RobinM

I am so sorry, Maxine. Hugs to Sue.

Sardines are not white fish, they are oily fish. Known by some as 'blue' fish because of the colour and type of their skin (so I'm told), they're one of the few fish I can eat, because I'm deathly allergic to white fish. Thank you. Glad to find this out sooner, rather than later. I will let DH know it is NOT a white fish. Sorry Beau Beau...

DH brought home several cans of on sale sardines. In water, no salt added. Ollie, Teddy (raw fed) AND Chloe (kibble fed) LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVED it!!! Finished the can in a nano second. I'm wondering since it is a white fish, maybe Beau can try it.

OMG OMG OMG. There are no words. Sending loads of prayers and strength for you. I am so sorry.

RE SARDINES: I know raw is best and we will try that when we get to the marke that sells it but in the meantime, when we buy the sardines in the can, should it be in oil or water. I figure the oil is probably good but packs on many more calories. What's the verdict?

you are dong all you can do. Take it one film at a time. For Polli- although she had a severe limp on and off for a year, it took the full year for the osteo to be discovered and that was only because she fractured it. Keeping Loki in my prayers. Update as soon as you can.

My Polli died of osteo at the age of 10 years, 2 months. She was one day shy of 5 months post ampuation/chemo. She started limpng 1 year prior to the fracture and she was x-rayed 2 x over the course of the year. It wasn't until she tripped going up the steps and fractured her leg that it became a do or die (literally) decsion. There was so much life left in her- we just couldn't end it like that so we opted for amp/chemo. It wasn't an easy thing for any of us to go through but GT peeps held me up when I thought I would fall and we all got through it together. Polli was everyone's baby girl. (as I sit with tears pouring down my face) So, in answer to your question... for us- she limped but there was no diagnosis from that. For some, they develop a lump in the bone. I'm sure others will chime in.

A very heart felt tribute to a very special girl. I am so sorry.

No where near the area, but you could look into a kennel license so it becomes a non issue wherever you are.

For peace of mind or to make a decision, I would insist on doing the x-ray today rather than make Loki wait another week in pain, especially since it's gotten worse. I do not like the way your vet thinks. Keeping your baby in my thoughts and prayers.

Time to bring this one to the top again! Please take the time to read this to understand what your girl is feeling at this time. It's a greyt reminder to us all! Of all breeds of dogs, the ex-racing Greyhound has never had to be responsible for anything in his life. His whole existence has been a dog-centered one. This breed has never been asked to do anything for itself, make any decisions or answer any questions. It has been waited on, paw and tail. The only prohibition in a racing Greyhound's life is not to get into a fight----------------or eat certain stuff in the turn out pen. Let us review a little. From weaning until you go away for schooling, at probably a year and a half, you eat, grow and run around with your siblings. When you go away to begin your racing career, you get your own "apartment," in a large housing development. No one is allowed in your bed but you, and when you are in there, no one can touch you, without plenty of warning. Someone hears a vehicle drive up, or the kennel door being unlocked. The light switches are flipped on. The loud mouths in residence, and there always are some, begin to bark or howl. You are wide awake by the time the human opens your door to turn you out. A Greyhound has never been touched while he was asleep. You eat when you are fed, usually on a strict schedule. No one asks if you are hungry or what you want to eat. You are never told not to eat any food within your reach. No one ever touches your bowl while you are eating. You are not to be disturbed because it is important you clean your plate. You are not asked if you have to "go outside." You are placed in a turn out pen and it isn't long before you get the idea of what you are supposed to do while you are out there. Unless you really get out of hand, you may chase, rough house and put your feet on everyone and every thing else. The only humans you know are the "waiters" who feed you, and the "restroom attendants" who turn you out to go to the bathroom. Respect people? Surely you jest. No one comes into or goes out of your kennel without your knowledge. You are all seeing; all knowing. There are no surprises, day in and day out. The only thing it is ever hoped you will do is win, place or show, and that you don't have much control over. It is in your blood, it is in your heart, it is in your fate-- or it is not. And when it is not, then suddenly you are expected to be a civilized person in a fur coat. But people don't realize you may not even speak English. Some of you don't even know your names, because you didn't need to. You were not asked or told to do anything as an individual; you were always part of the "condo association?; the sorority or fraternity and everyone did everything together, as a group or pack. The only time you did anything as an individual is when you schooled or raced, and even then, You Were Not Alone. In my "mobile abode," the Greyhounds each have several unique names, but they also have a single common name: it is Everybody. We continue to do things as a group, pack or as we are affectionately known in-house, by Kathleen's Husbandit, "The Thundering Herd." Back to those who have not been permanently homed. Suddenly, he is expected to behave himself in places he's never been taught how to act. He is expected to take responsibility for saying when he needs to go outside, to come when he is called, not to get on some or all of the furniture, and to not eat food off counters and tables. He is dropped in a world that is not his, and totally without warning, at that. Almost everything he does is wrong. Suddenly he is a minority. Now he is just a pet. He is unemployed, in a place where people expect him to know the rules and the schedule, even when there aren't any. (How many times have you heard someone say, "He won't tell me when he has to go out." What kind of schedule is that?) Have you heard the joke about the dog who says, "My name is No-No Bad Dog. What's yours?" To me that is not even funny. All the protective barriers are gone. There is no more warning before something happens. There is no more strength in numbers. He wakes up with a monster human face two inches from his. (With some people's breath, this could scare Godzilla.) Why should he not, believe that this "someone," who has crept up on him, isn't going to eat him for lunch? (I really do have to ask you ladies to consider how you would react if someone you barely knew crawled up on you while you were asleep?) No, I will not ask for any male input. Now he is left alone, for the first time in his life, in a strange place, with no idea of what will happen or how long it will be before someone comes to him again. If he is not crated, he may go though walls, windows or over fences, desperately seeking something familiar, something with which to reconnect his life. If he does get free, he will find the familiarity, within himself: the adrenaline high, the wind in his ears, the blood pulsing and racing though his heart once again--until he crashes into a car. Often, the first contact with his new family is punishment, something he's never had before, something he doesn't understand now, especially in the middle of the rest of the chaos. And worst of all, what are the most common human reactions to misbehavior? We live in a violent society, where the answer to any irritation is a slap, punch, kick, whip, or rub your nose in it. Under these circumstances, sometimes I think any successful adoption is a miracle. He is, in effect, expected to have all the manners of at least a six-year old child. But, how many of you would leave an unfamiliar six-year old human alone and loose in your home for hours at a time and not expect to find who knows what when you got back? Consider that if you did, you could be brought up on charges of child abuse, neglect and endangerment. Yet, people do this to Greyhounds and this is often the reason for so many returns. How many dogs have been returned because they did not know how to tell the adoptor when they had to go out? How many for jumping on people, getting on furniture, counter surfing, separation anxiety, or defensive actions due to being startled or hurt (aka growling or biting)? So, let's understand: Sometimes it is the dog's "fault" he cannot fit in. He is not equipped with the social skills of a six-year old human. But with your love and help, you can make it happen. ETA- by K.L. Gilley

I am so sorry Alisha,

She is BEAUTIFUL! Congrats and Welcome!

Welcome from NY!

May you have many many many years of health and happiness with each other. Congrats, she is beautiful and heart healers are a wonderful thing.

I am so sorry for your loss. Your tribute is beautiful.

God Speed Dougie. I am so sorry.

Dead fleaz in AU. Good prices and fast shipping.

GREYT job Donna, This has a lot to do with the love and trust he feels from you. GO GARRY! off topic- MBL is on maternity till 1/111. Dr Anastiou (sp?) is in every day but Tuesday and Friday. Hope you don't need him.

Keeping Ava in my thoughts and prayers.

Lewis:blush - still so young. So sad and so missed.

Keeping you in my thoughts and prayers.

I am so sorry.

That was such a touching tribute to a beautful boy. I am so sorry for your loss.

I am so sorry. I so love your sweet pictures and stories about these beautiful animals.