Dog Diaries - Greyhound Zoom

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Daisy's diary: Today's news is ...

June 23rd 2010 10:28

There was an especially informative patch of grass as we were walking this morning. Two cats, seven dogs and a mouse had left their mark there in the past 24 hours.

I was still gathering information when Big Boss, in one of those inexplicable hooman reactions, said irritably, "Can you tell the colour of the dog whose pee you're sniffing?"

It's what hoomans call sarcasm. He does it because he thinks morning walks are for walking. He doesn't understand that they are actually for news gathering.

Of course I never take any notice of his grumbling. I know that his bark is worse than his grumble.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Dog Diaries, Daisy

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Daisy's Diary: Guide to space

June 8th 2010 06:33

Big Boss has a problem with the concept of space. For example, when we are together in his dressing room, a morning ritual which I have written about earlier, the aim is to get as close as possible to him.

When we are out walking on the lead, however, the aim is sniff every wall, tree, plant and moving molecule, darting here and there to do so.

Up close and cosy in the dressing room; freedom to roam when walking.

Big Boss, for some inexplicable hooman reason, sees it the other way round.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Daisy

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Daisy's Diary: The Scratching Seat

May 3rd 2010 07:31

One of our Scratching Seats, seen through the walls of the noisy water machine space

Hooman beings are slow creatures with poor eyesight and a non-existent sense of smell. They don't bark or whine and they smell funny because they don't lick themselves frequently enough. Worst of all, they have dry noses.

They invented dog food, it is true, but this is a poor substitute for fresh gazelle from the bone, caught after the thrill of a chase through ancient grassland and forests with unpolluted breezes under clear skies and ... but I digress.

Hooman beings have invented just three truly useful things: the plastic bucket, which thoroughly beats a gazelle pee-tainted puddle for drinking out of; cushions, which are the greatest luxuy in the known universe; and the Scratching Seat.

In our home, there are two Scratching Seats, both in a corner of the Hooman Little Rooms.

In these strange rooms, Hoomans have noisy water machines under which they stand to get wet. In this disgracefully wasteful way, they change their smell from Awful to Soapful. They'd smell so much better, and use a lot less water, if they learned to lick.

The Scratching Seat is the saving grace of the Little Rooms. What happens is this: the Hoomans, feeling an urge to be cuddle a Dog, sit down on the seat. The Dogs then run up for an ear scratch. The seats are well-designed - just the right height for a greyhound ear scratch.

Our Hoomans, unfortunately, don't know how to use the Scratching Seats all that well. Big Boss gives a quick scratch and then insists on reading the newspaper. Little Boss says, "No, no, no, out, out, out," but then laughs and gives a quick scratch anyway.

There's a trick to optimising the benefits of the Scratching Seat. You need to be a little pushy.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Dog Diaries, Scratchy, Dog accessories

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Daisy's diary: Sleep approbation

April 15th 2010 12:27

The point I would like to make, a point that I don't think, generally, has received sufficient attention, is that, in certain light, I look much younger than I am.

In fact, in all modesty, I suggest that my good looks are another point which, in the greater greyhound world, have not received sufficient attention.

Don't ask me how I do it. Good genes, probably. And plenty of sleep.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Dog Diaries, Daisy, Pampered pooches

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Scratchy's diary: A snapped tendon, a broken leg and short rations for breakfast

April 9th 2010 07:40

We have had better days. It started poorly when the Big Boss woke with a headache and a dry mouth. He drank too much red wine last night while entertaining vegetarian visitors. He doesn't mind cooking vegetarian, and last night's roast pumpkin and feta quiche won rave reviews, but the following morning he always feels meat deprived.

I don't know if it was the hangover, the dry mouth or the flesh famine which caused him to spread less than the usual amount of margarine on my regular morning slice of toast, but I wish he wouldn't take things out on me.

The Big Boss then took his foggy head to work, and Little Boss took us to the park. That's when things took a turn for the worse. Literally.

We had done the sniff (five cats had visited the park overnight and two dogs and been there shortly before us this morning) and it was time to run. Short Black took off and I turned to sprint after her. Bad move. Something went snap.

The only thing to do in a situation like that is scream, and I did so with with every fibre and unsnapped tendon available to me. It scared the daylights out of Short Black, who tried, in a display of deep caring and concern, to attack me. Little Boss quickly stopped that.

The pain, I worked out, came from trying to put my right rear leg on the ground. So, thinking my way through the problem, I fell over. Immediately, I felt much more comfortable.

Little Boss wasn't feeling comfortable, however. "I need help," she muttered, and I could sympathise. I am, I admit, no longer at my racing weight. Big Boss has picked me up once or twice when I've been reluctant to get in the car, but his eyes bulge dangerously and he goes a bright shade of puce when he does it. It's worth refusing to get in the car occasionally just to see it. But Little Boss wasn't about to try lifting me. Even if we had the car.

Which we didn't. And we were more than a kilometre from home.

Little Boss needed help, and looking around, she spotted a guy sitting on the balcony of his second-floor flat overlooking the park. Watching us. Little Boss looked at him. He looked back. Nup. Not the helpful type, that one.

So I stood up. It was brave, I know, but what else could I do? I didn't know, at that stage, what was wrong, but I knew very well that I couldn't put any weight on my back right leg. So I set off for home doing a three-legged shuffle. Slowly. Very slowly. Very, very slowly.

At this rate, although dinner was more than 10 hours away, we weren't going to make it home in time.

Two women came to the rescue, one passing by and one in her front yard. They both looked concerned and started talking with Little Boss about the problem. It was suggested that I wait in the front yard while Little Boss went to get the car. Good idea, I thought, and happily fell down again.

Back home, Little Boss parked the car and, without getting herself or me out of it, used the Little Phone to ring the vet. She described everything that had happened in detail and then went quiet for a while listening to what was being said on the other end. Then she rang the Big Boss at his work and told him everything. That's when I learned that the vet suspected I had ruptured a tendon.

Little Boss — and she has asked me to insert at this point that she was under the weather too, having such a sore throat and rasping cough that she had seen a Hooman Vet the day before — started the car and drove off.

They made a fuss at the vet, and it was not all due to my good looks. Then they stuck a needle in me and the lights went out. I heard later that they had to anaesthetise me so they could get my hurt leg into the right position to take X-rays. They needed X-rays to confirm the tendon rupture, and give some guidance for the surgery which would be required to repair it. They also wanted to make sure I hadn't done any further damage, like breaking my leg.

The X-ray confirmed the tendon rupture. And a broken leg. "Quite nasty" is how the vet described the break.

Now it's late afternoon and I'm home and I can tell you that I'm busting. They have put what the call a soft cast on me, and I can say with confidence that it's primary purpose is make it impossible to get into a position to pee. Or poop.

I was standing, pondering the solution to this problem, when I fell into the garden and couldn't get out. It's just one humiliation after another. And it's still more than an hour to dinner time.

We have had better days.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Canine health, Scratchy

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Scratchy's diary: The installation artist

April 2nd 2010 23:00

Daisy once said I couldn't do something creative if I was injected with the DNA of Vincent van Dogh. Which was hurtful.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Dog Diaries, Scratchy

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Daisy's diary: An old dog and a strange story

March 13th 2010 20:15

He was a strange-looking greyhound, especially with those funny tufts of hair on his ears and elbows.

I just met a strange old greyhound in the park who had some weird ideas about history and the Lore of the Great Greyhounds.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Saluki, Dog Diaries, Daisy, History

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Scratchy's diary: dozy Little Boss

March 6th 2010 23:13

Every evening, as the city settles, as dinner digests, as we attend to domestic duties such as cleaning paws and finding nooks and crannies to lick and lick again — every night as these things unfold, Little Boss goes to sleep on the sofa.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Dog Diaries, Scratchy

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Scratchy's diary: My February 14 treat

February 13th 2010 22:11

The Big Boss was particularly affectionate to the Little Boss this morning, as if February 14 is some special day. He called her "Valentine". That's a new one — how many names can one person have?

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Dog Diaries, Scratchy, Pampered pooches

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Scratchy's diary: Colour-coded comfort activity

February 9th 2010 11:02

One of the biggest problems in the known universe is the inability of human beings to rise at first light and give dogs their breakfast. It's shocking and sad how many humans fail to understand this

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Dog Diaries, Scratchy

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Scratchy’s Diary: Australia Day

January 31st 2010 03:16

All the bosses stayed home on Tuesday because it was Australia Day, which is a celebration of sorts. It’s like Greyhound Day with lots of food and, also, those drinks hoomans like which increases the volume of their speech.

I don’t know what it’s called. Noise juice, perhaps

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Maltese terrier, Dog Diaries, Scratchy, Pet interaction

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Scratchy's diary: raw and sore

January 4th 2010 05:28

I woke up in a funny place recently. No familiar faces, no Short Black and no Bosses. Just some cats in cages and the smell of disinfectant. There were some people I didn't know, some dressed in green and some dressed in white, but they were no more generous than Big Boss when it came to supplying food.

The thing is, I woke up sore. All my muscles were stiff, like I'd been running 40 kilometres instead of 400 metres. And I had raw, sore patches on my front legs, like I'd been banging them on something

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Greyhound, Canine epilepsy, Dog Diaries, Scratchy

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Scratchy's diary: dog tired

October 22nd 2009 00:25

I'm exhausted! The Little Boss must have slept really, really well last night because instead of going for the usual walk to the park and back this morning, she took us on a guided tour of the suburb.

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Posted By: Chris Champion - Category: Dog Diaries, Scratchy

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