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toilet
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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pet dog greyhound scratchy broken leg

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.

pet dog greyhound scratchy broken leg

pet dog greyhound scratchy broken leg





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greyhound installation art

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

So I decided to prove her wrong.

It took a dog's instincts to create this work of art. You have to get behind the curtain to start, then do your regular five or six turns before lying down.

The result, I think, is a great piece of installation art (especially as I am actually in it), and I hope it proves an inspiration to all bitch-pecked dogs out there.

You know who you are, and it is in your honour that I have called this work Inspiralling.

greyhound installation art

greyhound installation art

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Scratchy's diary: dozy Little Boss

March 6th 2010 23:13
scratchy greyhound
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.

scratchy greyhound

scratchy greyhound

scratchy greyhound

scratchy greyhound


Absolutely no stamina, that hooman.


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Scratchy's diary: My February 14 treat

February 13th 2010 22:11
pet dog greyhound scratchy

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?

Anyway, he finally stopped with the affection and asked Little Boss if she would like some breakfast in bed.

"I would," she said.

"I would too," I said, but I don't think he heard me.

However, as the old saying goes, it's the persistent dog which catches the leatherwood honey on soy and linseed light rye (although I'd accept margarine on cheap white), and so I followed Big Boss to the food room.

"Can I have a piece of toast?" I asked, with just that right mix of politeness and respect which I have found, from long experience, lets hoomans think they are pack leaders.

"You've already had breakfast," he said.

Drats. I was hoping he'd forgotten.

"Oh, I know that," I said, with a self-deprecating smile, "but just this once, couldn't you show how much you love me with a little extra something?"

And, amazingly, he gave me an extra bit of toast.

Maybe there is something special about February 14.



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dog, pet, greyhound


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


[ Click here to read more ]
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Scratchy’s Diary: Australia Day

January 31st 2010 03:16
pet dog greyhound maltese terrier
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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Scratchy's diary: raw and sore

January 4th 2010 05:28
greyhound cushion
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


[ Click here to read more ]
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Scratchy's diary: dog tired

October 22nd 2009 00:25
dog pet greyhound

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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A little ray of sunshine

July 28th 2009 01:27
dog dogs pet pets greyhound greyhounds
I have discovered that, when it's cold, it's warmer at the bedroom end of the house than it is at the sofa room end.

The thing is, I don't think it's the beds that make the bedroom warmer. I think it's something to do with the light that comes through the window at that end of the house


[ Click here to read more ]
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greyhound dog pet

Little Boss wasn't feeling too well and stayed home from work in an effort to get better. Daisy and I were surprised to find out that the process of getting better when a human feels unwell is to pretend you're a greyhound. That's right, Little Boss climbed onto the sofa and stayed there all day!

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Dog definitions

May 24th 2009 06:15
dog greeting procedure
Greyhound greeting protocol

My human's a nice enough fella but his language skills are a bit of a laugh. For one thing, he gets the meaning of things all muddled up. For example, you should see what he calls a run!

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Scratchy's diary: Plugging plonk

April 27th 2009 06:56
greyhound scratchy

You won't believe this, but the Big Boss has just launched a blog about wine.

[ Click here to read more ]
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