The game of phone tag with Gilly Hepden, the local Greyhound Trust rep, ended this afternoon. The foster dog is the little brindle girl with the gammy back leg that she mentioned earlier, the one with the zimmerframe phobia. Now, apparently, she is over that, but still won't come and have her lead put on when Mrs Jakeman gets in her scooter to take her for a walk. So. I phoned Mrs Jakeman and arranged to come round at half past seven.
On the way home I stopped off at the vet and made an appointment for Dog X for quarter to ten the next morning (strenuously resisting the attempt to get me to come in an hour earlier - too knackered to be up at six on May Morning any more). Also got two large cartons of live soya yoghurt from Waitrose, in anticipation of much stressed fartiness.
We ended up spending nearly two hours talking to Mrs Jakeman. Her legs have really gone to pot - hip trouble - but although she can't have Setters anymore, she is still game. A little girl walks Cindy, her collie-cross, for her, and she hoped that she could walk the greyhound herself on the scooter. I still think she could, just not this one!
"Shadow" is smaller than Ranger, a dark brindle with
beautiful golden eyes, a very pointy nose and the usual sweet
manner. Very furry! Mrs Jakeman thought she was eighteen months
old and had had tendon or ligament problems. Despite her gammy
leg, she had managed to steal half a pound of butter that day.
Eventually we took her home. She lay down in the boot almost immediately, rather than standing up and squeaking like Ranger does. The dogs were interested but not too much so. We walked them all and when she saw a cat she reared up on her hind legs at the end of her leash! Not catsafe then.
She found one of the chews Piggie had hidden and started chomping away. Piggie, as is her wont, tried to pinch it, and was growled at. So we took the chew away and squirted the interloper - Piggie may be an annoying little Whippet but she's 13 with not very many teeth and we don't want her eaten!
You can barely see her in the dark. So Shadow is an appropriate name. But it doesn't scream "adopt me!", so after a little experimentation ("Hopalong" - too long, "Kerry", after the butter, too girly) we settled on Buffy.
She slept by our bed. No squeakage.
I woke to the sound of Buffy moving about.
"I'd better let her out," I said.
"Oh, she's just pootling around," said John.
"Still....".
I got my dressing gown on just in time to catch her peeing in
Ranger's room. Par for the course I suppose, given that the Pig
pooped in there shortly after she arrived. So I bundled
Buffy out into the back garden and got out the Bettaware Formula
550.
The lovely Stefan, the George Clooney of Abivale, was on hand to look Buffy over. He pointed out that a) no way was she eighteen months ("look at her teeth - they get new ones after they are puppies - she did not wear them down that much in just nine months") and b) it didn't look like a ligament or tendon problem ("I cannot straighten her leg, but there is no pain.").
We had the usual stuff about how it would be a pity not to keep her if we were going to spend money on having her spayed and her leg X-rayed. Well, what can you say? I mean, we don't have kids, we put as much as we're allowed into our pensions - the rest has got to go on something. Today it went on Vet fees and Frontline (30 pounds), a nylon house collar, a flashing night collar, another rubber grooming glove (of course when we got home the first one turned up), a car harness (fortunately she doesn't squirm like Piggie does), a name tag, a bucket and car sponge .... and two cuddly toys.
Fortunately, despite it being a Bank Holiday weekend, the weather was good, so when we got home we washed her. She was pretty good about it, though the hose didn't find favour. She came up a treat. Boy did we get a lot of flea dirt off her! And of course, after lunch, she had her teeth cleaned.
We were just removing all our soaking clothes when Alastair rang. He'd been up all night partying and wanted to come round our place to pretend to be awake. As he is no fan of Ranger slobbering on him or Piggie snuggling up, we thought we'd let him find out about Dog #3 when he arrived. And when his parents rang up saying they were coming to visit - well, it was going to be a busy day. Especially as the place was such a tip that we couldn't see the carpet.
John has known Alastair for about thirty years now, so he didn't mind us tidying round him. Nor did he mind Buffy, who is a good quiet girl. Ok, we found her with her feet on the kitchen top - a quiet girl, anyway. By the time Ma and Pa arrived we had not only a clean dog but a clean house. And we managed to stop any of the dogs from eating the cake. Which was nice.
Managed to let her out in time, but should have done so again after lunch. Well, now we know that her poop is perfect. Which was lucky given that it was on the carpet. I gave her a Very Hard Stare as I bagged it up. I mean, a squeak or something would have been nice. Still. We'll know next time.
"Fluffy Buffy" continues to enjoy the great number of stuffed penguins.
She is obviously dying to have someone to love and is very affectionate. She loves being groomed and even puts up with having her teeth cleaned and nails clipped (whereas Ranger is a big big baby about nailclipping and squirms horribly when the toothbrush draws nigh).
At 4:15 a.m. I was woken up by the sound of something canine trampling around on the beanbag by the wardrobe. Something large. Something too dim to realise that a beanbag can't be trampled down.... I switched the light on and sorted Buffy's bedding out before she tried to dig a hole in it. Five minutes later, of course, she was back round the side of our bed, trailing the blanket like a five year old in the school play.
Despite being let out at eight, by nine there was a puddle in the spare room. And as I write, John has just discovered a new damp patch in the corner of the living room. We expect this silent weeing to stop as she settles in. After all, Mrs Jakeman had a pretty small place and left the door open all the time. The arrival of the Bettaware catalogue, where we get the miracle carpet cleaner from, is fortuitous. Especially as she has not yet grasped that the idea of being let out into the garden is so that she may do her jobbies then and not when it pleases her in the house on the carpet later. Mainly this is an education for us, because she only has to be housetrained once, whilst I expect we will have to housetrain many dogs.
It is very funny though watching Piggie and Ranger sit side by side, in unusual harmony, heads laid on paws, gazing at us as we scrub at the other end of the room with a look of united and serene superiority. We do it outside. We can do it on command. We don't do it on the carpet. Which, quite frankly, we are deeply grateful for; better that than the I-want-a-bokkle-and-a-nappy-too syndrome!
But oh, she is such a sweet little thing - I am sure she will make someone very happy one day. Perhaps someone looking to lose a bit of weight? (I don't think anyone's ever cured a greyhound of pinching food, and though young she is an expert).
Buffy has settled in nicely. Tonight was the first night where she didn't squeak during the night or leave any deposits on the carpet. Experiments with Buffy's diet have shown us it's a good idea to feed her at breakfast time and dinner time, and not give her any lunch. Ranger and Piggie, on the other hand, get lunch and dinner so we now have multiple sittings for dog-food. Fortunately Ranger thinks that life is unfair, so isn't surprised when someone else gets food and he doesn't, and Piggie doesn't get up for breakfast.
To stop Buffy slipping off and pooping in the night we have been shutting our bedroom door with Buffy sleeping on a duvet on the floor, and Piggie sleeping in our bed. Ranger has got his own bedroom with a special greyhound size bean-bag and he's been sleeping there.
During the day today we had another 'emptying the kitchen bin and spreading the contents round the living room' incident. We strongly suspect a certain old whippet. Alongside this, in a most atypically 'doggy' action, Buffy has taken to picking up and chewing slippers. Greyhounds don't usually indulge in such dog-like behaviour.
The cleaners are coming tomorrow so Buffy came on a car ride to meet them. She wagged her tail and twitched her nose politely. She had to be lifted into the car, but she doesn't weigh as much as Ranger.
Buffy's bowels and bladder are still at war with the carpet,
though we can take the blame or at least excuse her for most of
the mistakes.
The afternoon the cleaners came and she pooped on the carpet afterwards in the living room could be put down to discombobulation at the hoovering and so forth.And the pooping on the carpet the next day was most likely because John had fed the dogs dinner the previous evening - when I had already fed them. You know how dogs are - they always say they haven't been fed yet!
This morning, however, she peed on the carpet when the back door was open and she had been bundled out the back door for the third time not fifteen minutes previously. John caught her in the act and bundled her out of the back door loudly expressing his dismay and disappointment. Then we headed for the house training sections in the dog books and the large pile of Dogs Today.
She is now on a lead tied to my belt loop and we take turns having her. The main problem is her doing stuff in the house while we're there, rather than away or asleep, so it's worth a go. We'll try this for a week and if it doesn't work we shall seek advice as to what to try next.
To put all this into perspective, she is otherwise a model dog. She makes no complaint at nail-clipping (unlike Ranger, the big baby!), teeth-cleaning or grooming. She lay down on the floor of the waiting room at the vet's instead of standing and squeaking insanely. She lies happily in her car harness on the back seat, instead of (say) standing up when you are reversing, or drooling down the back of your neck. She has been fine with all the other dogs we have met so far. She is gentle and friendly with people. She doesn't bark or howl. She doesn't pull on the lead.
And... she is starting to learn "down"! (Given that even GHs with two working back legs are reluctant sitters, we decided not even to try that).
We shall overlook the strangely dog-like shoe-collecting trick she has started.... I try to remember to hide them in a cupboard after she started chewing one of my work shoes. I have very wide feet and don't like leather or suede, so I hate shoeshopping.
Constant supervision has paid off, with the exception of a small and suspect yellow streak I found on the carpet yestderday. Now it could have been wee, but I suspect it was the pukage of a small and constantly snarfing Whippet of our acquaintance. This evening we are being brave and not keeping her on a lead attached to one of us, but our ears are cocked for the first sounds of her rising from her rug-hugging. She doesn't sniff or circle before letting rip, so you have to be quick! Right now, all is serenity. The Whippet, drawn as ever by the fact that the PC is on, is sat wedged in the armchair with me (which means at least she can't stand on the keyboard). Ranger is in full possession of the sofa, lulled asleep by MTV. And Buffy, worn out by playing with Belle, is out flat behind me. Now, Belle is a cuddly penguin, roughly spherical in shape, roughly two foot in each direction; and Buffy was merrily tossing her about. John boggled at this and faintly murmured, "I'm glad I'm not a sheep". Baa.
What it was with her last night I don't know, but it was squeak squeak flap flap jingle jingle pootle thud. Sigh. Get up, squeak.... for what seemed like all night. The second time she started I prodded John into playing the hunt-the-back-door-keys-in-a-dressing-gown game, which was a master stroke of strategy as it was that time that she. found. a. hedgehog. She was not happy about being bundled swiftly and firmly back indoors and not being allowed to pick it up and play with it. Poor little bugger. The hedgehog, I mean. John peered anxiously out of the window every five minutes as the new day slowly dawned, checking on it. It took about half an hour to uncurl and scuttle off. Meanwhile, Buffy was squeaking let-me-at-it let-me-at-it continuously until I just lost it and shouted GET ON YOUR BED SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP! (A precis). Not recommended practice but by gum it worked, and thank God for that.
By way of compensation the run of accident-free days is continuing; Ranger seems happier than we have seen him since The Pig arrived, and unusually has been spotted both cockroaching on the sofa and (in a separate incident) sharing said sofa with the normally-anathema Pig-Whippet. The Pig, on the other hand, has taken to attention-seeking, mostly in the way of overturning the kitchen bin and smearing curry on her face.
We are still trying to find out more about Buffy, mainly regarding her last season and the history of her gammy leg. Gilly mentioned that she had heard talk of rehoming her to a family who wanted a dog who didn't need too much exercise, which is a ho-ho-ho if ever I heard one. The Pig, oh yeah, she'd love it, the little slug. Ranger, now a serene nine years of age, quite possibly. But Buffy?! She who spontaneously takes off running on her walks (something Ranger hasn't done for a while), she who tosses toys the size of a small sheep round the room? Hmmmmmmm. To be fair I haven't got a normal three-year-old to compare her with, but I imagine they'd be much the same only without the hop-skip-jump gait.
Over the past couple of days the phone trail has led to Buffy's trainer, and a lot has become clear.It turns out that eight to ten months ago she injured her stifle (we had to look it up - roughly speaking, her knee). As it is her knee which won't straighten, this made a lot more sense to us than tales of hip injury at a very young age. She has raced, and although she wasn't top grade she did win some. Her racing name was Madrid Annie, Maddy for the kennel. He said that when racing around the paddock she would use her leg, not just walking, and the vet said a lot of her lameness was in her mind, which I can kind of believe. However, the fact remains that her back right leg does not fully straighten, so it clearly is not all in her mind.
There was some confusion at first because he got her mixed up with her sister and said she was called Chilli, but she didn't seem to answer to that. We didn't worry much about this, as greyhounds frequently have no idea of their name, but when, the next day, he put us right and we called out "Maddy!" to her, her ears went right up and she obviously recognised the name. I must say I think it rather suits her! It's quite a thought that out there is another dog just like her with all four legs working!
He was touchingly concerned about what might happen to her, and kept saying he'd have her back if she couldn't be rehomed. We tried to put his mind at rest by pointing out that she was quite welcome to stay here whenever she needed a home, and that we didn't think there would be any problems rehoming her given what we all agreed was a very sweet nature and easygoing ways.
He said her last season was in October, and that he thought she might have yearly seasons. We might not have to worry about this; earlier on in our phone trail we heard a rumour (see above) that a home might have been found, and that the people concerned were back from holiday at the end of May. To an extent we were only going to have her spayed because she was going to be knocked out to have the leg X-rayed anyway, and now we have a better idea what happened we think there's less to be gained from doing that.
The good thing: Buffy has now not pooped in the @$%£*!@! house for over two days. THIS IS A FIRST! The key points appear to be:
OK, the bad thing: due to her being able to pick hedgehogs out of the bushes and carry them onto the lawn where she can lie down and start crunching at the spines until yelled at and bundled indoors (fortunately for the hedgehogs, they have a hell of a lot of spines to get through - they've always waddled away), she has got tapeworms. So the worming tablets and flea treatment we paid for a month ago has all been for naught. Our favorite Austrian vet looked less than thrilled when presented with an inappropriately thrilled greyhound (Buffy still finds the Wide World deeply exciting, even the vet's) and a double-bagged sample of wormy poo. When live and wriggling the bits didn't look like any of the tapeworm piccies we managed to find on the web, but after a bit they did indeed start to look like the proverbial grains of rice. We have now given Ranger some Frontline, as we found him scratching, and tumble-dried and or washed all the dog snugglies. (As any fule no, the flea is eats tapeworm eggs... bites the dog.... dog eats flea.... ta-da! No fleas, no tapeworm. But hedgehogs are full of fleas).
Anyway, things are definitely looking up. When we tried to cure her pooping in Ranger's room by making her sleep and eat there, she kept us up all night squeaking for three nights and on night three she pooed on the floor anyway, trod it all over the room, and then started to chew through the doorframe. So we gave up on that bright idea. Now she sleeps with us, and spends her days in the living room (ideally shaped for pootling up and down and settling at alternate ends with a loud sigh and thump). The bitter tears I wept cleaning crap off the carpet at four-thirty on Sunday morning are now dry.
We are also still pushing the "Cats are our friends" line, though with little obvious acceptance.
The carpet is still unsoiled. Ranger is a bit down-in-the-mouth because his bedroom has had the door closed for the last week, but as he never clears up any of the poo he's just going to have to lump it for now. Buffy, on the other hand, has been spotted stretched out on the sofa once, and habitually spends early mornings and late evenings on our bed. The Whippet, a keen treader on other people, has been getting a taste of her own medicine recently!
My sleep routine has been getting back to normal and I feel almost human.
Buffy is still unfortunately keen on hedgiehogs and cats, but is OK with small dogs; although I would still not trust her entirely with a small dog she didn't know, especially if it was the sort to run away very fast! As she mustn't be let off the lead that's not a big deal.
She uses her back right leg nearly all the time now. Her gait isn't entirely normal, but unless you knew her history you might not notice anything wrong if you just hung out with her for a few minutes.
Her training (ho ho) is going well, in that she lies down when asked to have her lead put on, and sometimes squats when told to "get busy".
Time, I think, to knock up a Buffy-advert!
Having been worried about whether Buffy would ever
leave, we hadn't considered how we would feel when she did. We'd
heard, last week, that a couple near Plymouth were interested in
her - their Lurcher had died a couple of weeks ago. We thought it
sounded an ideal match - if anyone could heal a broken heart it
would be Buffy, sweet fluffy licky thing that she is. But we
hadn't thought too much about it as leads had dead-ended before.
When the phone call came on Saturday
from them, saying they wanted to adopt her, everything happened
so quickly. We were free the next day, so we said we'd take her
down ourselves then. We spent three days - Saturday, Sunday, and
Monday - in tears, either because we were feeding or walking or
hugging her for the last time, or because we were taking the
first walk or preparing the first meal without her. You can see
from the rather bluffy picture of us on the right that we had
trouble keeping our composure while we were dropping her off.
Her new family (above, left) were obviously taken with her and we had no doubt that she would be well looked after. They're going to call her Maddie, her original "kennel name". This led to a little confusion when their vets rang ours on Wednesday to ask for her records, as she's under "Buffy (Madrid Annie)", but the Devon vets rang me and I sorted it out. After a week her new parents rang up. After three days of wild pooping she had settled down and was now queening it on her new beanbag, having been trained to keep off the sofa.
As a post-script, a couple of weeks later I got her Omega Certificate of Basic Training, from the Headington Class where I'd taken her with John and Ranger.