Getting Old Might Have Its Perks

It has been bitterly cold here this week.  It's been so cold your breath freezes in the air and shatters like glass.  The weather men have been warning people not to go out if they don't have to.  Of course, we do have to venture out several times a day to take the dogs out to the bathroom and the dogs really aren't that thrilled with the arrangement.

The girls each have their own way of dealing with the cold.   Bunny runs and jumps around, keeping her circulation going, although also occasionally forgetting to actually do what she's out there to do.  Blueberry is very matter of fact about it, getting the job done and then whining pitifully at the gate.  The one I'm really worried about though, is Lilac. 

Since her incident in September when I thought she was dying, she's been a bit weaker in the back end.  It hasn't impeded her too much, but I've noticed that she's a bit slower getting up and down.  I don't believe that Mr. Taleteller or I have ever had a dog as old as she is.  She'll be fifteen this year and that's pretty advanced for a greyhound.  The cold seems to have been really tough on her, though.  Her feet are very sensitive because of the SLO and it's so cold that none of the girls want to have their feet on the ground outside, so I imagine it's worse for her.  So, I've tried to be understanding when she comes to me at odd times, wanting to go out.  I think it's tough for her to concentrate on going outside in the cold and also a little treacherous.

Today as I sat inside with them, enjoying the last week of my break and being happy for my warm house, I began to notice  a smell that dog owners know well.  I looked around.  None of the girls had gotten up in over an hour.  Lilac was comfortable on the big orthopedic bed in her purple jammies.  Blueberry had her nest of beds arranged just the way she liked them and Bunny was curled up against me on the couch.  None of them had gotten up in over an hour, so nobody could  have left any sort of surprise on the floor.

I looked around at each of them, though, just to be sure, but they were all busy doing what greyhounds do best -- napping.  I went back to chatting with my friend on the computer, figuring it was just gas.  Over the next hour, my eyes began to water as this gas attack continued.  I knew that nobody had eaten anything unusual that should have produced this noxious odor, but I feared that men in hazmat suits were going to be knocking on the door at any minute to escort us out into the cold.  I thought I might have to take some sort of drastic measure, but I'm pretty sure that any of the solutions I could have come up with would be illegal.

For some reason, as another gag-inducing wave of nausea overtook me, I glanced over at Lilac.  Her jammies had hitched up a bit as she'd stretched and there it sat!  A turdlet with enough noxious power to fell even Superman, had he been in the area to help.  I rushed to the bathroom to get toilet paper and dispose of the offending lump, which was surprisingly small for the amount of stink it produced.  Sure enough, as I was picking it up, she had to roll over and smoosh just a tiny bit of it in the back of her jammies as she turned to investigate what I was doing back there.  So, I go back to the bathroom for more toilet paper, pick up the rest and flush it.  Then I return to take off her jammies to throw them in the wash. 

After this incident, I decided that I had to alter things outside for her a bit.  While I put the two hooligans in the dog pen, I walked Lilac by herself in the snow and gave her the chance to get her potty break over quickly and get back inside faster.  She seemed pretty pleased with herself as we walked past the dog pen and Bunny and Blueberry stood inside staring at her.  I began to wonder if it could be possible that she orchestrated the whole thing for preferential treatment.

Once back inside, she seemed put out that I hadn't gotten the food ready while we were outside at the same time.  Fortunately, she didn't see fit to bark at me about it this time and let me know that I wasn't moving fast enough.  She did forgive me when I put a little bit of leftover chicken in with the kibble, though.  I guess old age does have to have a few privileges, and honestly, I'm glad to have her here so that we can give them to her.  I'll just hope that she doesn't grace our presence with any more turdlets, fresh or recycled.

The Lonely Turdlet

If you are a dog owner, you have probably accepted the fact that I am about to impart. If you're not a dog owner, this may or may not shock you.  It's one of the few ugly facts of dog ownership that we often would rather not think about or discuss, however, it does exist.  If you are at all squeamish about discussions of poop, this blog post may not be for you.  I wish that I could say that the names have been changed to protect the innocent, but nobody would believe that.  Sometimes, dogs do things with poop that gross us humans out, for whatever reasons they have. 

The simple truth is that dogs and people have a love/hate relationship with poop.  If you are in a hurry to go somewhere, it's a guarantee that your dog will have to make endless circles and sniff every viable blade of grass before deciding to make a deposit.  If it is cold outside, your dog will will make you walk all the way to the outside edge of town, ensuring you will lose a toe or finger to frostbite, before finally lightening their load.  Those things are bearable, however, and really, just a minor inconvenience that you have to endure when you share your life with dogs.  We've all experienced these things from time to time, I'm sure.

Now that it's getting colder outside, my husband has been taking the hounds outside to the turn out pen and coming back inside to get their breakfast ready, leaving them to take care of their business in privacy and saving himself from the brisk mornings.  That's not unusual for many people, I suspect.  It does lead into what happened the other morning however. 

I may have mentioned before that Lilac is a master thief.  Not only is she quite accomplished at thievery, she is shameless about it as well.  Part of why she's so successful at it is because she has mastered the maneuver of picking things up on the sly while also keeping a completely nonchalant face.  She is also extremely quick, especially for a dog of fourteen years old.  Few people who meet her would guess that she is that old.  The fact that she is adept at thievery is important to the rest of the story.

My husband often wakes up and takes the dogs out before I get up in the morning, more often than usual lately since Lilac seems to feel that we should all be up a good hour before the crack of dawn.  Most mornings I sleep through this, or at least doze through it until the alarm clock goes off.  The other morning, however, I was woken by a rather high-pitched scream from my husband.  I sat up in bed and called out, asking if he was okay.  I should mention that my husband is not prone to screaming, he's generally very calm in almost all situations unless he's laughing over somethng he finds funny.  In true husband fashion, he didn't reply, but I heard grumbling and stomping coming from the kitchen.  I took the grumbling to mean that it was probably nothing serious and crawled back under the blankets. 

When I got up a short time later, I asked my husband what had transpired.  He glowered at me and snorted.  I knew then that something good had happened and that I was probably lucky that he had to deal with it instead of me.  No doubt that would have made it much less humorous for me.

Husband:  She's your dog!

Me:  Who?  What happened?

Husband:  Lilac!  You won't believe it!

Me:  I'm never going to get the chance, apparently...

Husband:  She snuck a turd inside!

Me:  What?!  You mean she didn't want to go outside in the cold?  Where did she go?  Did you get it all cleaned up?

Husband:  No, she went outside!

Me:  (confused)  Well, then...

Husband:  She scooped up a turdlet in her mouth and dropped it in the kitchen!  Right at my feet!

Me:  (lost somewhere between horror over a turd in the house brought inside with the dog's mouth and amusement over the thought of my husband screaming over the turd on the floor)  You didn't see it in her mouth outside?  How did she get it all the way into the house?

Husband:  (disgruntled)  No, I didn't see it in her mouth!  She was just standing there waiting to come in the house.  Blueberry and Bunny were dancing around and I had to watch them!  She just carried it in and dropped it in the floor before walking into the living room!

Me:  That is gross!

Husband:  No kidding!

Lilac of course was comfortably sleeping on her bed, blissfully unaware.  Well, I hope she was!  She did have a Mona Lisa smile on her lips, and I could have sworn I saw an ear twitch.  Why she decided to bring it back into the house escapes me.  I have a few theories, but I'd really rather not ponder them.  I hope it was just that she likes to keep us on our toes and wondering about what she could be up to.  Sometimes living here is like living in the Bermuda Triangle.