Last Lap

Boone the Brindle Greyhound

Nearly 14 years into the run, Boone, who retired from the track with a racing record of 0-0-0 (undefeated, as George liked to say) crossed the finish line, when we said goodbye to the sweet old greyhound on Saturday.

In the past couple years I have taken Boone to the vet three times, expecting that he would not be coming home with me. But the visits seemed to inspire a determination to stay out of vet clinics, as each time, he rallied, refusing to give in to his frailties. The boost from our January visit however, proved to have a shorter shelf life, as the winter’s ice and snow took it’s toll on the big brindle dog.

His joyful spirit remained intact, which complicated the most dreaded decision of pet ownership. To choose to end the life of a loyal companion is a decision made only after a great deal of soul-search, prayer, and tears. But in the end, he was unable to pick himself up after an increasing number of falls, and that’s not much of a life.

I loved this old greyhound as much as I’ve loved my many lab and golden retrievers, but he left me still trying to figure out what made him tick.

I never really understood why he wouldn’t work for treats or squeaky toys, but I was humbled to watch him do almost anything I asked, just for opportunity to lean on me for a scratch of the ears.

I never really understood why he got so excited at the prospect of a car ride, then spent the entire trip plastered against the seat back, ears pinned to his head, panting and drooling, but I admired his courage to face the fear of travel, as well as his obvious optimism that whatever the destination, it was worth some temporary discomfort.

I never really understood his understanding of the word “walk” which seemed to be all about stopping to smell the roses. And the dandelions. As well as the tree trunks, tall grass, mowed hay fields, melting snow banks, and muddy footprints. We took so much time that we never covered much distance, but I appreciated his devotion to simply enjoying the world around us.

I never really understood his interactions with other animals, as he was afraid of the cats and the horses, showed little, albeit cordial, interest in other dogs, but I respected his ability to move Rowdy off the coveted family room dog bed by simply standing next to it.

Boone was the Leader of the Pack with a Peaceful Easy Feeling. A sweet and gentle presence who listened to kids in the libraries, ran figure-8’s in the horse arena, held his own with the house cat and made friends with all he met.

I didn’t really understand him, but I did really love him.

Brindle Greyhound — Photo by Tangerine House of Design http://www.tangerinehouseofdesign.com

Birthday Boys

May is a big birthday month here at Four Sticks Farm.

Boone begins the festivities on May Day, celebrated this year by a visit with Dr. Wilcox for his annual checkup. Other than the obviously rickety rear end, and some pretty gamey greyhound gingivitis, our Teen Idle is a healthy 13 year old hound.

Greyhound on bed

Two days later, Chicago turned an astonishing 21. Astonishing in that it’s been 15 years that this big red beast has taken up residence in my home and my heart, and we’re both still around to tell our tale.

Now that he’s reached the age of maturity, Chicago is finally starting to look more like the Paint horses on his pedigree, growing even more handsome, with all the spots showing up on his sorrel self.

His tail lightened a few years ago, but other than that, most of his color (besides the 3 white stockings that inspired his name) hid beneath his mane or under his belly. Now his white hair is out for all to see.

Finally, a horse who resembles his owner…

Paint horse

Rare is the blog entry missing mention of rowdy Rowdy, and this one is no exception. The gregarious golden turned 2 on May 17, inching his way out of puppyhood, with it’s built-in excuse for bad behavior. He continues to live with energy and enthusiasm, eager to engage in whatever life extends, always under the assumption that everyone else shares his excitement.

Someday, an owner who resembles her dog…

Golden retriever on blanket with books

Rowdy is only weeks away from his first official Therapy Dog gig, with the “Reading with Rowdy” program scheduled to start in mid-June. Our theme this summer is “Figure It Out”, initially intended as a reference to the series of mystery stories we’ll read, and puzzle games we’ll play, though I suspect it will apply equally to Rowdy’s effort to perfect his library manners.

And he will figure it out. Now that he is 2, the day grows ever closer that my happy hooligan masters impulse control.

And that will be a day of serious celebration.

Greyt Life

Several of his library friends have asked me about Boone lately, which serves as a heartwarming reminder that rowdy Rowdy isn’t the only golden boy in this four-legged family. The big brindle sighthound made some pretty powerful friendships while lying on that blanket listening to little readers, and we both appreciate their loyalty.

Since he managed to get through the month of January with no near-death experiences for the first time in 3 years, I decided to not tempt fate, so we skipped the usually-annual under-anesthetic dental work this year, for which the humans who inhale the same air he exhales will likely pay a far greater price than the old hound dog.

I’ve found some alternatives to the major veterinary procedure which are an almost acceptable substitute, but his dog breath is seriously canine – unclean, unflossed, and definitely unpleasant. He couldn’t be happier.

Actually, he seems quite happy about a lot of things. Daily walks; bits of venison sausage, string cheese or dog biscuits mixed into his bowl when the kibble just isn’t enough; unleashed access to our wooded areas, with all the trees, tracks and other animal litter a guy could want, if a guy is a greyhound.

Sometimes, he’ll snuffle his way around the yard, taking stock of all the recent passers-through, then come racing up the hill, grinning his goofy greyhound grin, every bit as pleased with himself as back in the days of his youth, when he ran full-speed figure-8’s in the horse arena.

That’s generally about the time that Rowdy comes running even faster, barely skidding to a stop before ramming into Boone with the ubiquitous big blue squeaker ball, pestering Boone to play chase. This does Not make Boone happy.

Though he needs a little more time for planning and preparation, he can still jump into the truck and onto our bed, which makes him so very happy, as the truck is the mode of transportation to any number of area parks, and our bed is still (barely) the only spot in the house where Boone can enjoy his dinner without the Happy Hooligan drooling over his shoulder, prepared to lick the bowl clean at the first opportunity.

Of course no bed offers any obstacle for Mocha, who jumps up and leans in for as much dog dinner as he wants. Or at least as much as Boone wants him to have, as the old dog seems to relish his occasional opportunity to be the boss of the Siamese-Who-Would-Be-King.

Dog and Cat eating out of same bowl

He takes a daily joint supplement with his breakfast, but pain medications have been reduced to an as-needed basis – as in when weather prevents an outdoor adventure for more than a couple days, or when Rowdy blindsides him with the ubiquitous big blue squeaker ball.

So Boone is well my friends. He is old, a little rickety, a little blind, a little deaf and a little sleepy. But a lot happy.

Still Here

Much has happened since my last post, which I offer not as an excuse, but as an explanation.

A rare week away from Four Sticks Farm involved a whole lotta get-away getting-ready and a little bit of coming-home catching-up.

The start of a new job took up part-time hours and full-time headspace.

Then came two vet visits, three days of dog-sitting, four favorite fundraisers, five high school hockey games, six college wrestling meets, seven volunteer events, eight canine classes, nine sister socials, ten PetsMart training trips, eleven friend or family dinners, and twelve days of Christmas. Or something like that.

No partridge, pear tree, or turtle doves (unless you count Mace, the barn cat, who gets very lonely in the winter, and therefore, uncharacteristically cuddly.)

No French hens or calling birds, except Biskit and Chicago if they see me outside anytime after 3:00 pm, as they are convinced that they will, indeed, waste away unless Someone puts out still more hay to stoke their internal stoves.

Pot bellies in many ways.

But enough with the Christmas carols. The holidays are over, winter solidly entrenched, with its cold temps and early nights offering the perfect excuse to stay inside and write. So, I will return to more regular posts, and may even fill in the gap with some of the unfinished updates of yesteryear. If I ever finish them.

In the meantime, know that all is well here at Four Sticks Farm.

Boone the Greyhound Boone enjoys his senior life, sleeping on any dog bed that Mocha with allow. He’s a little wobbly in the rear, but loves his walks and functions best when we keep him on the daily program. During an earlier ~~cold~~ frigid snap, we all stayed in for a few days, which left him a little unsteady and not too inclined to eat, but one trip to the wooded, canine snuffling smorgasbord called Bertram Park put him back on both his feet and his feed.

Boone has conceded to wearing his fleece jacket when we walk in temperatures under 25, but continues to refuse any offer of help hopping in the truck. His face has greyed, his eyes have clouded and his back end has weakened, but his determination has not.

Rowdy with a Snowy Face Rowdy is still rowdy in all the right ways. We enrolled in another Therapy Dog class, and managed to pass our TDI (Therapy Dogs International) test. We still have plenty of work to do, but with the stress of the test behind us, we can focus on the fun of working together. And a solid Sit/Stay.

Though the test anxiety has faded in the rear-view mirror, straight up the road looms the next summer library program. Since some of our young readers are already on record as solidly in the “Books with Boone” camp, “Reading with Rowdy” is going to have to bring it, and the pressure is definitely on.

So, with the new year comes anticipation for new adventures, appreciation for old dogs, and gratitude for people to share them with. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my blog. Check back now and then to see what’s goin’ on at Four Sticks Farm with rowdy Rowdy; Boone the brindle greyhound; Chicago, the Big Red Beast; his portly palomino pasture mate Biskit; Crabby Barn Cat Mace and Mocha, the Kwik Trip Kitten.

Here’s hoping that 2018 brings peace, health and happiness for all.

And for a certain happy golden hooligan, a solid sit/stay.

Books with Boone – End of the Chapter

Greyhound with book

Eight years ago, when only part of the partnership had grey hair, Boone joined me on the floors of local libraries in an effort to help children learn to read. His job description included only one requirement, which conveniently happened to be one of his strengths: lying quietly on a blanket. Young readers and readers-to-be sat next to him and shared their books with a four-legged friend, practicing their craft in the presence of polite and patient tutor.

Boone’s career as a reading assistant involved a bit of travel and though he loves the idea of travel, he’s not so fond of the reality. Car rides cause stress for him, but the appearance of the yellow tote bag or green fleece blanket created a Velcro dog who wouldn’t leave my side until he jumped into the truck. He recently started reacting similarly to the laminator and paper-cutter I use to make bookmarks for our readers so I found myself sneaking upstairs to prepare for our programs while he was deep in sleep .

Eight years is an impressive run for a dog who came into our home knowing nothing about the simple pleasures of family life – things like screen doors or staircases. He adapted quickly (except for the Christmas tree, an apparently irresistible Call of the Wild) learned a few obedience basics, but because he was not, is not and will not ever be, motivated by treats, toys, or high-pitched happy voices, that’s it. Just the basics. No fancy stuff, no tricks, stupid or otherwise.

Yet Boone, by simply being Boone, developed a loyal following for his regular visits to the Delano Library and his summer programs at the Maple Lake Library.

He’s spent hours on his fleecy blanket listening to children, encouraging them with his gentle giant presence and the occasional pooch smooch.

Some kept their distance, others couldn’t get close enough, and many found comfort and confidence with just a touch of the hand.

He loved his library friends, and they loved Boone.

Sadly, the strength of his spirit can no longer out-muscle the weakness of his joints, and because his hips can’t keep up with his heart, Boone listened to his last young reader this week. And while he enjoyed all the love that came with his library days, he seems happy to hang out at home, napping in any one of his favorite nooks, possibly dreaming of Biscuit, Dewey, Ike LaRue, Little Bear, Mudge, Rocket, Sam I Am, or The Cat in the Hat.

Dog resting

As Boone retires to a much-deserved life of leisure, his buddy Rowdy is training to pick up the program next year. One Boone loyalist already expressed a preference for “Books with Boone” over “Reading with Rowdy”, so my little golden retriever has his work cut out for him.

In so many ways…

Please Don’t Eat the Zinnias

I love zinnias. I love their size and their shape and their colors and the fact that they remind me of my Grandma’s backyard, where I enjoyed many summer days in my childhood.

Boone likes zinnias too. Maybe he likes their size and their shape and their colors, but mostly he likes their flavor. For 2 years in a row now he has grazed on my patio pots, and given that my green thumb shades toward olive drab, this is disheartening.

Even more discouraging is that my big gentle greyhound has apparently shared his fondness for flower-grazing with his energetic golden companion, who has apparently accepted the old dog’s advice on herbal supplementation.

Also apparently, Rowdy was absent on the “Subtlety & Discretion in Garden Grazing” day. In keeping with the Greyhound Way, Boone nibbles politely and delicately, tearing little bits of leaf and snapping off the occasional flower head.

But Rowdy, with great golden gusto, picks out the good stuff…

Planters without plants

pushes over the planter…

Spilled planter

… and pees on the potting soil.

Dog peeing on planter

Maybe I’ll switch to garden art.

Real Life

The Plan

Leisurely morning with hot coffee and the Sunday Sudoku, spring cleaning the mud ponies, a ride on the Big Red Beast, a groundwork session with the Portly Palomino, a long walk with rowdy Rowdy, a couple pots of flowers to plant, a peaceful evening on the deck with a stack of equine magazines and a gin and tonic.

Nowhere to go, nothing urgent to do, beautiful weather, perfect day.

The Reality

The pasture is ready for grazing, except that we haven’t replaced the paddock-dividing ropes that we remove for the winter. And the 2 paddocks that won’t be grazed this week need to be mowed. And George is leaving tomorrow for a week and I need his help with the dividers. So, drink most of a cup of coffee, leave the Sudoku for the later, head out to mow the pasture.

Except that the mower is not on the tractor, so while George is making the seasonal implement changes, which involves a fair amount of sighing and slamming and swearing, I decide to use the time productively and start hauling chairs from the barn to the deck, which reminds of how much stronger I used to be, and how much more yoga I should do, and how much I look forward to a gin and tonic on the deck.

John Deere good to go, I hop on and enjoy the opportunity to ride (even if it’s not the horsepower on which I planned) get some sun, and watch my muddy horses, who realize this activity means the end is near for their 2 month meadow moratorium. They monitor the action closely, especially when George brings out the spools of Electrobraid that separate the big field into 3 paddocks for rotational grazing. Nickering and pacing commence.

It occurs to me that we’re out of dog food and stall shavings, and Country Store closes at 2:00 on Sunday. George can install the dividers without my assistance. More accurately, George would prefer to install the dividers without my assistance, so I head into town for dog food and shavings. And a bag of potting soil. Rowdy rides along – a peace offering for the long walk he’s not going to get.

Once home, I back the truck into the barn, open up the pasture for Biskit and Chicago who stop, drop (their heads) and graze before getting 5 steps in. Since the first spring grazing sessions are short to prevent over-indulgence and it’s serious side effects, I can unload the 20 bags of shavings and complete a couple barn chores in perfect Pony Pasture Time.

DogAndHorsesInPasture

30 minutes later, Rowdy follows me out to bring in the horses, his first full, free access to them. I’m cautious, since he is, after all, a golden retriever, full of joie de vivre, confident that all he meets are friends (except for those menacing trash containers lurking at the end of every driveway on our Tuesday walks, but that’s a different post) but all goes well. The horses have apparently seen enough of him to cross him off the Very Scary list, and are more interested in grabbing one last mouthful of fresh greens than responding to the antics of a herding dog wannabe.

While I’m securing the gate to keep the horses where they need to be (vs. where they want to be) Rowdy runs up with a big golden grin, reminding me of the reason I don’t let the dogs have pasture access. It’s all fun and games until somebody rolls in something dead.

DogInTub

As I finish Rowdy’s de-stinking spa session I realize Boone is due for his semi-annual bath and blowout, and since the tack room and I are already wet and full of dog fluff, we might as well make it a Two Dog Day in the grooming room.

Boone’s weakened back-end, combined with his general apprehension of things related to, well almost anything, means that giving him a bath involves my left arm crooked under his belly to support 74 pounds of sagging greyhound while my right hand shampoos, rinses and repeats.

So. Happy horses, clean canines, just a few flowers to plant and it’s G & T time. Well, actually, then it’s time to bring the horses in the barn for their Snack and Snooze. And as I walk out of the barn , I notice the horse trailer parked outside and remember that I’ve not yet checked the electrical connection for the lights. Which I should do before I need to use the trailer. And the truck’s right here…

And now it’s supper time for the inside animals. And I really need a shower. And the sun is setting. And we’re out of tonic.

But there is still the Sudoku. And white wine.

Friends Around the Farm

Though taken in the early days, this picture captures the essence of Boone and Rowdy’s relationship of mostly mutual tolerance. Mostly Boone’s tolerance that is.

DogsCleaningTheirTeeth

This is about as close as Rowdy and Mace have been, which is just as well since Rowdy believes all the world’s a friend, just waiting to be pounced upon, and Mace is armed with a full set of sharp implements, and not afraid to use them.

BarnCatCaution

Chicago’s only interest is that Rowdy may get to that grass that’s always greener.

DogAndHorseAtFence

No matter how much Rowdy begs, Biskit refuses to play the squeaky toy chase game.

DogAndPony

The Bickersons – Mocha and Rowdy frequently enjoy a good sparring match.

CatAndDogSparring

… with the winner claiming dibs on the dog food dinner.

DogAndCat

Greyt Gratitude

Dog with IV

I almost lost my dog yesterday.

In the interest of full disclosure, I will confess that I am, by nature, a golden retriever girl. Boone is my first greyhound and because I miss having a golden, that is the breed of choice for my next dog. But I do love Boone. Contrary to my ideal dog description, he is long, lanky and short coated, but he is also sweet and sensitive and funny and willing to listen to kids read, which is my passion, not his. He wanders the house whining when I’m gone, and looks at me when I return with an adoration I could not possible deserve.

I love this big brindle dog, but yesterday George and I decided on two separate, heart-wrenching occasions to have him put down, only to watch him rally at the critical moment, offering promise in the possibility of yet another alternative approach to resolve the problem.

The problem was that we didn’t know what the problem was. Boone had his teeth cleaned on Monday, as he has every year for the 7 years we’ve owned him. He was anesthetized for the procedure, as he has always been, and though there are always risks involved with anesthesia, and particularly with anesthetizing greyhounds, he’s never had any trouble. Until Monday.

He was panting a bit when we walked out of the clinic, panting harder when we got home, which was not unusual as he is not a comfortable traveler. The unusual started when the panting took on a panicked tone, and his hind end started trembling and his back feet would not support his obviously distressed body.

Tuesday and Wednesday brought an onslaught of blood work, x-ray, ultrasound, pain medication, antibiotic, tranquilizer, steroid, barium, iv fluid, observation, despair, research, grief, frustration, and finally, hope. We’re not out of the woods yet, but I am cautiously very optimistic.

I am so thankful to have a husband with a tender heart and strong arms, willing to carry 74 pounds of quivering canine out in the snow for a potty break, even if it’s 3:00 a.m.; to lift that same long-legged, stressed-out pooch in and out of the back seat of an F150 super cab; to worry about how much water the dog is drinking; the consistency of his stool, and the cleanliness of his bedding.

I am forever indebted to Dr. Scott Jacobson, of Monticello Pet Hospital, who consulted, researched, and stayed open to possibility in diagnostic and treatment strategy; gave me his cell phone number with permission to call it anytime; stayed 3 hours after the clinic closed and came in 2 hours before it opened to treat my dying dog; answered my questions, respected my feelings and supported my decisions.

And I am truly grateful for this once-in-a-lifetime greyhound.

Child reading to greyhound

Dog Smarts

To look at Boone is to think “dog of very little brain”. After all, his skull is barely bigger than my fist, and he spends the greater part of his day searching out the biggest sunspot in which to sprawl his big striped self. How many neurons can possibly be firing?

I think an animal’s intelligence is less a simple label of “smart” or “dumb” and more a measure of it’s response to the events and environment in which it exists. I also believe that as the one with the opposable thumbs it’s my responsibility to figure out what makes him tick, be it a word, a treat, a toy or a free pass to Petsmart, and after four years together, it turns out there’s a full scoop of kibble in this dog’s bowl. He will consent to the basic “here”, “sit”, “down”, as well as the emergency “hey, Hey, HEY” and “I SAID NO!” commands, but his true genius shines in his independent study.

For example, Boone understands that the yellow tote bag and green fleece mean story time with a young reader, which also means either a walk or a ride. Yea! Good Dog!

He gets (most of the time) that lying on the green fleece, listening to a young reader is much preferable to standing at the door, staring out at anybody other than the young reader. Treats for my four-legged friend!

He knows that when I change out of the barn overalls and into the walking pants, we’re headed outside for our morning scratch and sniff. Yahoo!

He’s learned that a cat with claws gets priority seating. Such a savvy sighthound!

And though his eyes clearly express his sympathetic certainty of the futility of my efforts to zip my freshly laundered and dryer-shrunk jeans, he simply turns his head and looks the other way.

Brilliant.