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pet dogs greyhounds scratchy larry daisy

Who is Scratchy?

I asked Daisy but she just got a funny look in her eye and wandered away.

I asked Mollie the Border Collie we pass on our walk every morning but she said she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

I asked Frank the Great Dane in the park but he just dropped his tail and told me to ask Daisy.

I need to know because it seems that everything I do reminds someone of something about this Scratchy. When I eat quickly, I’m compared to Scratchy. When I run quickly, I’m compared to Scratchy. Stealing unripe fruit from the peach tree, and consequently throwing up on the sofa, evoke comparisons with Scratchy.

Who the heck is he?

So finally I looked Big Boss in the eye and did the thought transfer thing. Humans don’t know dogs can do this, and it’s not something we do every day, but I’d come to the point where a point had to be made.

So I got Big Boss’s attention and I said, “I’m assuming Scratchy was a former dog you were attached to. Indeed, everyone seems to have been attached to him. That’s fair enough, but you have to stop making me feel like I’m a replacement.

“Stop comparing everything I do to Scratchy. You hearing me, Big Boss? I’m me. I’m Larry. And I’m living in no-dog’s pawsteps.”

I broke the connection and watched as Big Boss’s eyes cleared. Slowly he looked down at me. “Hello Larry, my boy,” he said, and gave me the biggest cuddle I’ve ever had.




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Domineering bitch

April 20th 2011 10:53
dog, pet, greyhound

SCRATCHY'S DIARY
Some facts: I am 30 per cent heavier than she is, I have a coat of many colours, and in my heyday I was faster than she ever was. Well, in a straight line, anyway.

But what does this superiority in essential greyhound attributes get me? Kudos? Respect? Extra food?

Not a bit of it. What it gets me, regularly, is a squished up corner of the sofa. What it gets me is second-rate citizenship, the victim of a domineering, two-tone, lightweight, never-started-even-one-greyho und-race, bitch.

Just look at the photograph above. I ask you, is that any way to treat a guy?

How the hell, I ask …


… am I supposed to sleep?
Photography: Little Boss



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The one-ear pillow

December 9th 2010 02:40
greyhound dog pet zoomies

SCRATCHY'S DIARY
You have to admit that humans mean well. Look, for example, at the fact that they have invented a greyhound pillow. One appeared in the Bosses’ bedroom recently. You know it’s a greyhound pillow because it has been designed like us – long, slim, sleek.

Nice thought, really, but useless.

I tried it out, as you can see. The trouble is that you can’t get much more than an ear on to it. I tried to get as comfortable as I could …
dog, pet, greyhound

… and I did manage to doze for a while …
pet dog greyhound

… but it hardly provided high-quality beauty sleep.
pet dog greyhound

Nice try, people, but your design premise is seriously flawed.


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

June 23rd 2010 10:28
pet dog greyhound daisy
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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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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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.

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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.

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saluki
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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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

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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?

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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


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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


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