When I'm getting ready to go out of town I make lots of lists. Chores to do in the house. Things to gather for the dogs. Stuff to pack for the cats. Things to tell the house sitter. Clothes to pack for myself. Despite all of the lists I usually forget something. And while throwing out the milk that would go bad while I'm gone was on my list - throwing out everything in the fridge and freezer was not.
This is the second time since we purchased the fridge 11 years ago that it has crapped out on us. The first time I tried to salvage as much as I could in a giant cooler, but ended up throwing away everything anyway. This time, I didn't have a choice. With the exception of three packs of chicken backs still frozen enough for the dogs, most everything was toast. I guess when it's 117 degrees out, things don't last long in the ice box no matter how cool you keep your house.
We hadn't restocked the fridge since our Chicago trip eight days ago and we rarely keep anything in the freezer other than dog food and a few frozen dinners. So trashing everything wasn't as painful as it could have been. And at least it happened while I was still here and not tomorrow when everything would stink up the place after a week without cold. Now it will just stink up the trash can for the next week. I won't be here to smell it. I hope the raccoons leave it alone.
The girls did their part in helping clean out the fridge. I stuffed their Kongs with some roast beef, which kept them busy and their nose out of the trash as I cleaned. Roxy is so polite I can just hand her slices without fear of losing my finger. Seka on the other hand, may not have many teeth, but she still finds a way to chomp on my fingers.
Every morning for breakfast until I graduated from high school, my father made my breakfast. Whatever he served up was accompanied by a glass of milk. Sometimes white. Sometimes chocolate. I've found that in the world there are two types of people - those who love milk and those who don't. I'm one of those people who like milk and so is Kev, so we keep it in the house at all times.
Guess who else likes milk - a lot. Greyhounds. Well, at least my greyhounds do. We cannot open the container of milk without the girls going bananas begging for a taste. I'm not sure if milk is good for them or not. It doesn't bother their tummies. It doesn't cause the big D. It doesn't cause gas - well, no worse than what they normally have. So, when we have a glass of milk, we save a bit at the bottom for them to have and they love it.
Greyhounds get milk mustaches too. Well, Roxy gets milk mustaches.
On a side note, I've started a blog dedicated to my running exploits. I thought about combining the two, but I didn't think that readers who want to read about cute greyhound stuff would also want to hear about my morning run. When Roxy starts heading out with me, the two blogs will cross paths, but for now, I think keeping them separate is best. If you are curious, here's my running blog - Run One Run All.
I didn't suck my thumb as a kid. I had a pacifier and one day when I was three my Cookie Monster stuffed animal came to life (with the help of my father) and ate it because he thought it was a cookie. That's how I lost my binky. My sister sucked her thumb and in exchange for her stopping at the age of six, she got a color TV for her bedroom. Yeah, it still doesn't sound fair to me either.
While I was working yesterday afternoon I could hear a weird sound coming from the area where Roxy was sleeping. Usually when there are weird noises in the house they are coming from Emma, who at 15 makes lots of strange sounds in general. But tiny E was nowhere in sight. Upon closer inspection I find that Roxy is sucking on one of her toes in her sleep.
She always sleeps like a contortionist, but I'd never caught her doing anything like this. If this is a new habit, I wonder if she will demand a new HDTV for her kennel in exchange for quitting.
Senior greyhounds are special - we all know that. There's something about that gray face and wise eyes that makes your heart melt. When Amber Opal (aka Amberly) came into my friend Amy's life she had lived a full life at 9.5 years old. Full as in 20 pounds overweight full. Amber didn't really look like a greyhound at first, but make no mistake, that sweet old face was one of a former racer - tattoos and all.
Amberly settled right in with Amy and her family. She made herself right at home in her daughter's bed in less than a week. Her new pack buddy, Josephine (a senior herself), loved showing her the ropes of country living and they became fast friends. She also adapted well to her weight loss plan and soon took on her appropriate shape.
Amberly began doing therapy visits with Seka just a few months after arriving in her forever home. Amberly seemed to know who needed love in some way totally unknown to us humans at the other end of the leash. She was a good therapy dog.
When her family went away, Amberly came to stay with my pack. During Amber Camp, Roxy had a fellow brindle to hang round. Even at 12 years old, that girl loved to play with a stuffy and trot around the yard with Roxy. And let's not forget that she was a stick magnet. If there was a stick anywhere in the yard, she could find it and be chewing on it in a matter of seconds. I could go out and clean up all of the sticks in my yard and she would still manage to find one to chomp on.
Amberly went over the Rainbow Bridge on Monday at the ripe old age of 14.5. We will miss that silly old girl. Godspeed, sweet Amberly. I know you and Josephine are playing the day away together right now.
On Tuesday my girls caught their first bunny. Now, for some of you, this isn't a big deal. Your greyhounds chase and catch just about anything. For my girls, this was a notable achievement for two reasons:
My girls rarely chase ANYTHING in the yard - squirrels, bunnies, cats, opossums, armadillos. We have all of these critters in our back yard at some point during the year and the girls rarely take after any of them.
Seka has an old, broken down hip and missing toes and Roxy is rarely allowed to do anything unless Seka - aka the Fun Police - says it is okay. It's never okay.
So I'm sure the sweet little unsuspecting bunny who was eating grass in our back yard absolutely thought he could scoot through the fence before two broken down greyhounds could get to him. Well, bunny thought wrong.
Seka made the grab and shake. Roxy chose to run around with the trophy showing it off like she had won Wimbledon. Luckily, the carnage was pretty contained and quick. After the initial celebration they could have cared less about Russell (that's what I named him - yes I name every animal including the incredibly large rat that lives in my shed. His name is Artie.). I started to take a picture of their prize, but I thought it would be disrespectful and I'm sure PETA would throw paint on me or something.
But a funny thing happened, Roxy had bunny remorse. She went upstairs, curled up in the floor and wouldn't come down until I coaxed her down with the promise of dinner. While I'm sure other dogs would immediately go back to the site of the take down, Roxy wouldn't go near that part of the yard for days. I guess she was sad for little Russell too.
Seka on the other hand napped all afternoon and then when she got up I realized she had dislocated her toe pretty badly. A trip to Dr. Hottie the next day, a reset toe (the dislocation between P1 and P2 actually poked out through the skin), a cool bandage and we're as good as new.
Instinct is an incredible thing. And even if you know better, sometimes you just can't help yourself. Maybe Roxy felt guilty about her celebratory lap. Then again, maybe not. She's almost caught three squirrels in the last three days. On second thought, I like to think she let them escape and just enjoyed the thrill of the chase. She is a sensitive little thing.