Catch o' the Day!

Ladies & Gents, permit me to announce that Hoover is damn proud of himself today, with good reason. What hound worth his spots, stripes, or solid wouldn't walk a little prouder after nabbing a 15-20 pound opossum and shaking him silly?

So last night at a little after 10:00, I let the boys out for their last tinkle of the day, which is normally a quick process. This time, Hoover spied the hapless marsupial as soon as the door opened, and he flew past Bruno down the steps toward his new toy. He reached the tree where the poor fellow was perched, leapt up, grabbed him, and shook his new friend like shaking was going out of style.

Let's take a break from the action and peek into the window of my panic, shall we? Great!

My mind said, "Oh crap, is that a cat? What the hell is that? Where's Bruno? Damn! He is shaking the crap out of that cat...Sweet Mother of Pearl!"

My mouth said, "Hoover, no!...No!...NO!" Now back to the action...

By the time I reached the third "no", Hoover dropped the opossum, who was playing dead and probably not nearly as much fun as he had been initially. Hoover stood with the little furry guy at his feet, wagging his tail and smiling. He stared at me for a moment, and then flounced off to do his business. It was then we were able to see that it wasn't a cat, but the biggest, fattest opossum either G or I had ever seen. Incidentally, those hairless tails make me a little nauseous, but I won't bore you with the details on that right now.

Long story short, the opossum eventually wandered off in a bit of a daze, and Hoover, who didn't have a scratch on him, has been strutting around like a rock star today. As for me, in the future, I'll check the yard and make some noise before I let those dogs outside, and hopefully that will scare off any potential victims.

Photo Tag

I've been tagged by Sirius Sighthounds to post the sixth picture in my sixth photo folder and explain it, then I'm supposed to tag six other bloggers to do the same.

This picture was actually sent to me by Scott from Blue Barron's Place, and this is a picture of Hoover's haul from the track to the kennel to begin his life of retirement. As it happens, Scott hauled Hoover (in the foreground), and the dog in the background (who I think may be FKA Go Peanut Go or maybe Wiki Onetime), and he was kind enough to send me the pictures from Hoov's big break.

Now for the tagging:

• Bosslady
• Blue Barron's Place
• Plus Est En Vous
• Nuttin But Hound Dogs
• Miscellanea
• Kris-ticism

Holiday Updates

I'd be remiss if I didn't start this post by wishing you all slightly belated Happy AlcoHol-idays. Yesterday was my one and only day off work, and I've been struggling to finish all my work objectives for the year, hence the belatedness.

That said, yesterday was fantastic. Here at Casa d'Addie, we've eaten, drank, and made merry until we could take no more. I hope your celebrations have been as much fun as ours.

Let me direct your attention to the picture here, which is one of Garrett's gifts to me. I know it's hard to see exactly what this is, but these are four canvases with the same portrait of our departed buddy, Cosmo, rendered in the pop art Andy Warhol style. I intend to hang them in a square, most likely in my bedroom or office, and I couldn't have been more touched by his thoughtful, labor-intensive gift.

Please take a moment to envision me in a red floor length evening gown singing that Salt N Pepa featuring En Vogue classic, What a Man. That's for you, G!

In other news, this was Bruno & Hoover's first Christmas with us, and I think they'll be looking forward to next year. Santa didn't forget to fill their stockings, and he left them each load of toys (Kong Wubba, long Kong tennis ball retriever, and stuffies) and they got a candy-cane shaped rawhide. For dinner they had a whole turkey neck, an apple, and a bite of roast beef, all of which was well-received.

The human boys seemed to enjoy themselves as well, and Santa was pretty good to them, too. Tyler got an Airsoft gun and 20,000 of the little pellets that are the ammo, and Jared enjoyed playing his electric guitar with his new special effects pedal thingie.

Aside from the lovely merchandise, perhaps the highlight of the day was playing Rock Band with the in-laws (which was preceded by loads of liquid refreshment, by the way). There's just something indescribably amazing about watching my MIL sing Hungry Like The Wolf while my FIL played guitar. You truly had to be there, and I wish you had been.

Dog Language Barrier

I don’t mean to brag, but let me tell you, I know how to drive dogs wild with insatiable canine affection. Before someone calls the Don’t Molest Your Hound League (aka the DoMoYoHo League), I just mean that the dogs really like this particular thing I do, which I’ll gladly describe so your hounds can also benefit from this technique:

• Get on all fours perpendicular to the hound, who has to be standing up for this to work.
• Approach the dog, and place the top of your head on the dog’s side so that your head is touching the hound’s ribs.
• Now push your head a bit against the dog until he starts leaning on you (you may want to wear one of those whiplash collars or other suitable medical brace if your dog is especially strong), then move your head in a random pattern all over the dog’s side.

Bruno, in particular, LOVES this procedure. He moans, bends into a semicircle, puts his forepaws on my back, his nose drips, he rubs his face on my neck, and generally makes every imaginable gesture of ecstacy. Eventually he just collapses onto the floor and will stare at me for upwards of an hour after we play this game. When I do this with Hoover, Bruno tries to get into the middle of it and will sometimes growl or pout because he’s not the one getting what he considers to be the hottest action in town.

Ok, hound people, I know you’re going to try it, and I hope your dogs like it as much as mine do. I'm also really enjoying picturing it in my mind, to tell the truth.

Here’s my disclaimer: It does occur to me that there may be some special meaning to this in “dog language”. Hopefully I’m not performing some gesture of submission that means, “Bruno, you are my King. Your every whim will be met cheerfully and on the timetable you specify. You’re welcome to sleep on my bed, eat my dinner, and wear my favorite party dress.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ONE MORE THING! - I have a terribly dirty-sounding name for this activity, and I'm offering 1000 bonus points to the first person who posts a comment with a correct guess of the naughty, naughty nomenclature!

Muzzles Are A Girl's Best Friend

Feel free to sing along: A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but muzzles are a girl's best friend.

I'm serious. Consider the following scenario.

I've just returned from an errand to replace my tires, during which I was gone for about two hours. While I'm away from home I always muzzle the boys, just in case. In case of what, I have no idea, but it just seems like a good idea. As soon as I walked in the door, I let the boys outside for some R & R (Romping & Relieving).

As I'm watching them, I notice that Hoover has assumed his predatory position: standing stock still, staring at something like he's been deep in the bush in 'Nam, tail straight up, totally unresponsive. My first thought is that he's spotted a squirrel or something, then I realize that's not the case at all.

He's staring at Bruno. Poor, innocent Bruno is on the other side of the yard, happily returning the contents of his water bowl to Mother Earth, totally unaware that he is being stalked. As Bruno starts to move, Hoover pounces forward a few yards and freezes again, stirring the leaves as bit in the process. Bruno hears the noise, recognizes the predator/prey dynamic, and apparently decides that he will have none of this game.

Every hair on Bruno's back stood on end as he charged forward before Hoover could even react. Flying across the yard, he took about 6 full strides before throwing his shoulder into Hoover and knocking him into the leaves with a rustling thud.

Mind you, all of this happened within seconds, so by the time I got between them there was enough gnashing of teeth and throaty growls to let me know that without the muzzles, this would have been an emergency vet stitch-a-thon.

Is it any wonder I'm signing that song?

O' Christmas Tree!

Behold, if you will, my tinsel Christmas tree, a monument to the sparkly, tacky, mid-century holiday aestethic! I love all things retro when they're done with taste, and some things retro even when they're not (case in point). Don't worry; I have a real tree upstairs for the purists around here.

Anyway, I don't know what it is about mid-century architecture and design that intrigues me so much, but maybe it's just that it brings back a simpler time. A time when a gal could drive a car with fins, have cocktail from a glass that looks like a hollowed-out totem pole, and make a meatloaf while wearing stiletto heels, all while her husband puttered away building a bomb shelter wearing a cardigan and smoking a pipe.

I know, if I get bitch-slapped by a feminist, I totally deserve it. Forgive me, I was heavily into Mad Men last season.

In any case, I love this tree. This year I'm having a bit of trouble maintaining the ornament distribution on the lower branches, though, as you can see by all the baubles lying on the floor. Every time Bruno or Hoover walks by and wags his tail, at least one snowflake or disco ball goes flying. Since this tree is stationed near the main entry of my house, this happens a lot.

I like to think of these ornaments on the floor as a side-effect of hound happiness. Framed that way, it doesn't bother me much, especially after a few of those totem-pole cocktails.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Air Quality Issues

I’m not sure if you all know just how lucky you are. After all, it’s been over 10 days since I’ve posted a word about what comes out of my hounds’ butts. Well, all good things must come to an end, my friends.

Maybe it’s all the excitement we’ve had around here lately, but these guys have been gassy. I’m inclined to say it’s related to an upset in their routines, because the last time anything this foul assaulted my nostrils was when we first brought Bruno home. Sure, I’ve been feeding them yogurt, but they just keep on letting it rip.

Since I work from home, there’s really no respite from the wicked stank. Hoover’s tush is repeating like a Howitzer, and Bruno’s booty is blowing like Old Faithful. I feel like I’m trapped in a phone booth with the star of “4th Meal Me”, the follow-up documentary to “Supersize Me”, in which someone eats only Taco Bell for a month. Smells like day 29, I’d say.

Seriously, a hot dumpster would smell refreshing in comparison, and I think there’s a hole in the ozone layer forming directly above my house. I’m not sure if this headache is garden-variety or methane poisoning, and I’ve reached the point where my fight or flight response is activated every time I hear that subtle little “pfffftt”. If someone in Atlanta did canine colonics, we’d be the first in line.

Since the yogurt isn’t working, I’m giving this 48 hours and we’re going to the vet. If that doesn’t work, I’m moving out of this stink box. Anybody have a couch to spare?

My Co-Workers

One of the distinct perks of the virtual office is the ability to choose your own office mates, rather than having that decision made by some uncaring, remote hiring authority. My colleagues don't gossip by the water cooler, stink the place up by microwaving garlic-laden frozen entrees, or steal my pens. I submit this picture as proof of their impeccable professional behavior in the office.

The guest bed is behind my computer desk in my office, and this is how Bruno & Hoover pass the time while I'm working. Note that a collar is all that's required to be in compliance with my business casual dress code. For the dogs, that is.

Bite Me

I’m sure we’ve all seen or experienced that old practical joke wherein someone puts a “Kick Me” sign on someone else’s back. It’s a real gem, isn’t it?

I don’t know what it is about Hoover, but it’s almost as if he’s wearing a sign that says, “Bite Me” that only dogs can read. It must be something subtle in his body language that I’m not picking up on, because I’ve seen him nipped at by dogs in a variety of situations.

Even Bruno bit him on Monday during a hot pursuit after a squirrel in the yard. They were outside eating their dinner, so they weren’t muzzled, and my best guess is that Hoover must have bumped into Bruno while they pursued the squirrel, and that’s when it got ugly. I really couldn’t tell what happened as I shot across the yard toward the two of them, but the end result was two small bites: one on Hoover’s face, the other on his behind (the indignity!). To Bruno’s credit, he did stop immediately and cowered when I charged across the lawn yelling, “Bruno! Done!”. He was in trouble, and he knew it, but that was a small consolation to Hoover, I’m afraid.

Poor Hoover is just the sweetest, goofiest dog you could imagine, so it does bother me when he’s on the receiving end of nips and bites. He’s like that kid in elementary school who would eat paste or pick his nose; he’s just seems like such an easy target, I guess.

A Slow News Week

It's been another slow news week for the blog, so I'm sharing this picture that never fails to make me laugh. If you sing that old Anita Ward disco song Ring My Bell, it makes it even better.

In other news, G did get the trash heap of a car rolling again. The clock keeps resetting to 12:00 like a Satan-possessed BetaMax VCR, but hey, I can take the kids to school - whoopee!!

On another note, Hoover has gained a little weight now after the addition of a couple of extra chicken backs and peanut butter. Now that I think of it, that bite of G probably helped, too. Bruno, on the other hand, is still a perfect gentleman - the Abbott to Hoover's Costello, if you will. Wow...cutting edge comedy reference! What am I, ninety?

Anyway, the next couple of weeks promise to be much more interesting, so don't give up hope yet. Seriously, G's family is getting together for his Dad's surprise birthday party on the 15th, which promises comedy gold. Not to mention the drama that's sure to ensue as contentious factions of the clan from across the country join in forced merriment to wish my dear FIL a very happy 60th. Over Thanksgiving my brother Kevin and my Mom are coming to visit, so you can anticipate at least a little PUI (posting under the influence) as we party our way through that week.

One last note: I don't know where this picture came from (no, it's not my doorbell!), or I'd gladly give credit here. If you happen to know, please give me a shout.

CORRECTION/EDIT/RETRACTION: The car is dead again. It WAS running for almost 20 hours, and that might just be a record!

The Naughty Hat

Ladies and Gentlemen, I know it will be hard to believe that the angel pictured here earned the dubious honor of wearing the naughty hat last night. The infraction: bad manners (gasp!).

G came home from work yesterday after stopping at the Pet Supermarket, and he was bearing a bag loaded with pig ears, organic chicken jerky enhanced with glucosamine & chondrointin, a stuffie, and a squeaky ball. Needless to say, he was very excited to share some of his loot with his lucky hounds. As excited as he was, G was not expecting Hoover to jump up and nip his hand, which is exactly what happened. Clearly, this was not cool.

So Hoover (Mr. Excitement) didn't get a treat. He didn't get to play with a toy. He spent about an hour in isolation, and then he was made to wear the newly-created Naughty Hat. As you can see here, this part of the punishment didn't affect him much, but we did have a few laughs over it.

Weighty Matters

I do obsess over my pets, and my current obsession is their weight. Because of their past career as professional athletes, I recognize that their bones and joints have endured much more stress than the average pet, and I don’t want to add to that stress by having them carry extra weight.

The reason this has been on my mind this week, in particular, is because a stranger approached me at a meet-and-greet and asked me why my two dogs were “so much bonier” than the others. A strange turn of the tables for me, I must admit. When we first got Bruno (our first greyhound), we fed him too much, too often, and he fattened up very quickly, ballooning up to 10 pounds over race weight. Yikes.

Honestly, he looked terrible. Looking at pictures taken of him while he was at this inflated weight, it’s impossible to tell he had ever been a very successful racer who ran 137 races and won many of them. There was something very sad about it.

We finally got it under control, and about 2 months ago he weighed in at 70 pounds, just two pounds over his race weight. Now that we’ve switched to the raw diet, he weighs 66 pounds, and I think he looks fantastic. I can see three ribs and his hipbones, and he looks healthy and athletic.

Hoover raced at 69 pounds, and he now weighs 65. He looks “ribbier” than Bruno, and I’d like to see him gain one or two pounds. Hoover is more active than Bruno, and it’s apparent to me now that he needs bigger portions to keep more meat on his bones.

I’m glad that man asked me about their weight at the meet-and-greet, though, because it made me think and realize that Hoover could use a bit more chow. At the same time, it made me evaluate my whole philosophy and confirm my commitment to keeping my boys lean, even if that means they go a little below race weight.

Spoiled

I've been accused of spoiling my pets; can you believe it? Maybe these pictures of Bruno will be the wake-up call I need to admit that might be true.




Hoover gets the star treatment too, so don't worry about him.

Dissatisfied Customers

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I've started feeding my dogs raw food. The staples of their diet are really raw chicken backs and necks, along with occasional servings of veggie mix. Veggie mix is basically pureed greens, fruit, and assorted vegetables with ground beef or organ meats for flavor. The latest batch included yellow squash, broccoli, spinach, apples, a plum, and some raw ground beef. Next time it will include different ingredients to add variety to their diets, and will also be based on what's on sale. It sounds complicated, but it's really not rocket surgery. Or brain science. Or whatever.

Overall, this diet is working out famously. The boys love the raw meaty bones, and I think it's making their coats softer and their teeth whiter. What they don't especially love is the veggie mix. Here's what I think they'd say if they could talk...

"Excuse me, waitress...there seems to have been a mistake. We ordered the chicken for two, not the gross green smoothie."

"What? This is all that's on the menu tonight?"

(Big Sigh) "Ok, fine. We'll eat it tonight, but for breakfast we'd like chicken."

"And by the way, don't expect a tip!"

All About The Jeffersons

I know a lot of people say that they’re “all about the Benjamins”, but I’m all about The Jeffersons. Not the Jefferson on the $2 bill. The Jeffersons, as in George and Weesie, and more specifically their theme song, Movin’ On Up.

First, I’ll say that I think everyone should have one or more personal theme songs. Your personal theme song is THE song you’d want to have playing if you had to walk down the street 80's style with a boom box on your shoulder; it is meant to capture the essence of where you are in your life at that very moment. At various times, my themes have included: I’m Every Woman, I’m Too Sexy, Take This Job and Shove It, and Movin’ On Up.

In addition to its obvious application as a personal anthem, I’ve found that singing this song at the top of my voice turns my dogs into raving lunatics. Bruno roos and zooms around the room, and Hoover grabs the nearest toy and slings it violently back and forth. By the time I get to that thrilling last line (you know...the one where I finally get a piece of the pie-i-i-i), they’re both exhausted.

This song has also served me well as a childrearing tool. Years ago, when my kids would misbehave in public, all I had to do was belt out a line of two of this song (right in the middle of Home Depot, or wherever we happened to be), and the kids would stop whatever they were doing that was embarrassing me. You know what they say: Revenge is the best parenting.

What? Am I the only one who says that? Interesting…

Captain Crankypants

As the title suggests, I’m really in a rare mood today. Today began as no Monday should, with Bruno standing by my bedside barking for his breakfast at the crack of dawn. I fired off a warning shot with my spray bottle of water, prompting him to circle the bed and bark at Garrett. Another squirt, more barking. Squirt, woof, squirt, woof, squirt, SQUIRT, SQUIRT. He finally got the picture and flopped down on his bed with a grunt. Hoover, who had been pacing silently in the hope that Bruno’s performance would result in breakfast, also threw himself back in his bed with a heavy sigh. For the record, the only way to get a warm reception while waking me up is to approach with a cup of coffee, a plate of eggs benedict, and a few kind words about how beautiful I look without makeup.

Later on, after making my own coffee and breakfast, stumbling into the bathroom and realizing that actually I look a hot mess without my makeup, it came to my attention that either one of my kids’ rooms could be used as a backdrop for one of those “sponsor a child” commercials. That this sort of squalor can exist in middle-class suburban America is appalling enough; that they live this way voluntarily really blows my mind. It's a matter of time before one of them catches a disease from the condition of his room (which would actually be a pretty good plot for an episode of House, now that I think of it). And no, I'm not going to clean it myself; I believe 16 & 17 year-olds should be able to keep one room of the house clean.

As if that weren't enough, I’ve also noticed today that my dogs seem to be ignoring me after this morning’s aquatic machinations. I work from home, and normally they spend the day lounging on the guest bed in my office. Today neither one of them is giving me the time of day. In fact, they are not only avoiding the ROOM that I’m in, they’re not even on the same FLOOR of the house. Ingrates!

To complete my joy, I have to work in the yard tonight to spread some mulch before the thunderstorms that are forecast for Wednesday. Since my chest and neck are covered in tiny blisters from Saturday’s sunburn, I’ll be hoisting the pitchfork dressed in some sort of improvised burqa, which I’ll wear together with the crankiest of crankypants.

Dog Wisdom

I orginally took this photo for a post on Hoover's blog, but I had a thought about it and wanted to post it here too.

About 15 minutes before this photo was taken, these two fellows had a squabble about a favorite toy. That's one of a million things I love about dogs; they're so quick to forgive. We could learn a thing or two from our pets, couldn't we?

Scam Artists

Don't let these innocent-looking faces fool you...these are two of the wiliest con artists ever to gnaw rawhide. The scam:

The Mastermind (Bruno) wakes me up at the crack of dawn by pawing my pillow and jumping up and down, hoping this cute display will result in an early breakfast. Bruno has done this intermittently as long as he's been with us, and I always send him back to bed, and that's normally the end of it - until The Accomplice joined the Early Breakfast Scam.

Now when I send The Mastermind back to bed, The Accomplice (Hoover) steps in. He gets up and pretends that he needs to go outside, racing from the bedroom to the back door, whining at the door, and running back to my bedside. I will normally respond to a request to go outside no matter the hour, because it rarely happens, and I assume someone has an upset stomach.

Now this has happened two mornings in a row, and The Accomplice has no intention of going outside. Oh no, he wanted me to wake up, start the coffee pot, and start passing out breakfast. Well, I have a little news for these fun loving criminals: I'm going to bed tonight armed with a pistol. A water pistol, that is.

The punishment for this crime is a big squirt of water, right in the kisser. I'm armed and dangerous, and they'll get their breakfast when I'm good and ready!

Hoover's New Diet

Raw chicken, canned pumpkin, & steel wool. Allow me to explain.

In the greyhound community, a lively debate crops up every now and then between the devotees of kibble, and the disciples of raw feeding. I've always fed my pets kibble, and decided to give raw feeding a try, and we started with chicken backs.

Bruno didn't take to it easily, while Hoover crunched into that first chicken back on Saturday so enthusiastically I couldn't help but imagine that he was thinking, "Oh dear, sweet chicken back, where have you been all my life?". All was well for a couple of days, until I noticed one of the normal side effects of any dietary change - Hoover was unable to heed the call of "doody". Was I worried? Of course not, I just brought out the canned pumpkin, and order was restored within about 4 hours. I'm now referring to canned pumpkin as "The Canine Colonic".

Fast forward to yesterday morning.

I noticed around 9:30 that he seemed not to be feeling well. Sure enough, he started to gag and hack around 11:00, and I ushered him outside just in time to see him eject something that looked like a hockey puck. Upon closer inspection (you would have looked, too), I realized it looked like a hockey puck made of hair. I slapped on some gloves and picked it up and found that it was an S.O.S. pad. That's right, Hoover swallowed a disc of steel wool packed with powdered soap.

Child safety latches are going on all the cabinets on Saturday.

Our Adoption Is Final!

We're so pleased to announce the arrival of our new baby.

Hoover arrived on Saturday, August 16th, and weighs roughly 72 pounds. Obviously too big for the stork, he was delivered to us by his foster Mom, Betty Jean, who has taken care of him for the last couple of months while he was waiting to join a permanent home.

As for our new boy, I promise to post more pictures and details as soon as I resolve a little issue with the digital camera. In the meantime, I'll just say that he's as charming and affectionate as he is handsome, which is more than I can say for some beautiful men.

Welcome Home, Groovy Hoovy!