What This Blog Needs Is More Cow Hoof

This weekend found us staying close to home because of Blueberry's recovery from her surgery.  We'd already planned ahead of time that we would not be going hiking this weekend so we could be near home.  It was a good thing that we hadn't, because the weather on Saturday was pretty raw, cold and rainy.  So, it wasn't like we were missing a lot there on that front anyway.

Still, we have two young dogs here who need to get out some and stretch their legs, or we all go a bit crazy.  We'd heard that Petco was having a dental health event sponsored by Greenies, so we decided to take Bunny and Morgan over and give Lilac and Blueberry some time to relax at home.  Of course, Blueberry did not think that she needed to relax at home, but we left her home anyway.  Her recovery has gone very well, but we are still pushing her to rest, even though she thinks she's good to go on all adventures.

Alas, I digress.  We piled Morgan and Bunny into the van and set off for Petco.  I'm not a huge fan of Petco because their prices are always higher, but we figured it was worth it, and at the very least we'd get Greenies coupons.  I was hoping it would have more information and learn about some new dental care practices, but the event wasn't like that at all.  At least, the one in our store wasn't.  We got a coupon and an offer from the sales representative to look at the girls' teeth.  I figured my vet sees them often enough that we don't have to worry about the teeth being looked at.  I walked around to the Greenies shelf and wouldn't you know it, even with the coupon their Greenies were more expensive than what I'd pay for them at our regular store, so I passed.

Mr. Taleteller didn't want to walk out empty-handed, so he stopped to look at the various chewing items available.  Morgan and Bunny both liked the cow hooves, so he picked four out.  Actually, he picked three out and Bunny picked one out by herself.  It was a moment I wished I had the camera for as she carried the hoof in her mouth as she wore her pink coat up to the cash register.  I'm admittedly biased, but she was adorable.  Mr. Taleteller put it on the counter for her and paid for all four.  A salesgirl asked if they could have treats and fed them both some little pretzels that they scarfed right up.  Then Bunny turned back to the man for her hoof.  He put it in the bag and handed it to my husband.  I think I saw a little puff of smoke come out of her nose as she gave the man a serious glare of stink eye.  We're lucky she doesn't have laser beams.

So, we leave the store and return to the van.  Mr. Taleteller gets Morgan all set in her crate and then it's Bunny's turn to get in.  She hops up, turns around, grabs the bag of hooves and starts to make for the back seat.  Mr. Taleteller intercepts her and gives her one hoof and puts one in Morgan's crate.  Bunny was happy with the arrangement and went to the back seat to enjoy her hoof.  Both of the girls were quite content and chewing away.

We stopped by an agility competition that my husband wanted to see and went inside to watch it for a bit, leaving the girls with their hooves.  After a short bit of watching, we returned and Mr. Taleteller decided that we ought to go by the dog bakery.  When we stopped, he collected both hooves and put them in his seat, not wanting the girls to overindulge, and wanting them to have some left by the time we got home so Blueberry and Lilac could enjoy theirs in peace.

Of course, Bunny had other plans.  We got back in the van and Mr. Taleteller headed into the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory to get us an apple to split for later.  While he was in there, Bunny sniffed around, found her hoof hidden under his bag on the seat and retired back to the back seat to enjoy it.  He got back in the van and I told him about it, and we had a good snicker about how obsessed she was with that hoof.

I have mentioned before that we live in a very small town.  When we go to town, it's a trek over the river and through the woods in a literal sense.  It takes us about forty five minutes to drive over, which is not a big deal to us.  As we headed over the bridge out of town, we began to notice something.  There is a rather unpleasant aroma that accompanies the overindulgence of cow hooves.  There are dog farts, and there are lethal cow hoof-scented bombs that could rival the fallout of Hiroshima.  My eyes began to water and I asked my husband what he'd eaten.

Mr. Taleteller:  Me?!  That did not come out of my butt!

Me:  Yeah, sure! 

Mr. Taleteller:  I swear to God, that was the dog!  You know I'd claim it if I did something!  You know how proud of those I am!

Me:  You might just not admit it because this one is so foul!  For the love of Pete, roll down a window!  I'm dying!

Mr. Taleteller:  I did NOT do that!  It was your dog!  That smells like cow hoof!

Me:  My dog?  How do you know it's not your dog?

Mr. Taleteller:  She hasn't eaten as much as Bunny!

Me:  I think I'm going to be sick!

Needless to say, it was a long car ride home.  Once we arrived, she had all intentions of carrying it into the house on her own.  Mr. Taleteller intercepted it and told her she needed to take a break.  She wasn't the only one! 

Later, they all enjoyed the hooves for a while, and then we put them up before any ill winds could develop and blow through.  We learned our lesson.  Too much of a good thing isn't good for the rest of us.  I find myself relieved that I'm going to be getting some fresh air at work this morning!

The Nose Knows...But It Doesn't Want To!

If you're a dog owner, most likely at some point you've experienced something like the scenario I am about to describe. If you haven't, just wait, your opportunity will arise at some point. To set things up, I will just say that we've had an extremely wet year here, and the fifth wettest October ever. I've almost forgotten what the sun looks like. Our hounds have not been happy about the weather. In case you didn't know, greyhounds melt when they are exposed to the rain. On top of that, it has converted our turn out pen to a slippery mudhole. My husband has laid straw out, but it's not much of a match for the deluge. You may also gather that cleaning up the pens after certain deposits have been made is particularly difficult. We usually take the four greyhounds out to the turn out pen, come back inside and get their food ready, leaving them a tad of privacy, then return to bring them back inside. Generally we are greeted by four shivering hounds with their eyes scrunched up and a look of disgust on their faces, even though they've been out there for less than five minutes.

(Bunny here, setting the record straight -- it feels like MUCH more than five minutes to me!)

When I go out, I try to do the humane thing and rush them back inside before they waste away to nothing out there in the mist of rain. I've never heard of a greyhound actually melting outside in the rain, but mine are convinced that they may become the first victims. Anyhow, in the back door we go and the hounds hurry in to the living room. Hawk has trouble with the back steps in his old age, so I help him maneuver up the steps and then enter the house and close the hallway door behind me.

(Bunny again, I think he fakes it! He jumped up into the back seat of the car with NO problems!)


As soon as I get in the house, it hits me! If you've ever smelled the fragrant aroma of freshly mashed dog turd, you know what I am talking about. It's a smell like no other. There is no mistaking it and even the most hard of smelling can't help but gag a little as it assaults the olfactory nerve. After turning around and going back out for a moment to clear my head, I reenter the house to find the offending foot which will need to be cleaned.

I check Hawk first, because often it is him. In his unsteady elderly state, he doesn't have a lot of grace about where his feet go. It's not him. Next, I check Lilac, since she has moments of instability herself. She's clean. Bunny has discovered a new outdoor recreation at turn out time, which is digging a hole to China, where I'm sure it's not raining. Often she comes in with clumps of mud stuck between her dainty little toes. She's not the guilty party.

(Bunny, once more -- as if I, dainty little puppy that I am, would ever step in poop! I am royalty and I tiptoe around out there to avoid such embarrassment, unlike some OTHER hounds!)

So, I call Blueberry. For some reason, she's curled up in the dog crate, her feet tucked underneath her. I call her again and she tucks her nose under her chest and sighs. Finally, I demand that she come. She looks up and gives me the serious stink eye before bedgrudginly standing and exiting the crate.

Me: Let me see your feet!

Blueberry: They're right here...

Me: (bending over her like a horse shoer, trying to lift a front foot which happens to be solidly planted on the ground.) Pick...up...your foot!

Blueberry: (shifting so that all her weight is on that foot) Which foot?

Me: BLUE!

Blueberry: (sighing) Oh alright!

Me: My stars! That smells foul! How can you stand yourself? I think I'm going to pass out or be sick! We have to go back outside!

Blueberry: Oh, no! I don't think so! Just use a paper towel like you do for Hawk!

Me: He's old and he doesn't mash it up between his toes! Let's go!

Blueberry: (turning back towards the crate) It's cold out there and the water in that hose is even colder! No way!

A short wrestling match ensues with me holding on to Blueberry's collar and trying to keep her from walking over any more of the carpet. Blueberry struggles to get back into the crate. I know if she gets back in there the battle is lost and so I take a risk, letting go of her with one hand and closing the crate with it. She glares at me and then allows me to lead her reluctantly back outside. I turn on the hose and wash her foot off, spraying between her toes and lifting her foot to make sure that she's all clean. Finally, we return to the house where she promptly stalks off to the couch, since the crate is still closed, to have a good sulk and give me the serious stink eye.

Blueberry: I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!

Bunny: I'm her little dog!

Blueberry: (sigh) Just watch your shoes! And you watch yourself, whippersnapper!

Bunny: You won't hurt me! I'm too cute!

And so it goes that neither of us has really won this round. I'm not looking forward to winter and cold weather, but at least there won't be mud pie surprises anymore. There has to be an end sometime!

(Bunny, post script -- obviously, I won this round since I didn't have to go back outside!)

Get Your Stink On

Blueberry is a pretty girl. Actually, we refer to her as our supermodel, because she does have stunning good looks and she is actually very tall for a female greyhound. She's taller than a fair number of males that we meet. She's also a very smart girl. Just ask my husband, since she's almost got him trained. There aren't too many dogs who can steal the food right off your plate and make it disappear within an eyeblink. She knows just how to charm us to get what she wants most of the time, as well. All in all, she has matured from a somewhat wild and unpredictable two year old hound into a reliable and sweet eight year old. She is the alpha dog in the pack, although she rarely does much to assert her authority. She's a true blue brindle, her body is blue (the color grey in greyhounds is referred to as blue) with a few faint blue fawn stripes. A lot of people say that blue dogs have a lot of quirks. I don't find that to be true with her, she's a pretty normal greyhound in most respects. Still, she has one quirk that baffles me.


I should mention that greyhounds are sighthounds. That means that they hunt by sight and not by scent. Sometimes I suspect that Blue didn't get that memo. She seems determined to be a bloodhound, following the instincts of her nose instead of those from her eyes.


Blueberry has to have a certain "stink" to her at all times. She is very particular about it being just so. If it starts to wane, I will often catch her in the bathroom doing this crazy little roll and dance with the bath mat. She'll cock her head and push her body along across the bath mat, her back arched up and doing a crazy dog track like nobody's business. Normally she is very elegant and refined, but in this stink-acquiring moment, she throws all caution to the wind and attacks it with abandon.

It's not just our bath mat that gets the crazy roll treatment, however. After a bath, she goes crazy, rolling against the couch, the dog beds, the carpet, our bed and anything else she can rub up against. Most dogs have the post bath zoomies, but she has perfected it to a hilarious art form. I might also mention that Blueberry seems to live to make us laugh. I have no doubt that if she were human, she'd be doing stand up comedy that everyone would flock to see. The look on her face when you start laughing makes me think that she is laughing along with you. So, when we start laughing during this routine, she really throws herself into it. It doesn't have to be in the house, either. She will do it outside in the yard or even on a walk if she finds a particularly intoxicating aroma. It doesn't matter if she's in the finest collar she owns, when the urge hits, she has to follow it.

I really wish I knew what was so compelling about getting certain odors around her neck that was so motivating for her. It's just one of the things that remains an enigma about our charming girl. I guess we'll just have to be content with watching the show. Hopefully the bath that's planned for Saturday won't send her completely over the edge.