Celebrating Chase

We adopted our retired racing greyhound, Chase, almost four years ago. On Wednesday of this week, he turned nine. Thankfully, greyhounds live up to fourteen years on average, which is a pretty good amount of time for big dogs.

Chase has changed our life. When we made the decision to adopt a retired racer, our beloved cat, Sam, had just died, and we had just miscarried yet another baby. After submitting an application, we were invited to an adopt-a-thon to meet a lot of different greyhounds and where we were given the opportunity to bring our little mutt, Tessa, to see which dogs would interact well with her.


We had our eye on a little brood mama named Calista. We really liked her sweet temperament (and the fact that she was slightly smaller than most of the greys), but a volunteer at the event suggested we weren’t the right home for her as she needed other greyhounds in the home with her. I was just about to get my panties in a bunch—how dare she say we weren’t the right home for her—when my husband called out to me. “Hey honey! what about this one?”

He pointed down to a white and brindle dog that was leaning against his legs and soaking up all of the love offered. At first I thought, wow, he’s really big. We were looking for a smaller greyhound. But as I approached, and saw his big, brown, soulful eyes and the affectionate way he leaned against my husband, I was sold. He came home with us that day.

His racing name was Starz Megabucks. We thought that was quite a mouthful, so we decided to name him Chase (although he still answers to “Megabucks”). In his day, Chase ran in seventy-nine races in Florida and West Virginia and retired at the mandatory retirement age of four and a half when he tore a hind muscle. He had lived with another family before us, but they’d had to give him up after five months due to some sort of hardship. The letter that came with his adoption papers said they had cried when they’d returned him.

Even at nine, Chase loves to run. He dashes around the back yard in circular patterns while carrying a toy in his mouth and squawking it loudly. In the winter, he loves running in the soft, powdery snow, and he’s a sucker for walks. When that leash rattles, he’s up and standing by the door.

In many ways, Chase is like a little kid. He readily understands an extensive list of vocabulary words, and he’s just about the most sensitive and emotional dog I’ve ever come across. But he’s also a klutz. Over the nearly four years we’ve had him, we’ve visited the vet for numerous foot injuries (usually occurring while running in our back yard).

So this, his ninth birthday week, has been a little rough for Chase. Something upset his tummy on Wednesday night (perhaps the birthday cookie?), and he threw up twice. And when Chase throws up, it’s akin to cleaning up after a human. Then yesterday, while running in the back yard, he tore his dew claw. Sigh. He had to be sedated and patched up for that, and we finally got him back around 7:30 last night in a zombified state. As I am a worry-wart mama, I hovered over him until finally collapsing with exhaustion.

A clown and a klutz, Chase (and all greyhounds, I might add) is the most wonderful, the most human-like dog I have ever owned. If my husband and I were not to have human children, then God gave us the greatest dog instead (at least we think he is).

Happy Birthday, Chase!

   

  

A to Z Challenge: G is for...oh, it's too easy...Greyhounds!

 

 

This letter was almost too easy. I only had to think about 2.2 seconds to come up with the topic.

 

Everyone knows I'm a dog fanatic, and for the last two years, I've become a sighthound--specifically a greyhound--freak. So I'm sorry, but you will have to suffer through more pictures of my furbabies in this post.

 

 

 

Some general information about greyhounds first of all. They are sighthounds. Whereas most dogs operate first on scent and hunt thereby, sighthounds visually spot their prey and their speed does the rest. Incidentally, the greyhound is the second fastest land animal. They can hit 45 miles per hour in three strides, which is why they can never be off-lead in an area without a secure fence. You will not catch them by foot if they take off.

 

Often people assume greyhounds are in need of a lot of exercise and space to run. They're actually okay on leash walks. It is true that they LOVE to run, but they also sleep 18 hours a day. Hence, they are often affectionately nick-named, the 45 mile-per-hour-couch potato.

 

This is Chase.

 

 

 

Chase has lived with us since June of 2012, and I can't imagine life without him. He is highly emotional (he hates it when we leave, and when we come home in the afternoons he throws a party). He loves all forms of touch (behind the ears, on the belly, at the base of the tail), and I swear he understands what I'm telling him (he listens like a champ).

 

His racing name was Starz Megabucks (a mouthful!), but since we don't have kids, I like my animals to have human names, and "Chase" definitely fits him. Chase ran 74 races and won 7 of them, and he regularly placed 2nd, 3rd, or 4th. He retired due to a hind leg injury, but he was basically mandatory retirement age anyway (around 4 and a half).

 

Chase was adopted by another family for about five months after he retired, but he was returned when the owners fell on financial hardship. Sad for them, but a huge blessing for us. He has changed our lives in such wild and wonderful ways. He's our goofy, crazy, gentle, FAST, and playful "son" who loves to eat and squeak toys and sleep like a dead roach.

 

(Yes, he is sleeping here)

 

If you're interested in adopting a greyhound or a sighthound, there are hundreds of adoption agencies around the country.

 

Chase came from Greyt Expectations out of Lusby, Maryland.

 

For greyhounds, Spanish greyhounds (galgos), Borzoi, Italian greyhounds, Salukis, Irish wolfhounds or Afghan hounds, I highly recommend The Sighthound Underground.  

Favorite Things Friday (A Day Late): Reyna Revisited

Sorry, everyone! I'm a day late in posting. It's been quite a week (and that's a whole separate blog post for another time).

A few months ago, I featured a hound named Reyna who was in need of a home and available through The Sighthound Underground. Well, guess what, folks? She's still in need of a home!

This month I wanted to revisit Reyna because she's such a great dog, and she's made huge strides of progress since she first came on board at SHUG.

Like a number of Spanish galgos rescued and brought to the U.S., Reyna arrived in America suffering from man-phobia--most likely due to mistreatment by men in her home country. She's still shy of men, but that might change with time and a lot of patience. However, she would do best with a single woman who might already have a couple of dogs in her household. Reyna loves other dogs and loves to go on walks. She's extremely sweet and would make a wonderful addition to an all-female household.

Reyna is spayed, neutered, and updated on all shots. Her adoption fee is $300. If you're interested in Reyna, or know someone else who might be, contact The Sighthound Underground and fill out an application. Or just stop by the website anyway...there are plenty of wonderful, beautiful, adoptable hounds in need of a home!











On an unrelated note, next Friday, March 27th, I'll be participating in a multi-author Facebook party. Song From the Ashes will be featured from 5-5:30, but the party will be ongoing between 3 and 9 p.m. There will be free giveaways (my book, other people's books, and other fun swag). Stop by and join in the festivities!  There will be lots of food! (Ha, just joking...). Stop by my Facebook page to join the fun!

Favorite Things Friday: Snow Days (and Healthy, Uninjured Dogs)

Snow days are one of God's greatest gifts, as far as I'm concerned. They're a reprieve in the midst of the madness of our day to day life and usually greatly needed and appreciated. There is a still, quiet, pensive quality to snow in and of itself--almost as if God is telling us to take a moment, breathe, and rest from our normal duties because we can't really do them anyway (especially if we live in Northern Virginia).

Although I've appreciated the snow days as much as ever, this most recent batch of snow just could not have come at a more inconvenient moment. Chase, our big retired racer, has been injured since February 22nd with a foot laceration that happened while playing with carefree and wild abandon in the previous snowfall. A trip to the vet the next day ended with minor surgery on his foot to repair the damage, which included clearing away dead skin and intricate suturing techniques (since greyhound skin is like that of a 90 year old woman's). Layers and layers of bandages were applied, and we were warned to keep them completely dry until they were removed...in about 17 days.

Over the years people have told me I should have gone into the veterinarian field (because of my love for animals). These same people did not realize that I am THE MOST squeamish, stressed-out individual on the face of the earth when it comes to sick animals. Last week I was literally having chest pains as I worried and fretted over Chase's injury. I took Monday off of work to monitor him continually; every few hours I felt and sniffed his bandages for any signs of wetness or odor (which might signal infection); and I became nearly apoplectic when he stepped into a huge snow bank to potty and snow gushed into the plastic IV bag the vet gave us to put over his bandaging to keep it dry. Frantic use of the hairdrier ensued as I attempted to dry the tiny corner of his bandage that got a little bit damp.



After that, I pulled out the big guns. I bought press and seal cling wrap, found a heavy-duty grocery bag and reinforced the inside with the press and seal, and pulled out a trash bag sized for kitchen use. The grocery bag with reinforcements was applied first followed by a swath of press and seal. This was followed by the IV bag boot and another application of press and seal. Finally the garbage bag, which I had to tie off where his leg meets his body and two more reams of press and seal were applied. I bit my fist the whole time we were out in the six to eight inches of snow, gasping at each incident of Chase stepping into un-shoveled areas, so worried was I that some layer of the body armor would come off. When we returned inside, and I stripped off nine layers of waterproofing, I found that his foot was clean and dry. Huge sigh of relief. All my work paid off. And then I had to do it all over again about two hours later, and I've had to continue doing it for each subsequent bathroom break to maintain peace of mind about that bandage.

 

Through it all, Chase has been tolerant and patient with me, although his expression seems to say, "Really, Mom? Must we go through this every time I need to pee?" My husband, also, has been extremely tolerant of my neurosis, patiently enduring my overly excited preludes into walks and bathroom breaks punctuated by frantic strips of press and seal. "Honey, you need to relax and have a little faith," he finally told me. "The vet said the stitches are healing better than they even expected."

This is true. At a bandage-change visit the other day, the vet confirmed that everything is healing perfectly and more quickly than they expected. (Praise for that, as I'd been praying that it would heal faster than they thought it would).

Over all of my desperate and frenzied preparations I imagine God looking down and shaking his head at my all-too-human need to stress over something that I don't have ultimate control. He's the great healer and protector, and all my panic is futile at the end of the day. Nevertheless, I also imagine He, too, might be slightly amused and even chuckle a little at the press and seal overkill.


 
(Chase sleeping comfortably with bandages)

God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. --Genesis 1:25

Favorite Things Friday: Rya

It's time for favorite things Friday! Since it's the third Friday of the month, that means I feature an adoptable dog!

This is Rya the galga (female Spanish greyhound).  Rya was rescued from Spain where she spent her whole life as a hunting dog and a brood-mama, but now she's retired from all that mess and ready to find her new home!

Rya is eight years old but very spunky! She recently got into a pretty big tussle with one tough kitty, so she needs to be in a cat-free home. Having said that, she is small-dog safe, and she's as sweet as she can be with everyone else in the non-feline world.

Her adoption fee of $650 covers all her shots and vet care (including spay/neuter) and transportation costs. She is available for adoption anywhere in the US or Canada through Sighthound Underground. Send them an email or application if you're interested!

A Day at the Scottish Games with Two Greyhounds

Last weekend my husband and I attended the Virginia Scottish Games.

For anyone who isn't familiar with the Scottish Games festivals, these are annual celebrations including events such as terrier races, border collie sheep herding, clan kiosks, authentic food, whiskey tasting, and vendors selling kilts, tartans, tams, etc. In Virginia, the festival is usually held in The Plains, near Middleburg, but the Scottish Games in general can be found all over the country.

I'm of Scottish heritage, so this festival appealed to me on an ancestral level, but also because of its dog-friendly nature. Chase and Trinity happily joined us on our adventure.

So what great activities did with partake in? Next to none. Why? Because when you have greyhounds, you cannot walk more than three feet without someone stopping you with a barage of the following questions?

"Is that a whippet?"

"Can I pet your dog?"

"Is that a Great Dane?"

"What kind of dog is that?"

And invariably, fellow greyhound owners attend these events, and you end up in a forty-five minute discussion about greyhounds, rescues, racing history, geneology, etc.

Here is a list of a what my husband and I did  at the Scottish Games besides stop and talk to people about our dogs:

• Looked at one wool sweater (but we never made a deicision about buying it because people were stopping to talk to us about our dogs)

• Watched half of a sheep herding event (Chase and Trinity were too restless to stand still for more than a few minutes)

• Bought food (but had to stand and eat, and as Trinity jerked at the end of her leash,  the remaining contents in my bowl of haggis flipped over and into my purse)

• Drank a beer (successfully)

• Stepped and fell into a hole badly bruising both knees

• Viewed British imported and antique cars (but only saw a few--waylaid talking to other greyhound owners whose dog was distantly related to our retired racer).

Finally, exhausted after three hours of talking to people and seeing next to nothing, we walked what seemed like three miles back to our car and headed home to collapse.

The dogs had a great time.