comrades. She had to put the collar on Britta, who does a little dance and shakes her head around as if playing "You can't catch me" with Momma.

Once outside, Momma and Britta both have to endure the cold, wet weather. Britta doesn't like it one bit. They both stand there, on the sidewalk looking at the wet soggy grass, and then looking at each other, as if daring the other one to go in it and "do business". Finally, Britta concedes and steps in. Now the real labor ensues. It's wet, and no spot is a good spot, so Britta must walk around forever, back and forth on her leash, and do a series of "pretend potties". She squats like she's about to go, but quickly stands back up and looks for another spot. Testing out each patch of grass but standing back up without doing anything, because no spot lived up to her standards. Finally, after bone-chilling minutes have passed, she finds the one pure spot and gets in that specific hunched position. Slowly and with great concentration from Britta, the turd is born and falls into the grass. But Britta quickly stands upright and jumps off the soggy greenness back onto the safe firm concrete. She is done. Tail wagging, she is ready to go back inside to her warm house, her warm bed. Momma is standing there, looking at the lone turd, muttering words that sounds like "That's it?" Momma tries to lead Britta back into the grass for some more, but Britta is adamant. It is time to go in. Momma pulls out a blue baggie and scoops up the lone turd, thinking what a waste of a baggie, then ties it in a knot at the top and throws in it a trash can. There, the lone turd suffocates to death. The lone turd never knew he was in a trash can for his kind... one of many baggies all consisting of other turds, some lone, some not. It is the holocaust for turds, piled on top of each other, all sent to their inevitable doom.

Due to the graphic nature of this story, no photos related to the incident will be published.

The Fight for the Bed

It used to be that I shared a bed with my boyfriend of 5 years. He had one half, I had the other, and in the winter, we'd fight for the blankets. Occassionally, when Uma had had a bath, we'd let her sleep in between us, on top of the blankets. Here's what that looked like: Him lying on his side, on his edge of the bed, about to fall out; me lying on my side on the edge about to fall out; and Uma in the middle, trying to sprawl out but not too successfully, pushing on both of us.

Before going any further, let me clarify one thing. Uma cannot just help herself to my bed. Uma would like to, I'm sure. But unlike most greyhounds, she does not have the spring in her back side to propel herself up onto the bed. She throws her front paws on the bed, and looks at me longingly while wagging her tail like a propeller, as if the faster she wags, the more it will boost her up. If I concede, I have to help by lifting her under the waist so that she can get up there. It's really cute to watch her try on her own. It never works, but she has so much faith that she can do it, it never stops her. Once, she even had the common sense to leave the room and come back with a running start from the hallway, still to no avail.

Anyway, back to the story. Now that I've moved and I have a bigger bed, I enjoy having the whole space to myself. I can roll around from one side to the other and not worry about anyone else being cramped or shoved. It's really liberating, to have a big whole bed all to yourself. I recommend everyone to try it. But we recently fostered another grey, and Uma was none too thrilled. So to compensate, I allowed her to sleep in my bed for as long as we had the foster (on top of the covers, of course). Here's what this looks like: Uma lies on the left side of the bed, usually with her head at the foot of the bed and her butt up by my head. In the middle of the bed is a body pillow, per the recommendation of my chiropractor. On the right side, there's me.

Sounds like a pretty nice arrangement, with enough room for everyone, right? Well, you'd think that would be the case. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong.

First of all, Uma uses her feet to push the body pillow over, making her side of the bed wider and my side narrower. I try to push it back, but it doesn't always work. Then, we actually fight for the body pillow itself. She likes to wrap her top legs around it, and I like to wrap my leg around it, so we lay there and kick each other in an attempt to each retain control of the pillow. It usually ends with me getting kicked in the face and her getting the pillow.

By the time I wake up, she has usually turned around during the night, so her head is at the head of the bed. I wake up looking into her eyes, and then she puts a front paw on my face to aid in her morning stretch.

This had become the routine. Keep in mind I haven't yet mentioned how difficult it is to wash all the dog hair out of the sheets. I thought that by keeping her on top of the covers I was protecting the rest of my bedding from being covered in dog hair. That was a laughable assumption. The dog hairs cover the top, which she lays on, but it also penetrates the sheets, weaving itself thru the 500 thread count and in effect adding another layer of threading to my bedding. I can't be mad though. I understand what it's like to have too much hair. So part of the routine is now to go thru each layer of bedding with the sticky dog lint roller, trying desperately to unweave the Uma quilt that has become my bed.

Now that our foster has been adopted, Uma still tries for my bed. She knows with enough finesse, she will get her way.

The Water Dog

My very first greyhound, the one we found, hated water. She drank it, of course, but she did not like to be surrounded by it. She did not enjoy baths. She hated the rain. She wouldn't even go out after the rain when the grass was still wet. Heaven forbid her little paws get damp! Because of her annoyance of all things wet, I assumed that all greyhounds must not like water. So you can imagine my surprise when I was adopting Uma and her foster mom told me she's a water dog!

Uma's foster mom had 2 greyhounds of her own, and her neighbors also had 2 greyhounds. While Uma was in foster care, the neighbors invited her mom and all the dogs over for dinner one night. Five greyhounds were playing in the backyard while the humans were feasting away inside. At some point, they looked outside and only saw four greyhounds.... of course it was Uma who was unaccounted for. Fearing the worst, they all rushed outside. But no worries... Uma was lounging. In the neighbor's koi pond.

Uma enjoys all kinds of water. Baths. Buckets. Pools. She doesn't dive right into a pool, mind you. She's too dainty for a big splash effect. She prefers a more subtle approach, one step at a time to get acclimated to the temperature, then a nice dog paddle around once or twice. It's my goal to give her a pool of her very own one day. I bought her a kiddie pool - one of those hard plastic things from Target that's about a foot deep. I think she confused it for a bath. She stood in it, but wouldn't sit down. Either she thought it was a bath or, the ground was too hard for her. She absolutely refuses to sit on the ground. Grass, concrete... She gives them a big NO THANK YOU and will prefer to stand. She must have at the very least, a soft blanket between her bottom and the grass. One cannot have a special dog without special circumstances. But I digress...

One day, Uma will have her pool. Her very own pool. Little dachshunds and beagles wearing loincloths will be serving her martinis and dog biscuits, and fetching her doggles when the sun moves overhead. She will be happy, because.... we are all here to serve her.

Starting at the Middle

Welcome to my new blog, dedicated to my two special pumpkins: two lovable female greyhounds named Uma and Britta. These are my babies, my kids, and my life. There's a stereotype that exists about "the cat lady", a single woman who lives with a bunch of cats. I hope I'm not the "dog" version of that, but to be honest, so what if I am? I'm proud of my babies. I love my babies. It's not like I'm a dog hoarder. I just love greyhounds. So this blog is devoted to them, and all the things that make them special.

So I guess the first question is, why greyhounds? All I can say is when I was a teenager, we found our first greyhound wandering around the neighborhood. A local business said they had already called Animal Control, and here was this big beautiful dog just needing a home. So we opened the car door and she just walked right in, sat on the backseat, and fell fast asleep. That was almost 20 years ago, and now I can't imagine my life without a greyhound in it.

So, why does this blog start at the middle? Because Uma and Britta are middle aged dogs, and I did not just adopt them. I've had them for a few years now, so I'm not their new mom, and they are not puppies. It's the middle of the middle for all of us, and I intend to make the most of it, even if they have no idea what intentions are.

Like children, my girls are spoiled. It's the day after Christmas, and they've gotten new squeeky toys. They've squeeked themselves silly. Squeeked themselves tired. Britta has replaced her baby, her orange squeeky monkey, with a new one, and I can't figure out what it's supposed to be except that it's blue. Uma played with her new hedgehog for about 5 minutes before she lost it to Britta. Infact, Britta has stockpiled all the dog toys. A new year is upon us. New toys are upon them. I'm not normally someone who really gets in the holiday spirit, but for the first time this holiday, I am looking forward to the new year!