RhodyGreys
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Posts posted by RhodyGreys
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What part of Wales? I studied in Carmarthen years ago, have friends near Swansea.
He's just gorgeous!
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So sad to read this, I loved that girl. My 'puppy' (2.5 y.o.) Freya reminds me of Birdie. Until you posted about Birdie's passing, I couldn't quite figure out who Freya reminded me of!
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Has it only been four days? There's a hollow in my heart where a Nico used to be. He passed from some undefined cancer that made an appearance in and behind his left eye, and elsewhere, likely his lungs and digestive system. He passed peacefully at home with our wonderful vet in attendance, and the last thing he remembered was getting whippy cream from the can squirted into his mouth.
The morning of his passing, I started out to take him on a last walk. Three houses away from home, we ran into a woman who sometimes walks in the mornings. She asked why I was only walking two. I explained that it was Nico's last walk. She came over to pet him and wished him 'a peaceful journey home'. My stubborn hound, who never once had allowed himself to be turned around on a walk without pulling and bucking, turned immediately and led us three houses back, leading the way.
He was my "problem child", my dog who needed to wear a belly band, the one who had focal seizures from the football game crowd noise, my "breedist", the Dishonest Dog who went ahead in races, only to look for everyone else and lose. If I had known more about Nico, I probably wouldn't have been taken in by his beautiful white coat, his unexpected hugs, his ear grumbles and his tooth chattering. He lived to go for walks, for treats, and to see me, his 'momma'.
I never expected another "heart dog" after my Cooper (Char Super) but I have had two: Ringo (Great Influence) and Nico (Pepi Nick, formerly 'Bolt').
Here's my tribute to Nico. The music is "Good Night" by the Simple Minds.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f38sl6DMUvU -
How about Honcho, in honor of two of his fairly famous ancestors?
He's beautiful: I hope it works for all of you!
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Harry was such a special boy. You could tell that he adored you, and you him. You gave hi every chance to fight the monster, cancer, but it won. Still, it cannot take your good, beautiful, positive memories. I'm very grateful that I got to meet him.
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I had forgotten I had written this one, but today marks the 5 year anniversary of my Ringo passing, and we have lost so many in the last 24 hours. I've modified it slightly to eliminate gender-specific references.
Eternal Sleep
for Shae-Leigh, December 18, 2007
On your last day, you laid your head
On the softest blanket, and I said
You're ready to tread where the angels tread
Though I want to keep you here instead.
On your last day, you met my eyes
Told me you were ready to say goodbye
Without fuss or fight or the smallest cry
Your spirit went soaring into the sky.
On your last day, you ate a meal
You ate with gusto, you ate with zeal
Big brown eyes turned on me to steal
My heart again, in a moment so real...
On your last day, you took a stroll
I could see how the years had taken a toll
Through the coat you shivered, my only goal
Became your comfort, though it tore my soul.
You sniffed the wind, you ate your food
You did everything you thought you should
But nothing more, then you lay down to sleep
Your sleep was peaceful, your sleep was deep...
I saw your legs twitch while you snoozed in the sun
And I knew all you wanted to do was run
From your failing body, to soar with the stars:
What a gift were those last moments of ours.
You gave us the sweetest, most loving years:
I will miss being able to stroke your ears
I will miss being able to calm your fears
I will miss being able to dry my tears.
I will miss every day that we do not share,
But I know that someday, I will meet you there
At the Rainbow Bridge, at heaven's gate.
No matter the years that you have to wait.
Don't worry dear hound, I will keep you safe
Here in my heart, in a sheltered place.
© 2007 m.e. brady -
Moxie
in Remembrance
Robin:
I am so fortunate that I got to meet Moxie. He was clearly where he belonged with you.
Meri-Carol wasn't ready either, despite having a stroke at 13... the one thing I cling to is that she only knew a fleeting fear of indignity, but never had to suffer pain or loss of faculties, or withering anxiety. You did the best you could, and at the right time. The waiting is only for our poor human hearts, no matter how broken they may be.
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I have had three:
Lucky (Lucky Omen)
Stretch (Rancho Stretch)
and
Bull (Deco Bull Ahead)
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It's terrible to think that it has been a year. I thank you for the months you gave her...
I think of all that time spent in a house where she was no longer wanted, when there wasn't anywhere near enough time in the place she was wanted and loved.
When I get home tonight I'll have to look for my Gracie pics and videos. She was so full of light.
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Thanks for the replies!
So far, nothing amiss: I am hoping that the missing portion was crunched up so fine it will never be seen, or hidden somewhere. It was a clear bowl so pieces will be hard to see in output but I have already seen the seeds from the hamburger buns that followed.
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We went to my in-laws' for Thanksgiving dinner: left a little after 2 pm and returned 15 minutes ago. Found a small (6" across) clear plastic bowl that we use to give a little milk to the cats (up on the table) had been stolen and chewed into little tiny bits. Little tiny sharp bits. Looks like 30-50% of the bowl is missing.
There was some blood on the plastic. I do not know which of the three hounds did the eating. All three are occasionally goat-hounds and possible culprits. Do I just pray? Hope that the pieces that got eaten were really crunched up? I do not want to make them vomit, as the pieces could do as much damage coming up as going down. Give them bread? Feed a regular dinner? I'd liken this to crunching up a hard plastic ornament.
Advice appreciated.
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Do you have someone to help you drive? At least company?
Also, has he had a pepcid or gas x and have they checked out a) the roof of his mouth and teeth and
his neck for strain/sprain/disk issue? -
Check all pockets, luggage, and laundry thouroughly. Look in and under dog beds and furniture. It's more likely that they were carried off or kicked under something?
If that fails, then I'd go for an x-ray for peace of mind.
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Twelve years, today. Found a picture this morning from one of his first fun runs after adoption. He was staring across the field, looking into the distance. Just how I remember him.
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If you want to talk privately about RI area vets, please PM me or contact me on Facebook (Meri Brady, ironically).
I have found that Frontline, purchased through vet or not, isn't working as well as it used to. However, that being said, it does work for some people.
Generally, I will echo what others have said. I know the vet you're talking about, and I wasn't terrifically impressed. I'm at a different greyhound-savvy practice and have two additional vets with greyhound knowledge as my backups, just in case.
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I am also in RI, btw. Four hounds, in North Kingstown. Congrats on your new boy!
I had been running a greyhound walking group in the fall, but that was suspended when my mother passed in December. Thinking about a walk this Sunday. Check out Rhode Island Network of Greyhound Owners (RINGO) on Facebook if you get a chance.
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One of mine is down to 9 teeth after her recent dental. I've put was warm water over her kibble and she gobbles it up and looks for more.
Now, my problem is she can no longer have a Milky bone at night before bed and is not happy. I'm going to try soaking one tonight and see if she can handle that. I hope it doesn't fall apart
Treats before bed for a toothless hound: marshmallow pieces. Or banana slices. Meri Carol eats those, and slices of cheese, like a true glutton.
Meri-Carol has been having 'mushy' food for the last three years. She gets Purina One with shredded chicken. I'm going to try something fishy - I know she loves her salmon.
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We have a local goat farm. Maybe I can work out a deal with them.
I'm thinking oatmeal, pasta, and meats. She also liked a round kibble I tried for a while. Maybe I should try another round kibble for her again.
I also just started her on a course of antibiotics in case something is bothering her in her gums. I don't see anything, but a round of keflex won't hurt!
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She's hungry, and she wants to eat, but she wanders away from her food after the first half of the meal. Almost like her tounge is tired! She has been eating the same thing with gusto for three years, and the last 6 weeks we have observed changes.
She'll happily take treats from your hand. She has a big bowl on a raised stand, so she can slop about as much as she wants. Even with added treats, she still stops short of a full meal.
I know she's developing some LP. She's 12.5 now, and playful, outgoing, and vibrant. Yet sometimes she whines quietly to herself, and I wonder if she's just getting a little senile. She had a tumor removed from her rear leg in October and came through anesthesia with flying colors. The tumor was benign.
Those of you with toothless or mostly toothless hounds: what do you feed??
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Ask your vet about Doxepin. My Sam is taking it. He started taking it before symptoms became really bad, so I don't know if he's doing well because of the drug or if it's just coincidental, but I do know he's not getting worse.
I second this recommendation. My Ringo was on it for almost a year and we lost him to probable lymphoma, not LP, at 12.5.
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Liz, tell my favorite little girl hound to get better riteawayquick so she can try to steal hot wings from me again (I remember this vividly from my last Dewey).
We lost our Heidi to this back in 1998. But I have heard some survival stories. My thoughts are with you!
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"Compounding these normally low WBC and platelet numbers is the fact that Ehrlichia, a common blood parasite of Greyhounds, can lower WBC and platelet counts. So if there is any doubt as to whether the WBC / platelet counts are normal, an Ehrlichia titer is always in order. The other classic changes with Ehrlichia are lowered PCV and elevated total protein. But bear in mind that every Greyhound will not have every change, and Ehrlichia Greyhounds can have normal CBCs." from Dr. Stack's treatise on greyhound blood values and health as posted at the following site: http://www.recycledracers.org/FAQ/greyhound-blood-values.html
Might be worth a serious look at Ehrlichia. IMHO.
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I had a wonderful girl, Mylie, who had been a brood mom. She came home in October of 2009, and I sent her out of this world on July 31, 2010. That was the worst euthanasia ever, not because she struggled, but because she so clearly didn't want to go: her spirit was so strong. Yet she had a mammary tumor, and corns on all four feet. It made me wince every time she took a step. I took her in for surgery to remove the tumor and work on her corns, but the mammary tumor was cancerous and it had already spread to her lungs.
I could probably have waited a few more weeks. In some ways, I wish I had, but I ended her obvoius pain from her corns and eliminated the possibility of her lung tumors compromising her quality of life. She left loved. If your girl is just weak and weary, but in no obvious pain, I'd let her stay for now, particularly when you can engage her.
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The loss of familiar names and faces has spurred me to share. I wrote this for the CG contest on adopting again and realilzed after I'd sent it that it wouldn't match the topic. I think it's more appropriate here, and I was reminded to post it after reading the thread in EEG regarding dreaming of past hounds.
Strange Beauty
by Meredith E. BradyThere are some moments so earth shattering and so breathtaking that they are never more than a hair’s breadth from your consciousness, following through the days and nights, shadows just beyond the edge of sight. They are terrible and strangely beautiful at the same time, scars of your spiritual exsanguination, evidence of your ability to love.
I don’t even have to close my eyes to block out the mechanical whirr of the air conditioner and the fluorescent glare of my office lights. He comes when I call, and I am trapped in that moment, on my knees on the hardwood floor of my fondly-remembered house, bare toes behind me pressed into the fibers of the area rug, feeling the sand and dirt and grit under my left hand while I lift my right hand to stroke down his side, careful not to touch his distended abdomen.
The colors are all fall, cream and gray and browns in more hues than the largest box of crayons, deep, mossy green, red and gold, denim. The amber of his eyes as he looks up at me, hurting, confused, scared, reading ominous portents in the tracks of my tears.
I am there, on my knees, telling him that I love him more than anything in the world and begging his forgiveness that I couldn’t fix him, couldn’t even figure out what was wrong because I am starting a business and my partner (however poorly chosen, I think, with perfect hindsight) isn’t employed and we have spent more than seven thousand dollars trying to fix the inevitable for my partner’s greyhound, who died in my arms five months ago, to the day, to the hour.
I am there, on my knees, and the bald-headed man with the sharp face and the syringe full of all those empty days ahead, those drifting, awful days, is kneeling next to me, next to him, next to both of us. He is my veterinarian, and he doesn’t make house calls, but he made one today, telling me without grace or any softening compassion that he knows my Cooper has cancer. He can tell. His voice harbors no hint of uncertainty, no doubt. I cannot argue, as I stroke the same path over and over along the brindle whorls, for my veterinarian has personal, first-hand knowledge of the monster, cancer.
I don’t have to close my eyes, but now I do, and I am there on my knees, impotent to stop the inevitable as the needle breaches Cooper’s skin and he lifts his head, alarmed, feeling the beginning of the end, the severing of the connection, terrified to be separated from me, for we have never been far from each other as the years have rolled onward. I have not always been the perfect owner, sometimes redirecting my anger at myself for dubious decisions, but he has been my anchor and together we have seen and done and gone and dreamed and sheltered.
Is it better to measure our time as five years and two months or is that sixty two months? I could count all one thousand, eight hundred and eighty four days, or even the forty-five thousand two hundred and sixteen hours. I am there on my knees, and all those hours, days, months, years are not enough. Fear flashes and flies as his head sinks into the pillow of cotton comforter, fading even while his breath slows under my trembling hand, and then, nothing. There is no spark, no glimmer, no warmth, no laughter, no hope. Waves of grief break over the island I have become.
He comes when I call, and he goes. Rewind, replay, remember. I was hollow and utterly alone for the first while, unable to speak without calling out my grief, unable to sleep without searching for his ghost. He is still an unquiet memory, restless, carried back to me by a single whisper of wind. And yet, I was there, on my knees, and I touched him as he blurred, felt the last beat of his heart, shared the air of his last breath, wishing for something, anything other than finality. Strange then, how there never was finality. Strange, and beautiful, his gift to me.
I am there, on my knees, and the earth-shattering, breathtaking moment is instructive, constructive, not destructive. The end will always come, the waves of grief will always break, erode, reshape, and I will survive, will measure more time, will never lose the Cooper-shaped scar on my heart. It identifies me as belonging to a greyhound I once knew, who once knew me, who deemed me his guardian, his world.
I transition from past to present tense, knowing that Cooper and I had a beginning and an end, but the best parts of the story lie somewhere in the middle. Someone once asked me why I seem to adopt older and slightly broken greyhounds. I couldn’t answer then, except to explain that they all need someone. Now, growing up, growing older, having reviewed my history as a greyhound owner, the answer is simple: they each bear their own strange and beautiful gifts, each like a new book from a favorite author, and I greet them with the giddy excitement of the first day of school, first day at a new job, with anticipation.
There is a spark, a glimmer, warmth, laughter, hope. The earth-shattering, breathtaking moment teaches me to get down on my knees, to look them in the eye, to live with them for as many minutes as we are granted. Cooper’s gift of strange beauty is the bittersweet, the high and the low, the joyful beginning entangled with the awful end, the acceptance that you cannot have the joy without the (invisible) scar. I imagine Cooper flying to me across the field, tongue lolling, tail wagging furiously, amber eyes lit from within. What is life without such joy?
his neck for strain/sprain/disk issue?
Final Secret Santa - Secret Santa 2018
in Announcements and News
Posted
I'm in! Thanks for pulling this together again, Trudy.