A Day For Our Dads

I want to wish a Happy Daddy’s Day to all dads.  Of 2 leggers, 3 or 4 leggers.

But especially my very own superman. 

He is my daddy. 

He has been my champion.  He has forever supported me in all my decisions, but challenged me and questioned me to reach them.  He has cheered me on in my successes and consoled me in my failures. 

He has provided for me, supported me and loved me.  He has taken one of my furry kids to his heart to love and applauds my efforts for the furry ones.

 

 

He became the grounding force after that fateful day in 1987.  And became my bedrock because of it.  Because of him, I became stronger.

He became my advisor, my counselor and my friend.

 

God must have felt very kindly the day he gave me my parents. 

Daddy, you are my superman.  Forever.

To the greatest dad in the world, thank you.

Happy Father’s Day!!!

 

 

Anything you build, create, birth, adopt, nurture needs a sound, solid foundation to thrive.  Toss in some love to the mix, you have beauty growing.  ~me

 

This song from Eric Clapton.  My Father's Eyes.



 

 

 

When Friends Leave

I’ve been emotional, despite the analytical brain.  I do have a heart (apparently from prior posts.)  But also opinionated.

I’ve read on Facebook recently of friends losing their beloved kids.  And of those facing that decision.

 

I’ve gone through the devastating heartbreak so many times.  It’s a forever hurt.

My heart breaks for them all and I do shed tears.  Yep, me.  Tough girl ain’t so much.

They are supposed to live forever.  Or as long as we do.  That’s the deal.  I knew I should have a paw print on that damn contract....

 

My dream?  The racers quit racing, the luring ends, Spain stops torturing the dogs and the dog fighting is illegal with prison time sentences and people stop buying.

There is a forever love in your life, just waiting for a home in a rescue.

Sophia Pia, we’ve not met, but I love you and shed tears.  Enjoy your journey. 

The journey will live forever in your parents’ souls.

The Midwest Tornado Alley

Let me first offer my prayers to the victims, missing persons and the precious pets missing families from the recent Oklahoma CityEF4 tornado. The devastation is mind-boggling.  My heart goes out to them.

As a child, my dad and I always headed out to the porch to watch for storms.  We loved that.  In naivety, we thought we wanted to see it develop.  Back then, there wasn’t much outside the subdivision besides farmland and warnings were not the best.

Mom was the one who headed to the basement, lockbox, Smokie and valuables, every time.  Looking back now, she was far wiser than my dad and me.

That all changed in 1974.  I was still in high school then.  At the time, Dad was golfing with his best friend, Rollie in Xenia,Ohio.  As crazed golfers, they stayed on the course, despite warnings. 

Until they saw “the funnel”.  They scrambled for shelter, first in a new construction (couldn't get in), ran down a gully, then broke into a resident’s home, where they hid with the family.

My storm watcher dad called home after viewing the devastation and said “get downstairs now”.  Mom, Smokie Joe and I headed to the basement.

Now, after one just missed me by 3 miles a few years ago, what happened in Joplin, MO  and now Oklahoma City, I have fear and respect for that swirling, killing demon.

I could lose everything in this home not but my pups or my kitty.  Water, food, litter stored downstairs. 

Thank you, mama, for the dome you provided that made at least one to miss me by 3 miles.  I’ll be smart and prepare the day the dome doesn’t work.

Prayers and love to the victims, the families and the missing.

 

 

Racing of Greyhounds

Gosh...  And everyone thought I fell silent.  Not freaking likely...

People wonder why I am opposed to greyhound racing.  Convinced I have been sucked in and indoctrinated by a non-existent cult.  (Someone, not me, has been imbibing in the kool-aid and wine margaritas a bit too much…)

I see repeatedly “we love our dogs!”.  Prove it.

I have rescued greyhounds.  I deal with odd issues I never saw in mutts.

And I hate racing why?

Breeders - Dogs are bred and bred until they get ones that can be raced.  (Raising hand and waving wildly here, where are those other pups who didn’t make the grade because they sure as hell aren’t in adoption or rescue groups.)

Owners – These people have zero interest in a grey’s well-being as long as “it” is profitable and wins races. Once no longer winning?  Pretty much useless.  Notice I said “it”?  They don't recognize a dead dog's sex, just the live ones to breed.

Owners – Once a dog quits winning, they can breed until 11+ years of age then dumped on an industry-sponsored adoption group.  Or…  ???

Trainers – some are the cause of unspeakable harm to the greyhounds.  The breeders, owners, track owner, haulers may forget, but I will NEVER forget Ebro (FL), where over a hundred greyhounds were starved to death and shoved into freezers and garbage bins.  Why?  Pathetic human allowed to be a trainer.

Where were the owners and breeders then?

Track Vets – just because a sleazy track owner allows something does NOT mean it is morally right.  TGP?  For you.  Robinson, did you not take a Veterinarian's Oath?  Does anything about that ring a bell??  Judged to be an epic FAIL!  Quack.

Trainers – there are some who are not as low as others, since one of my kids was turned over to rescue by a trainer.  Yep!!  I said the “R” word.  He, at least, has a soul.

Haulers – Ah…  The cream of the crop seems to get hired for this job.  Cases on record of dead greys in haulers from heat.  Ummm…Can we say IA, FL, AZ….

Haulers – one pulls over for a ruckus of the dogs in back and one escapes, costing thousands from rescues and donations to help the pup recover.  Did the breeder, owner, trainer or hauler belly up to the bar to pay money for rehabilitation???  Did the hauler really enlist help to look for the terrified pup?  Gone, someone else's problem apparently.

Dogs – how they are treated as nothing more than a commodity.  Recent electrocution running into the rail in Sarasota???  Snapped necks??  Broken backs?  Broken hocks (totally treatable) yet euthanized.  Oh.  Correction.  Killed…  Seems to be common place for those in the industry.  Globally.  The dead ones?  "It".  (I get warm fuzzies from this!)

Why do I hate racing?  If not for this greed to make a living without doing a damn thing remotely resembling producing or building or creating or contributing to society (accept to your bank account), these beautiful pups would be restored to their once stately existence.

Should racing end, the breed WILL NOT disappear.  Alarmist regurgitation from the industry-sponsored frantic response.  Please.  Utter crap.

Their existence as a treasured companion, a baby sitter, a friend, a heart has lasted far longer than the greed of man.  Their worth can be traced back.

They are NOT A COMMODITIY.  Not one damn bit.  They are loving, warm, playful and happy companions.  Just as they used to be before recent human greed extorted them.

 

When Tornados Are Possible - Tornado Alley Is A Blast...

Storms, with tornado-ripe conditions, did a Chorus Line kick-line through our area last night.  I learned a few things last night I wish to share.  In the interest of public safety.  Both human and animals.

Or more to reinforce it my brain, since I failed some of these things…

1.       Weather interruptions on the TV

a.       When network TV is repeatedly interrupted with maps of approaching dangerous weather, this may be more than an annoyance.  (Unlike interrupting network televised shows to focus on Albert Pujols leaving St. Louis – with was NOT in the interest of anyone.)

b.      While their record on reading the radar and reporting accurately is a bit like playing the slots, they probably know it better than me.

2.       Weather sirens

a.       Locally, they have updated sirens and performed tests ad nauseam.  They could mean something.  When the siren first sounds, could be time to move purse, communication devices and safe storage box downstairs – have credit card and check book, will travel, after all!

b.      When the siren continues to scream at your disbelieving butt, it could be time to seriously consider moving that happy ass to the safest/lowest location.  Like sooner, rather than later?

c.       When they still go off and the TV is showing “stuff” as close as the next city, that is seriously the time to grab 4-leggers and head to the lower level.  NOW!

3.       If you have hounds who are horrified at the thought of the insides stairs, put your big kid pants on, harness them, leash them and get them downstairs.

4.       If the electric company tells you a limb that dragged the wire’s mount off a house tells you to consider the line “live”, believe them.  Not worth taking a chance. 

5.       Finally, dogs do not poop or pee on command in the torrentially pouring rain, no matter how many times you walk them to the park late at night and stand in deep water…

In all seriousness, listen to the sirens and act accordingly. 

St. Louis, MO

The Depths To Which The Racing Industry Will Sink

Petty little minds start venomous rumors to harm those who don’t bow to their warped view of the world.  Sadder still, their blind little sheep trot dutifully behind them.

There is a post being shared on Facebook that I choose not to share here.  It is, essentially, an attack against a greyhound rescue group who does not suck up to the industry.  The sole reason for the attack.

The rescue group had to make an extremely hard decision on dogs that could not be rehabilitated.  Every rescue has faced similar situations.  Was it easy for Best Friends to put down some of Michael Vick’s pitties?  Hell no.  It is a devastating decision a rescue has to make when rehabilitation is not viable and the dog is dangerous.

The only reason this is making the rounds is a concerted effort to discredit rescues.  Rescues, apparently, buck the screenplay written by the racing industry…

The only reason I became aware of this was a post in the group from whom I adopted my greyhounds.  Perhaps a well-meaning post, but damaging nonetheless. 

It was a share of a post from someone I know is deeply entrenched in the industry.  And I am pretty certain it was NOT penned by him.  A yes-man and a bully.  Sure.  Eloquent and evocative?  No.

Instead the post seemed to, based on the dramatic verbosity, lead one to think it is another who penned it.  One who cannot resist but post his own version of War And Peace each time he rallies in his minions for the next target.

 

Blacklist ring a bell?

My question to those posting this crap: where are the dogs who don’t qualify to race?  Where is your tracking of dogs adopted?  Where is your tracking of dogs killed trackside or later by a track “vet”.

And why the hell did these posters not jump to the aid of the industry adoption group who cried for help saying they were still putting down healthy dogs? 

 

What?  An industry sponsored group?  You have no outrage there???

Again lies, concentrated attacks and utter rubbish.

And The Way Inside the House Is...

Ah, Craigie Dillon.  So precious to me, but coming inside is odd.

I have to wonder about the sanity in the racing industry. 

Craigie last won a race in 2007 that I can tell.  I don’t know when, for sure, he was given to rescue (yeah, that “rescue” word).  I didn’t adopt him until 2011. 

 

 

I’m searching track info and grey data, neither of which is updated with any reliability.  The industry is known for accountability.

My guess, quite a few years stuck in limbo somewhere.

Thank God they didn’t just toss him out.

Craigie Dillon

My beautiful dork can barrel up the deck steps, but the inside steps send him into infant colt zone.  Trembling legs. 

He can barrel up stairs but is completely unable to take the step up into the minivan I bought them.  Lardbutt, lifting you was not in the plan.

Craigie Dillon 

Laying on the bed in the living room, charges me when I go into the kitchen – where you going?.  Dare I go to the bathroom?  Lump-a-lump gallops down the hall.  Um, a bit of privacy would be nice, Dills.

They raced this guy?  That many times?  Greed buggers.

I let him out and he wanders, digs holes and amuses himself then charges the open door as if I were gone for years.  Yet, I run the vacuum and he’s breaking the door down within 30 seconds.  Silly man, one paw at the door does it.

The industry raced this kid.  Why?  Because he was a Gable Dodge offspring?  He is tall?  To squeak a couple pennies off my baby?

This boy is so innocent and so childlike.  

 

 

Why?

Greed and shame on you.

 

 

 

For Kokoro

After a sabbatical, time to resurrect something that annoys some.  As if I would lose sleep…

Having spent a bit of time in discourse (giving it a more glorified term than it deserves) with some individuals questioning the death of a dog and defending racing, it just seemed right to say something.

Meet Kokoro.  2 year old brindle.  His first race and the last he knew of this world.  Broke his back.  2 years old.  Euthanized.  Shit.  That did NOT have to happen.

Some of the discussions with some individuals (I am so politically correct…) centered on a dog not well trained.  Really?  As if that can be brushed off so easily?  For God’s sake, this was a 2 year old dog.  Dangerous turns, bad tracks?  To them, bad dog.  This was a 2 year old dog!

Others defending the racing industry fall back on the battle cry of “if racing ends, the breed disappears” or if racing ends only “backyard breeders” will be there to tarnish the breed.

Do they even hear what they say?  Let’s overbreed so we can get a few to win races to line our pockets.  That’s forward thinking.

But then again, the industry is not forward thinking.  Let’s talk about the dogs killed and dumped because they didn’t race well.  Let’s talk about the Ronnie Williamses of the world.  Let’s talk about the dogs dying in haulers.

But we love our dogs and want to preserve a pristine bloodline? 

Utter frauds.  And so sad, because it is the dogs who die.  This breed has been around longer than their family tree.  Canned industry responses no longer stand the test of time.

The industry will die so how about finding a way to rehome some pups. 

But that would mean being bigger than themselves.  Sad, but that won’t happen.

For the tragic deaths of those lost, I hope you sleep well.  Young pups never had a chance.

 

 

 

Birthdays, No Longer A Thing To Dread

Tomorrow I turn the big double nickel.  55.  It has not come without pain or sadness.  And it came with such incredible joy and beauty.

I am so blessed to have these years and all these furry munchkins in my world.  And utter sadness that the two souls who knew me best are not here.

Life deals it, we deal with it.

It’s odd, though.  Most who know me best would be surprised, but years ago, one person told me to grow a backbone, because I was so malleable.  So eager to please.

Wow, what a long, strange trip it’s been, to steal a phrase from the Grateful Dead.

It seems I grew a backbone and in turn, pissed off some folks.  Ah well, in my world and in my life, they do not matter. 

Tomorrow I will be 55 glorious years of age.  While I miss the days of short shorts and being semi-hot, nothing can be better than this.

 

This freaking rocks!!

Thanks mama. You had no idea what you created, huh.  But I think you'd be proud.

Give my kids a kiss.

Pups You Promise To Keep From Harm

Dealing with the most snow my greyhounds have ever seen (they never saw any in their racing lives), I watched them play in the new snow.  They had the best time!

 

Then the sleet and freezing rain came, which put a dangerous layer on the fun snow.  While I tried to break up some, I could not do the whole yard.

We found out today what I could not do to protect.  The sun was out and should be warming the crunchy stuff.  I grabbed the opportunity to vacuum while they were out.

Big mistake and I beat myself over it.  Ever the runner and leaper, DeeDee ripped a nail.

Badly.

Dripping blood everywhere, I called the vet and went directly there.  I can deal with the bloodbath/crime scene later.

Poor angel girl.  The vet, with two techs holding her, hugging her, he trimmed the ripped nail.

Nothing could ever prepare me for the scream that came from her.

I cannot imagine what that nasty tattoo process did to this angel. 

MY GOD!  I almost keeled over.  My stoic girl was hurt, badly. 

And I promised to keep you safe and protect you?  Damn…

She screamed throughout the bandaging process, and I didn’t think I could take much more.

Me, shaken and leaving the examination room, DeeDee went directly into to the area behind the desk, to visit the techs.  Ok.  Done and forgotten, it seems.  She loves them!

At the desk to pay the bill, she greeted everyone and I had to drag her out.  All pups in the past bypassed me for the door.  Dee didn’t want to leave them?

Little bird, hurt and bleeding, wanted to stay with our vet techs.  I am blessed with the best.

Wonder if they want a mascot?

Birdlette, I am heartbroken you were hurt.  Mama didn't do her job.  I'm sorry baby.

 

 

Dogs Are The Reason I Am Me

I was watching Stray Rescue of St. Louis’ new PSA. It truly is cute!

My very first friend at the age of 2 (or younger) was a big brown dog.  I was told he was brown, but only a slide shows the picture.  I apparently just hugged on this dog all the time.

And it was born.  Seeded deep in my heart.  This crazy little thing called love.

For years, I whined and pleaded for a dog.  My grandpa Halvery had Chipper.  I adored little Chipper.

 

 

 

Watching the Stray Rescue PSA, I think I did all but drag a leash behind me.  I was relentless.

No, no dogs, said the parents.  Pleading did no good.

Then one July, they introduced me to my new brother.  Smokie Joe. 

 

Smokie was there for me from the age of 10 until just after college.  Every day, my mama told Smokie that sissy was coming home from school.  And he waited, patiently, at the window for me.  Every day.

Best friend for a kid.  And the best little brother.

These angels laid the groundwork for Cyrus.

 

 

Who laid ground work for Sheba, Sasha and Smokey.

 

 



 

Who laid the groundwork for Schemie.

 

 

Who laid the groundwork for Britty.

 

 

Then Berry.

 

 

Then DeeDee and Craigie.

 

 

All because of a big old brown dog named Brownie when I was 2 years old.

Thanks Brownie!!

Unholy Alliances

I’ve been a tad silent and not posted recently. Ailing kitty makes one that way.

But sometimes, you read some articles and there is a need to reflect on them.

I know many do not agree with my stance on racing. So be it. I don't lose sleep over that.

So…Here we go!

We have incestuous alliances alive and well in Arizona.

We have the only investigation agreed to by a destructive industry by internal sources.

They both reek of total corruption.

Arizona’s notorious track Tucson Greyhound Park (TGP) has an oversight group called Arizona Department of Racing (ADOR).

ADOR is a regulatory department meant to insure the safe wellbeing of racing greyhounds.

Down side, the ones in charge of ADOR are busom buddies of TGP’s general manager, Tommy the Tool.

All you have to do is read the internal emails to know there is an unholy alliance between ADOR and TGP.

Oh, they took away raw crap meat? Damn the luck. Oh, cooking crap meat does not count by the way. Oh, they took away the easy steroid solution for unneutered females going into heat? Spay 'em.

Rather shameful and a very sick threesome of Taylor, Walsh and Gory [sic].

Then we take a long flight to our friends in NZ. When news broke of the number of greyhounds, racing greyhounds, killed, the industry agreed to an investigation. Internal only, as if that would be unbiased. By all means, bring in someone lacking integrity. Brilliant.

Not even going across the pond to the UK, IE and ES. That's even worse than the fools running loose here.

What the industry does not realize, nor do the sham regulatory groups and investigators, is that we are not imbeciles. You play games, yet do nothing to safeguard the hounds you are tasked to protect.

I have no use for animal abusers, no use for liars and zero use for those who continue to manipulate regulations to suit themselves.

We just don’t go away, do we?

And why? Because the ones rescued from crap meat and steroids and all that have homes and beds are real food. That is why.

Yeah, two former racers.  Living the life they missed.  And happy.

Train Keeps Rolling – Next Stop, Iowa

The move is on for Iowa to realize the utter drain of taxpayer money houndie racing is to the state coffer.  Seriously, in this down economy, is this really a wise choice toward which to toss funds?

To me, it has always been, always will be about the greys.  And putting an end to racing.  If they can’t figure out how to keep track of their dogs, not inject them with steroids and feed them properly (God forbid, show a little kindness), then the screw ‘em.

Not a big surprise since I’ve posted before about it.  I don’t approve of racing.  The oversight and care is lacking.  There sure as hell is no accountability.  Why do dogs just disappear off the map?  Huh.  Slippery little devils, aren’t they?

Save the tired excuse of there are so many bred…  Even those seem to get lost.

So, I hear there is a need of a poster child of Iowa racing?  I have one here.  Curled up in the bedroom.  The morons who thought to send her to Ebro after her Iowa stint met their match with one kick-ass trainer who said no.

Mr. Unknown Trainer, although  I don’t approve of your field of endeavor, you have my eternal gratitude for turning one little girl in.

She fills my world with joy and smiles.