Immortal Greyhound

Ten years ago I decided we needed a dog.

When the hubs got the airline pilot gig we were engaged and living with my dad. I had people around me all the time even when hubs was off flying a trip. Between all of us, we had a slew of animals. A couple of dogs (my dad's), a few house rabbits (our's) and a cat who had come to us from the fiery depths of hell (Satan itself). My brother and his girlfriend were always hanging around and they had a boxer puppy. Life was hectic and crazy and kind of fun.

And then we moved to Denver.

We moved into an apartment and all of a sudden I was alone four days a week. I didn't know anybody here and for the first time in my life, I was really, truly alone for the majority of the week. We didn't live in the best area and I thought that if I had a dog I'd feel safer, a little less lonely. I wanted something big, with humongous teeth and a fierce loyalty to me.

I'd seen ads for a few different Denver greyhound rescues and I thought a greyhound would be awesome to live with.

We were living in a third-floor apartment and only one of the rescues would place greyhounds in apartments, so by default we went with them. We spent some time browsing the available dogs on their website.

And then I found him.

He was a huge dog, pony-sized, and his racing name was Nodak Fiddler. He was a beautiful fawn color, with a dignified look about him. He looked nothing like the other greyhounds, especially the little ratty one sporting a dumbass look on her face. We called the rescue place. We told them we wanted to adopt Nodak Fiddler.

But of course somebody else had just adopted him. My beautiful, strong boy. It wasn't meant to be.*

We drove to the rescue place to pick one out in person. The dogs were all in a huge pen and when we went in we were swarmed. Barking, jumping, excited dogs. Pick me! Pick me! It was overwhelming. And then there she was. The scrawny looking one, the one I saw online and made a joke about. She came up to us sweetly, gently. Leaned against us. Gave us her best I-might-be-a-dumbass-but-I'm-really-very-super-sweet look. Okay. Okay, we'll take you.

So I wanted a dog in part to feel safe, no?

We get her to the apartment and she's all excited and happy and then we get to the stairs. Three sets of them. And she looks at us like, whatthefuckarethese? Her legs--legs that had carried her miles upon miles around the racetrack, legs that had won many races--no longer worked. She looked up at the hubs with her big brown eyes. He scooped her up and carried her up all three flights of stairs. And then back down and up again each time she felt the need to pee. And then he taught her how to climb the stairs by strategically placing each paw on the correct stair and nudging her up with a sweet cooing voice.

So much for fierce. I was hoping the criminals weren't watching this.

Also, so much for loyalty to me. She was smitten with the hubs. She tolerated me only because I knew where the food was when the hubs was out of town.

Eventually she got the hang of the stairs. After that it didn't take her long to adapt to house life. She claimed an armchair as hers and parked her ass in it for no less than twenty-three hours a day. She quickly learned the art of being naughty and she was very good at it. She loved to knock over the trash can and scatter coffee grounds and eat the egg shells. She'd somehow climb up on our dining table and stare out the window overlooking the parking lot. She'd howl like a banshee when we were gone, like somebody was murdering her.

She wasn't thrilled when the baby was born, but she dealt with him much in the same way she dealt with me. She wasn't thrilled with boat life, but she liked the daily walks and her encounters with all of the dipshit city folk who'd never seen a greyhound before. I've lost count of all the people who would ask me if she was a cheetah or a tiger. Yeah, 'cause I'd totally be walking my cheetah around town. She tried to prove her cheetahness by ripping the face off any labrador that came too close. She had a thing about labs.

We knew going into greyhound adoption that our greyhound would likely have a lifespan of only 10-12 years. She was three when we adopted her. When her tenth birthday rolled around we were both a little sad. She was officially in the lifespan range. Her eleventh birthday came and went. And then the twelfth. Last July we celebrated the big thirteen and she earned the nickname of Immortal Greyhound. She was healthy and showed no signs of slowing down.

Until the day she did. It was a couple months ago. She developed a limp and we attributed it to either her clumsiness or arthritis. We upped her glucosamine and helped her up and down our steep patio steps. And then all of a sudden she developed a mass on her shoulder. It doubled size in a week and she went from playing and dancing around one day to not being able to move the next.

We knew it was time. It turns out that she had osteosarcoma, a form of fast spreading bone cancer.

We said goodbye two weeks ago. It was incredibly hard and sad but it was the best thing we could do for her. The vet came to our house and our old girl was able to stay comfortable as she passed away in her own surroundings. It was as peaceful as it possibly could have been and I'm so thankful she felt safe and comfortable in her final hour.

It was a good run. I'm glad she found us that day in the kennel and decided we were hers.

*After a year of greyhound naughtiness we decided she was lonely and that a companion might relieve her separation anxiety. We called the rescue to tell them we wanted another. That very same day Nodak Fiddler was brought back to the rescue because his family couldn't care for him. We drove right on down and picked him up. Talk about the craziest of coincidences.
He passed away when he was ten.

Chaise

Racing name: EJ's Destructor 

Nicknames: Brindle, Immortal Greyhound, Chizo, Snax

Trot

Racing name: Nodak Fiddler 

Nickname: Ot

Chaise, sharing a bed with pal Mo. Trot is the big boy in the background. All are probably creating mass havoc in the afterlife. This trio is missed. 

Nesting

Writing is pretty easy to blow off, especially when you're a distracted homeschooling mom with ten million other things that need attention rightthissecond. I oftentimes feel guilty spending a couple of hours holed up writing when the dishes need doing and the dinner needs cooking and the iPad has been doing all the parenting. It's sometimes hard to sit down and write when I know my time could be spent doing something else. But would that be time better spent? I can spend an hour washing dishes and scrubbing toilets and cleaning up dog shit and I'll have real things accomplished, or I can stare at the blinking cursor, the blank page, the keyboard waiting to type the story. I can create something that is mine, mine all mine. But sometimes real life wins. More times than not, thankfully, writing wins.

Having a solid routine helps tremendously. I typically write at night, when the kiddo is in bed. This means I have all day to get the real life things done, the whole day to play mom. He goes to bed and I pour a huge glass of wine and open my laptop and it's like a sigh. Writing is relaxing, it's my end of the day, it's going to bed knowing another thousand words are on the page.

A routine isn't foolproof though. Sometimes I'm exhausted at night and all I want to do is crawl into bed. Some days the kiddo never stops talking, not even for a single second, and by evening my brain is pudding and I'd be hard pressed to recite the ABCs at gunpoint. Sometimes I start projects that cut into writing time at night. Sometimes I just want to hang out with my husband and not be reclusive writer person.

We inherited a thousand projects when we moved back into our house this summer. We'd been renting it out for five year and it turns out out our tenants were shits. Their dog peed all over the down stairs carpeting. Their cats shredded our stairs. Their kids were destructive chimps, swinging from the kitchen cabinets and slamming doors so hard that the knobs caved in from the contact with the walls. Weeds choked the tiny yard and several trees were dead. The place was a mess. I was bummed because all I wanted to do was work on my writing. I was in the final revisions of my novel, Sail Away Home. I was working on the query, the synopsis. I had a new book idea I wanted to get to work on. But instead, I had a million things to do.

And I fell into the trap. The I'm too busy to write, I have more important things to do trap. I spent most of the summer reviving my poor yard. Cutting down dead tress, planting new ones, staining the deck, building a huge wall between our house and the annoying neighbors. I'd go to bed exhausted, way too tired to write. Fall came and so did inside projects. Ripping up ruined carpet, laying down new flooring. Painting over butterflies and flowers in my son's room. Getting organized.

Now it's time to get back into writing. I want to start submitting Sail Away Home after the first of the year. I want to start writing my new book as soon as possible. But I don't need anymore reasons to procrastinate than life already has to offer. I need my to-do list down to a manageable size. I need the big projects complete so my mind isn't on them, but on my new book.

For the past week I've painted the master bedroom, the kitchen, the living room and a bathroom. I've replaced the carpet in the master bedroom. I still have more to go and I should be done in a week. It feels good knowing it will all be done and I'll be free to write in a couple of weeks. It's like I'm nesting, like one might do in the final weeks before a new baby is born. In my case, the baby is my next book. I'm getting everything done and out of the way so I can concentrate on the new baby, give it my full attention. Because this time around it isn't just about the new book. There's still Sail Away Home, and the business of trying to get it into print.

Here are a few pictures of my progress so far:

Ripped-out the carpet on the stairs. Did a paper floor treatment. Will blog a tutorial later. 

Paper floor in kid's room. Fresh paint.

Fresh paint and paper floor in the master bedroom.

Paper floor hallway

Bathroom paint

Kitchen paint.