Never Quite As Planned

I was going to take a photo to prove how well-furred Herbie's hind end is. When I try and take a front-end photo of him, all I ever get is a rear view, as he runs away, so this should have been easy. But no, Holly runs in front. Then he follows me round with the camera, blinking sleepily into the lens.

Then I remind him he was 8 and a third yesterday! He remembers, and runs upstairs.

Happy 4th Gotcha Day

It's been just over four years now since I went to see a tiger-striped greyhound standing in a paddock at his foster-parents' house. He was skinny, and nervous, but when they let him loose, he went flying round the field, then rolled onto the ground in front of me and waved his legs in the air. "Oh," said his foster parents, "he's never done that before." He was meant to come to me, and he knew it long before I realised.

Herbie was in poor shape - he'd been found on the roof of some sheds on an industrial estate, 12 feet up, unable to jump down. He'd been left on a sheet-metal roof, so he had third degree burns on all four feet, he was dehydrated, and close to death. He wasn't supposed to have survived, but somehow he did. I realise now he had an incredible will to live, and I'm seeing it for myself every day. He was skinny when found, six kilos under his racing weight (which is already light) and minus a lot of his fur. His foster parents warned me he might always have a bald bum.

Now old Fuzzybum is on my bed, after a large meal and a gentle potter in the sunshine. The bad days left their legacy and it seems particularly cruel that he won't live to be the oldest greyhound in the world. But I'm glad we had these four years.

The Day After Reiki

SO tired. I did Reiki 1 in York yesterday, a day of concentrating, and driving, and being with strangers, and today I can hardly move. The moral of the story is, book a day or two off work after a course. It was an amazing day - such an odd sensation, to feel your palms prickling as you run your hands over a stranger's aura. An interesting group of people, all there for different reasons - and all of us trying not to drop each other's heads back onto the therapy table...

I hate being away from Herbie for a day, when I'm already at work during the week, but my sister came and dog-sat, and fed them her left-over moussaka and gave long ear scritches. I hope I learned something that can help Herbie.

Pant Pant Pant

Too hot. Heat seems to make Herbie's lumps grow, so he looks worse this week. I think the extra energy he uses to stay cool drains him - either that or heat makes cancer cells grow faster. Tomorrow I'm going to buy him a fan. He's been resisting ice packs, and won't drink water if it's got ice cubes in.

I used to love hot weather, but having dogs changed that. It changes so many things, and that's only a minor one. We've all been sitting on the concrete driveway, in the shade of the house, where the concrete is cool. The neighbours must think I'm mad, but there's no breeze in the back garden, surrounded by high fences and bushes.

Work is going to be grim tomorrow - no air-con, very little ventilation - I'm dreading it. I can't be the only one contemplating a rain-dance.

Don't Like Beans

... at least, I assume that's what Herbie's trying to tell me. There I am, doing my bit for the global food crisis, growing a few bean plants, and can I get them to stay in the ground? Can I heck.

But Herbie is unrepentant.

Holly has checked out the situation, but doesn't see what the fuss is about.

Herbie is quite amused by it all.

I am tired. I went to London yesterday, for a friend's wedding, and three separate tube lines were closed for maintenance. King's Cross resembled a scene from a disaster movie. I think I've done cities for this year.

Lumpy and Snotty

... a couple of the dwarves that didn't make it into Snow White's top seven. I've not been giving Herbie garlic capsules all week, on the basis that if garlic can make dogs anaemic, I should give him time off now and again. As a result his nose is all crusty and patchy.

I was going to be on a reiki course all day today, but it was cancelled at the last minute. Instead, I've done nothing all day, and I'm about to go and watch junk TV all evening. (I'm sorry, but Midsummer Murders is comfort TV - I know it's untrue to life and rots your brain, and is probably about to cause the collapse of western civilisation as we know it, but I'm going to watch it anyway. If Holly will let me.)

Working 9 to 5

... what a way to make a living. I can't believe it's been three months since I started work again, terrified that the moment I put on that dark suit again, and headed out the door, Herbie would give up the ghost. He's still here, and I'm the one that's fading fast. I'm only on a six-month contract, and it's coming up to the time when you start wondering if it's time to look around again. There is a mega-reshuffle going on at work, so do I stay in the hope that I get a good job in the new structure, or... I like the people here, but there's a new boss due...hmm... decision postponed for a week or two.

I started this blog when I hated my old job, and realised that all I really wanted in life was to be At Home With Herbie. Economically, however, if that home is to be something with walls and a roof, and not a caravan, I can't stay home for ever. ( Though I've been looking at ruins in Portugal, thinking, I could learn Portuguese, and roof-tiling, and plumbing, and...)

Still, if it comes to people putting their brave pants on, I could learn a lesson or two from the latest fund-raising effort at Greyhound Gap - spending a night in the horribly haunted Derby Gaol. If they can face their worst fears, maybe it's time to face mine (not having indoor plumbing or heating for any length of time). There are worse things in life than a composting toilet. (The ones at Aysgarth Falls in the Yorkshire Dales have a warning on one door: Extra Wide Seat - Children May Need Supervision. I guess someone found that out the hard way.)

Is He Mobile?

A moment of misunderstanding with a friend. I was explaining to her that my father visited at lunchtimes, and would take the dogs for a walk if they wanted to go. "Oh," she said, "is he mobile?" "Yes," I said, "he's only 72, he can still get about fine." Laughter at the other end. "Herbie, I meant." Yes, he's still mobile. It may not seem that way from photos, since they almost all show him lying down (normal position for greyhounds) but Herbie does actually manage a couple of 45-minute walks a day.

He's a bit saggy from the prednisone - seen from above, he's wasp-waisted - and he's got the equivalent of a squashed tennis ball under his jaw. Which is why I asked the Harry Edwards sanctuary to send him healing. It's not as if anything else is working now.

Dem Bones, Dem Bones

...dem half-chewed messy leg bones - or how to keep a pair of dogs very happy. There's only one butcher, about 20 miles away, that will give you huge lumps of sawn-off cow leg to take away, everyone else mutters about EC regulations, so yesterday I had to make the trek past all the obstacles that clog our roads in summer. The things we do for love.

One person who must be celebrating at the moment is Raven and Cypher's person. Raven has come through her bone marrow transplant and is now lymphoma-free! The Australians are way ahead of us on this - it wasn't ever mentioned as an option here, and Herbie went to Cambridge Vet School for first diagnosis, one of the top places for cancer treatment. I probably couldn't have afforded it, even with insurance, but maybe one day it will become more available. Or maybe we'll find out why lymphoma is so common in dogs, and be able to avoid it.

I think Holly's jaw has become permanently stretched from yesterday's bones.

An Afternoon at Jerry Green

There's a Jerry Green sanctuary at Thirsk, not far from us, and we went along this afternoon for their annual dog show. I always take family, so they can talk me out of coming home with a wonky dog or three. Today's favourite "wonky dog" was Grace, a black and white lurcher bitch, minus most of her tail, and with a sore nose from pushing her face through the wire. Unfortunately the card on her run says she doesn't get on well with other dogs, and needs to be homed as an only dog. Oh well.

I won some dog treats and a dog frisbee in their tombola, and we managed (just) not to be rained on, so it was a good afternoon. The thing that always makes me sad about lurchers and greyhounds in rescues is that they have such thin, pipe-cleaner-y tails. Once they've been in a home for a while, their tails build up muscles from wagging. You can see immediately if a sighthound has had much of a life.

Herbie picked up remarkably on Monday, with the cooler weather, and ran away when I tried to take him to the vets. He's done this before, and I need to learn to distinguish between "I'm hot, leave me alone" and "I'm dying here". In Terry Pratchett's novels, one of the three witches was found lying with a sign pinned to her chest saying "I ATEN'T DEAD" (for when she'd gone on her mental travels, borrowing animals' minds), and if Herbie could write I'm sure he'd have something similar. Though possibly better spelled - he's a fastidious dog.

Churchill's Motto

During the Second World War, Churchill's motto was, apparently, "KBO - Keep Buggering On." That pretty much sums up where I'm at, just now. Herbie seems more subdued, so I'm taking him to the vets tomorrow for painkillers. He's not really interested in being patted, now that the nodes in his shoulders are so big, and I'm beginning to wonder if he's more uncomfortable than he's letting on.

He's still wanting food (and how), still wanting walks, and will stand on your head to get at a fresh bone, but even so, I have a faint sense that he is slowly, imperceptibly slipping away.

Holly is trying to roast herself to a crisp in the front garden, because I'm using the strimmer in the back garden. What with one thing and another, the wild patch at the back has grown a whole lot wilder, and I know I've got some redcurrant bushes in there somewhere...

Angel Dog Maggie

Sad news from Emily: Maggie has gone. So brave, and strong for so long. No more words, but my thoughts are with the humans and dogs who knew her.

Wow, Garlic Works

The nose situtation is better, after only a week. Not perfect, but better, and no garlic smells. I'm not sure he should have 1,000mg a day for long periods, but I'll keep going for now. It's also supposed to help keep fleas away. He's become very pill-shy, he's had to have so many during his months of chemo, but soft capsules wrapped in ham can still get past his pill-detector. All I'm giving him at the moment is garlic and a daily selenium pill (50mcg), plus a 500mg arginine capsule opened up and sprinkled on his food. I've tested the arginine, and it doesn't taste of anything, so it hasn't put him off his food. It's one of the key ingredients in Hills' canine cancer tinned food, and is supposed to have some effect. The oncologist said cancer fed on amino acids from the dog's muscles, so supplements shouldn't harm the dog or feed the cancer... not sure how that works....

Huge scare from Holly on Friday night, when she chased a rabbit and overheated. She staggered back to me, then keeled over. It was a muggy, humid evening, warm even at half past seven, and we were a mile from the road. She just lay in a patch of ground elder, her tongue hanging onto the ground, her breath rasping. I carried her back to the road (with some difficulty, and many stops for breath) at which point she decided she could plod the last 200 yards home. It's taught me not to let her off lead in hot weather. She has no internal "hmm, best not, eh?" mechanism to tell her to slow down.

So, still here, but I'm worried about Emily over at Life with the Dogs...

Snot Fair

I am trying to get Herbie's nasal problem under control, but it's pretty much like King Canute telling the North Sea to back up a bit. Ever since he stopped chemo, the crusty nose thing has been happening. Last week, he rubbed his nose so hard on the bed, he made it bleed. This morning, I found him trying to dislodge bogies onto the ironing pile. Sigh.

The vet suggested Vaseline on his nose, and I've added de-odorised garlic capsules to his diet. Someone had a miracle sinus cure with their whippet and garlic capsules, but I've no idea how much to give a Herbie-sized dog. Is 1000mg a day a lot? Well, he's still here, still snotty, so it's not a lethal dose. I am glad he's still with me, and glad his histiocytoma's cleared up, but I wish he were well.

And Now We Is Cold...

Last week, 8 a.m., T-shirt and flip-flops. This week, long-sleeved T-shirt, fleece, waterproof jacket and walking boots. A typical English spring.

It's been a sad weekend. My father's cat, Henry Kitten (he never grew very big) went AWOL during the week. He was of feral stock, and was rounded up along with his mother by the Cats Protection League at a local feed mill, as part of a trap-neuter-release programme. When he didn't come back home on Sunday, we all feared he'd heard the call of the wild and answered it. Yesterday, coming back from an outing with the dogs, I spotted a black body on the verge, a couple of hundred yards from my father's house. I went to fetch Dad, and it looks very much like Henry. Unfortunately he looks to have hit a car head-on.

Then (big mistake) I read the last chapters of Merle's Door, by Ted Kerasote. It's a wonderful book, about a man who tries to put himself in his dog's shoes, and let his dog have some choices about the way he lives. The two of them lived in a national park, and spent their days out in the wilderness - but the ending is a three-hanky job.

As a result, I've spent today fussing over Herbie. First, I thought I'd found a new tumour in his stomach - I'd actually found the end of one of his ribs. They're all knobbly at the end, and so are Holly's - it's nothing new. Then I went to clean his ears out, and found that they were black inside. Not just dark brown wax, but deep charcoal black. I wondered if this was one of those symptoms of cancer that no one talks about, because it's too much of a bad sign. Maybe his brain was starting to rot and leaking out through his ears.

Then I remembered I'd repotted a few plants yesterday, and put the spent compost on one of the flowerbeds. Herbie had had a really good dig, and redistributed it all. When greyhounds fold their ears back, the ear canal is wide open. He didn't have a brain tumour, he had compost in his ears. Only person with a leaking brain round here is me. Very glad I didn't call the vet.

We Is Hot

Lots of outside time, but the garden is south-facing, and just too hot in the afternoon. Herbie doesn't deal well with heat, so he's back in his usual spot, on my bed.

Big things are happening over at Emily and Maggie's - Maggie is taking part in a trial of a new drug. Here's hoping this one turns out to be more effective than some of the other things I know Maggie's tried.



Oh, and Holly's just told me she never gets in the blog:

Relaxing Bank Holiday

We've been staying home. No DIY, no visits to superstores, and only a couple of brief visits to relatives. Yesterday we were pretty much confined to quarters by the annual Tractor Run for charity. All winter, people have been tinkering with their vintage Massey Fergussons in preparation, and yesterday was the big day. I live right by the start of the run, and a couple of hundred vintage tractors chugging in a 20-mile circuit round your village means you have to leave early, and stay out till dark - or stay home.

Herbie has had his first trip to the vet in over four months. He has a histiocytoma on his leg. He had one a couple of years ago, and I didn't think you could get them twice, but those good folks on Greytalk have assured me that lighting does strike more than once . The vet was pleased with how well he was looking. "I was dreading this visit, when I saw your name on the list. I thought it was going to be one of those difficult ones. But he's kept the weight on really well." I think that might be code for "Your dog is fat".

There was an elderly man in the waiting room, dogless, trying not to cry, and when he collected his drooping, bleary-eyed dachshund, I could see why. Daxis aren't supposed to be floppy like that. I wanted him and his dog to be OK, but you could tell the vet had said "There's nothing else we can do." It's the worst thing, not having any hope. I am currently hoping Herbie outlives his histiocytoma - they take at least six weeks to clear up - but I have absolutely nothing to base that optimism on.

Today we have mostly...

... been getting wet. Now it is thundering, and Herbie is panting under my desk. Holly is snoring in her own bed, completely unperturbed. There is nothing that will fix Herbie's fear of thunder, not even hiding in the wardrobe, or cheese. Cheese will compensate for most things in life, but not this.

I have some phosphorus homeopathic spray to spray on his gums, and I learned T-Touch for situations like this, but these days, I've given up. I just go and get on with whatever I'm doing, and he can do what he likes. At the moment, he's drooling on my left foot.

Nodal Inflation.

Just how big can lymph nodes get before they explode or something? Your whole life, you never see a lymph node from one year to the next, then half a dozen come along at once...

Oh, and I meant to mention this article last week: a Radio 4 newsreader has a rare type of lymphoma. It's odd, his first symptoms were the same as Herbie's - a perpetually snotty nose. With Herbie, it wasn't until he started chemo that it went away. Now it's back, but I know it's not a cold, it's part of the lymphoma territory.

The other interesting thing was the man getting odd sensations in his fingers and toes. Herbie's been stumbling occasionally, always the back left foot, for no apparent reason. He'll be trotting along happily, then just miss a beat. After reading the article, I realise it's part of the illness too. The things you learn. That you never intended to know about.

Eight Today!

Herbie, not me. I never thought I would see this day - it was about this time last year when his lymph nodes came up, and the vet said, "Well, it could be his teeth, but I hate to say this, it could be something else..." In the autumn, my whole focus was on Christmas, if only we could make it till then. After Christmas, when the chemo stopped having any effect, I started really to take one day at a time... his eighth birthday was beyond imagining.

He's had some tinned salmon, and a new toy. This morning, the gods of dog-birthdays produced a black and white cat that ran straight towards him instead of away. Herbie sprang to life, the cat realised his mistake and shinned up the nearest tree, and Herbie stood under the tree, wagging his tail, delighted that he almost got a cat for his birthday.

Incidentally, apologies for the time-lag in moderating comments, and I think I accidentally deleted a couple - I've been spammed by some "Make $$$ at home" blogger, or bloggers, who are so desperate for links they're posting spam comments, or whatever the correct terminology is. The only way to keep them out seems to be to set the comments field to "Moderate". I may go back to instant commenting later, once the splogs have gone away :-)

I must post more often - the trouble with these job things is, they suck all your time away. I haven't forgotten everyone, I'm just scrabbling for time to log on.

Made it through!

End of the first week of a new job, and I'm still alive, and more importantly, the dogs are still here. On Tuesday Herbie sicked up grass all over my duvet, so I came home to dried-up green goo all over the bed, and on Wednesday Holly shredded newspaper, but today Dad left the dogs most of a dish of moussaka, so this evening they were happy, and barrel-shaped.

Herbie's nodes are huge, and I keep asking myself, how can he survive? The oncologist warned me this would happen, but he said timings are anyone's guess. I've just found out about Cole, and my thoughts are with her family at this sad time.

Surviving Separation Anxiety

First day in the new job, and I managed (just) to survive without the dogs all day. My father comes up at lunchtime to let them out. He came twice today - the first time, it was beginning to snow, and both dogs looked out of the front door, then bolted upstairs and refused to come off their beds. Mid-afternoon he tried again, this time with a packet of tongue in his pocket, and was able to lure them out and slam the front door shut.

The new job seems fine, the people are lovely, so fingers crossed.

Dumbstruck Wednesday

... but not for long. Today was going to be a day for fluffy photos of well-chewed Easter chickies, or the strange crop-circle effect Holly's been having on the lawn, but instead I've found a soap-box and fully intend to stand on it.

Dogs Today magazine has just published a two-page rant about greyhounds, illustrated with a drawing of a young boy saying "Daddy, what's a greyhound?" The article advocates treating all greyhounds as livestock, and then wiping the breed out, because they are apparently the biggest killers of other animals in the known universe, and their mere presence on this earth offends the writer of the article. Even the tabloid press, writing of children killed by Rottweilers, haven't called for all Rottweilers to be euthanased, but only to be kept under control. It's therefore particularly alarming to see a vet, who in theory should be able to keep a clear head, calling for a breed to be wiped out just because she's had a bad day at the office.

The editor of the magazine has been swift to disown the vet's views, and says she didn't read the article before it went to print. Oh-kayyy. Nice to see responsible journalism is alive and well... any chance of the magazine trying to undo any of the damage it's just caused? The irony is, the first half of the magazine is full of the plight of Staffies, abandoned in their thousands for being a bull breed, the victim of media scare stories.

OK, I'm going to take a lot of deep breaths now, and try and take up some form of meditation.

Food Storage - and Courage

If anyone has run out of things to feel guilty about, here's a new one - food storage. Apparently cancer can be caused by rancid oils in dog kibble, and keeping a bag of kibble open for more than a week is A Bad Thing.

Leaping ahead on the courage front is Raven, a border collie with lymphoma, who is heading for a bone marrow transplant. It's not something that's been done much, if at all, in the UK, I suspect on cost grounds, and it's still unusual in the US. It's now a relatively normal treatment for humans, but Raven's still something of a pioneer. My thoughts are with her family.

A White Easter

We had snow all four days of the Easter break, and it's snowing again now. OK, that's enough snow, I'm bored now. And there's a biting cold wind. I met my most of my regular dog-walkers this morning, all elderly gentlemen, all of them mopping streaming eyes with large handkerchiefs. And they all dabbed at their face and said "Bit nippy, eh?" as I passed. I think there's a script that gets handed out the night before, and I'm the only one who doesn't get a copy. But I've got some big checked cotton hankies, and everything...

The dogs are resting, exhausted by their Chirpy Chicks. I went out to Tesco's this morning and bought them each a reduced-price Easter chicky that makes near-realistic cheeping noises. Herbie's is fine, but soggy; Holly's now has no cheep and is minus a foot.

I don't have a start date yet for the new job, but I'm working my way through the maze of bureaucracy that attends such things.

Changes Afoot

Herbie is still here, still wanting food and walks, and still with the energy to be naughty. On Saturday, my sister had spent much of the morning planting up tubs and re-arranging her flower-beds. We went in for a cup of coffee, leaving the door open for the dogs, but Holly came in to observe us for signs of biscuits. Ten minutes later Herbie trotted up, very pleased with himself, and proceeded to kill a toy owl for a while.

I went to shut the door - and discovered he'd undone a morning's work. My sister looks on her plants as precious babies, so this was a bit of a blow. "What was he thinking?" she asked. (Umm... "Remove phlox? Check. Take bulbs out of tubs? Check. Spread potting compost across the drive? Check. Ha, my work here is done." Something like that.) It was a difficult moment, because while I commiserated with my sister, secretly I was happy he still felt like getting up to mischief.

When we went to see the oncologist, back at the begining of January, and he told me that there was no point in continuing with treatment that wasn't working, Herbie was sniffing through his waste-bin and then scouting along the work surfaces - the vet's had a row of what looked like kitchen units, and to Herbie that means food. The vet looked at Herbie and said, "You know, I get dogs in here that can barely stand, barely lift their heads." I think he meant, he's not ready to go yet. Herbie now is getting lumpier and lumpier, but he still acts like a normal dog in so many ways.

This is all a roundabout way of saying, I don't want to go back to work, but I have to. I haven't worked in over a year now, and the financial pressures have increased to a point where I have to. I've accepted a job in York, and will start soon, though the date is still to be agreed. Part of me feels that to go back is to invite instant doom upon Herbie, and that somehow he has only survived so long because I've been at home. At the same time, I can see how arrogant and irrational that sounds - he might do a whole lot better if he can kip in peace all day. I just don't know, but I do know it's time to do something about my finances. One day, I will be able to work from home, and never have this dilemma again, but this year, I need to take action. Despite all the stress and angst, it's been a great year being At Home With Herbie, and I hate to leave him with only a lunchtime walk from my father. (Good job my father doesn't read blogs!)

A Memorable Day

I have an award! Thank you Fiona!

Now I need to do some serious thinking about who to send one to - this may take all weekend.

It's also been a memorable day because Herbie had his annual bath. (I'm saving Holly till tomorrow.) Greyhounds have very fine short fur with little natural oil, so they tend not to smell "doggy", but I bathe them every spring whether they need it or not.

Holly is a roller (fox poo, bird droppings, pond weed, you name it) so has had many, many baths in her short life. Herbie is a fastidious creature who spends a fair amount of time grooming himself, so I don't have to. I thought my bottle of "Puppy and Kitten Shampoo" would last a liefetime, until Holly arrived to tell me different.

Wordless Wednesday

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Confined to Quarters

Not only is the weather lousy, but Herbie has holed one of his pads, and is limping horribly. Yesterday, Holly spotted a rabbit and took off, up the side of a quarry, and with barely a moment's hesitation, Herbie followed. He seemed a bit stiff on the way home, but it was only in the evening, when he didn't want to play tickling games, that I realised something was wrong. One of the pads on his front left foot is completely raw, and he won't wear his nice black neoprene boot. That's the trouble with velcro straps, even a Herbie can undo them.

Nevertheless, he stayed up late to watch Crufts (he normally puts himself to bed around 8!). For once, the BBC commentators were spot on, and the Giant Schnauzer did take Best in Show. I think it showed real confidence on the part of the owner, to win Best of Breed three years in a row, and still come back in the hope of going higher. All in all, a great evening of dog TV!

So Lumpy

It's difficult to get a good picture of just how lumpy Herbie's neck is, because he spends vast amounts of time at the greyhound's favourite pastime - sleeping. Suffice it to say, his neck isn't supposed to look like that.

Early Spring

At the end of February, the daffodils are already opening. In North Yorkshire. This is at least a month early. Nearby, in Farndale, they run daffodil tours in April, to see the massed banks of yellow; either there'll be some hasty re-scheduling, or the coach tours will be looking at spent bulbs.

As is often the way round here, no sooner has a flower opened, than the moles try and dig it up. My garden is one of the few mole-free areas, mainly because Holly likes to widdle down the centre of mole-hills. She can hardly bear to pass one by without squatting over it, and given the scorch-marks on the lawn, I can't imagine her wee is doing the moles any good.

Still thinking about Yogi. There was a post on DogPages recently, about the lengths we go to for our dogs, and one person wrote: "If love could have saved her, she would have lived for ever."

Wordless Wednesday

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Run Free, Yogi

Yogi lost his battle with gastro-intestinal lymphoma today. He had been doing well, so it came as a real shock to me, and now I have a soggy keyboard, but I had to post his picture, to say run free, little one, you are not forgotten. My thoughts are with Fiona and the rest of his family.

Idling through the hours

Another site I wish I hadn't found:

http://dailypuppy.com/

I may not spend much time updating my blog, but I sure know how to waste time online... The dogs are both snoozing. Holly has pulled the duvet half-way off the bed and is nesting under it, in the sort of tent we used to construct as children. Herbie has all my pillows and his own duvet, pulled into a ring doughnut shape. He's lumpy, but otherwise in good spirits.

Holly is turning into a hippo, because she won't go on walks without Herbie, and he doesn't want to go more than half an hour, fairly slowly. If I take Holly on her own, she digs her heels in because I've obviously forgotten Herb, and we must return to the house immediately to fetch him. If I try and drag her, she blocks me with her body, trying to herd me back. It's sweet, but she's not getting enough exercise. I'm currently devising cunning plans, many of them involving chicken on a piece of string. Somehow, I need to lure her away from Herbie for a while.

Must Stop Counting

It's becoming an unhealthy habit, this obsessive calendar-marking, but... Herbie was 7 and five-sixths on Saturday. Holly, incidentally, was 3 and five-twelfths; by some strange coincidence, they were both born on the 16th of the month. I didn't know either of their birthdays when I adopted them. For Holly, I had to ring up the Irish Coursing Club in Ireland with her ear-marks, since she wasn't on Greyhound Data.

It's also been 16 days since Dennis the greyhound ran off after a traffic accident. There have been no sightings for a couple of weeks, so it's not looking good. We've had a couple of very cold nights, and if he didn't manage to get his muzzle off, there'll be little chance of him surviving this long. If he's passed, then run free, Dennis, and if he hasn't, then stop mucking about and head for the nearest friendly-smelling house!

We've had freezing fog all day today, and the spider webs on the bushes are still thick with ice. Like spiders, we've been stuck in our web all day today. Weirdly, Herbie's lumps seem to go down in really cold weather, and come up again in warmer weather (I'm talking 10 degrees C here). There must be some scientific explanation, but for the moment, I'm darned if I know.

Wordless Wednesday

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It Must Be Spring...

... the crocuses have been out for weeks, the daffodils are in bud, and both dogs are shedding more hair than seems caninely possible. One of my fellow dog-walkers tells me it's a sign of a long hot summer to come. His Jack Russell-God knows cross, Becks, is also shedding a month or so early, and he only ever does that when it's going to be a hot year.

This would be the penultimate week of Herbie's initial chemo protocol, back when he was diagnosed at the beginning of September. Then, 25 weeks seemed a very long time, and I wasn't at all sure he'd see the end of it. Now, his shaved patches are almost grown back, and with him going into moult (I know he's not a bird, but same thing) you can hardly see the wide patches on both flanks where the initial ultrasound was done.

I've found out he has T-cell lymphoma, which has a worse prognosis than B-cell. I'm glad, in many ways, I didn't know that last September. He might be Mr. Lumpy-Neck, but he's still with me.

Looking for Dennis

I took Holly on a long expedition this afternoon, to see if we could spot Dennis. He's a black greyhound who was in a car accident last weekend on the way back from a track. His trainer's vehicle was hit on the A64 near Copmanthorpe. Three greyhounds were killed outright, a vet had to put down a fourth at the scene, and Dennis ran off, still with his coat, lead and muzzle on.

The last item is a real worry - a greyhound can live off the land better than most, being able to catch rabbits and smaller wildlife, but with a muzzle on, his chances are not good. It wasn't until the end of the week that the notice went onto DogLost and some of the greyhound forums. He was spotted several miles away from the crash the day after, but since then, there's been nothing.

The area he was seen in, Sherburn-in-Elmet, has a fair amount of woodland close by, so he could be hiding locally. Greyhounds can cover a lot of ground, though, and by now he could be anywhere. It was worth a try, and we met some nice dog walkers who promised to keep an eye out. Other people on DogLost have already postered the area, so now all we can do is wait and pray for another sighting.

It's a long way from me, but Holly enjoyed her trip out. Herbie stayed home to guard his bone. I hope Dennis is still alive, and turns himself in.

Always Something New

I keep learning new things about lymphoma as I go along - today I found out about Lymphoma Heart Dogs, a Yahoo support group. It's only for dogs in chemotherapy, or who have been, or who are scheduled to start. I guess there's tension between those who believe in chemo and those who don't. Anyway, I've joined, to see what else I can find out.

I've also been reading about lymphoma in humans. I was told by the oncologist we saw at Cambridge Vet School that the typology of lymphoma was not as well understood in dogs as it is in humans. In humans, there is something called "indolent lymphoma", which is not particularly responsive to chemo, but equally, is not aggressive in its spread. I'm wondering if Herbie has something of the kind.

I'm back to chewing my nails, and reading things. It's a form of escape, always reading, but it's all I can really do right now. Herbie's skin has gone all loose, as if it's coming away from his body. He's lost most of his muscle mass from the prednisone, but up till now, his skin has stayed firm. Now, when I groom him, it's as if all his skin is just floating away from his bones, but there's nothing in between to anchor it.

Lenten Fare

It's pancake day today, and Lent starts tomorrow. Last chance to stuff my face before Easter. I'm giving up cheese and chocolate for Lent. Really I need to lose a stone; I've spent so much time cooking Herbie's meals that I lose impetus when it comes to my own. Net result has been lots of pasta and pizza, and now my jeans are squeaking at the seams. I'm hopeless at diets, but if I cut out the most fattening things, maybe... or maybe not. Whatever.

If I ate what the dogs ate (now) I might be a lot healthier. Maybe not Herbie's entirely carb-free diet (the sugar beet pulp gives him alarmingly black poos)(though it could be worse, I could have a squirrel in the house), but Holly's brown rice, cabbage/broccoli/green beans and chicken or beef mince, split into 3 meals a day... the Dog Diet. How Living Like Your Dog Will Change Your Life. I think I feel a best-seller coming on!

No News Is Good News

Nothing to report, guess I should have taken some photos of my bedside table! Herbie has been enjoying the sunshine here, running up and down, chasing a golden retriever we met in the woods. The owner said apologetically "He loves greyhounds, he won't leave them alone!" Nothing to apologise for, but I nearly acquired a golden who didn't want to get into his owners' greyhoundless car.

This would be Not-Chemo Week 22, and Herbie is doing fine, all things considered. It's getting a little harder to keep the weight on him, but he's eating well.

I did some snow-shopping this morning. There's meant to be a few inches on the way, and I'm just far enough off the gritter route for that to be uncomfortable. The freezer is full again, and all is well.

Rolling Along

Herbie still seems happy enough, which is a good thing. I steeled myself earlier this week to ring about cremation arrangements, and the details came through today from the Ashes Pet Crematorium. Ashes. In other parts of the country, they call them names like Sunnybank, or Lawnwood, but in Yorkshire, they tell it like it is.

Today, fortunately, he is still walking about, except when he's waving all four legs in the air.

Why, Lumpy Addams

Herbie's neck lumps are a lot bigger. It's hard to show in a photo; at first he looked as if he'd swallowed marbles, then golf-balls, now yo-yo's. This is not good.

The title comes from one of my favourite films, "The Addams Family", at the point where they're throwing a party for Uncle Fester. Morticia (Anjelica Huston) is greeting her guests, and spots a young hunchback dancing awkwardly with Wednesday (Christina Ricci). Morticia glides over and says "Why, Lumpy Addams! All growed up."

The film also contains one of my all-time favourite exchanges. A female guest, who has been charmed and flirted with, says playfully to Morticia: "These Addams men! Where do you find them?"

Morticia thinks for a moment, then murmurs "It has to be damp."

It certainly is today.

What do you tell your pets?

A man in Wales has been arrested after police put listening devices in house. Allegedly, he confessed to his cats that he had murdered his former partner.

If anyone bugs my house, boy am I going to be embarrassed. Not only do I use made-up words in a high-pitched voice ("my little snoofly-noofly") but everything normal tends to be said twice ("Was that yummy? Was that yummy?"). I also ask a lot of stupid questions ("Who's a little Holly, then?")

The thought that a human might be out there listening to this drivel fills me with horror, but it also raises some interesting questions. Will the cats get called as witnesses? Will animal communicators have to come to court to interpret? This could be history in the making...

7 3/4 today!

I don't normally celebrate the quarter-birthdays, but Herbie is 7 and three quarters today. But in dog years, every couple of human months is another year, so it's got to count for something, right? A pound of stewing steak is already on the stove for him.

Yesterday, we had an early night. On the North Yorkshire moors, electricity is a bit of an optional extra at this time of year, and at seven p.m. precisely, we lost ours. I have candles everywhere in case, and this year's main Christmas presents included:

1) A wind-up radio (power-cuts, for use during)
2) A portable camping stove and gas cylinder (ditto)

I just wasn't expecting to have to use them quite so soon! The wind-up radio worked beautifully (except that Radio 4 wanted to tell me about footballers in Africa... could we please have even one radio station with no football on?) An early night, two dogs snuggled up under their blankies, and me reading a book by torchlight while the wind howled outside.

On the subject of dog-parenting, I think it must depend on how old the dog is when he/she arrives - Herbie came to me aged four, with a full career behind him, so I never felt like a mother, more of a guardian to a Distinguished Otherworldly Guest. He had certain expectations, certain ways of doing things, and I adapted to those as much as he adapted to me. Holly arrived as an adolescent hooligan, a week short of her second birthday, and I think of her more as a child - but as she's not that well-behaved, definitely someone else's!

A New Week, A New Car Sponge

On Sunday, I had just finished washing the car when my sister dropped round, and what with one thing and another, I forgot to hide the car sponge. Over the years, Herbie's dismantled three or four, but I got wise to the habit, and started hiding the bucket and sponge.

Sunday afternoon, I realised my mistake - the living room was wall-to-wall foam chips. A whole year the little lad's been waiting for an opportunity; it's been a long time since I last forgot. Yesterday I went to Thirsk market and bought two car sponges, one for the car, and one for Herbie. At this stage in his life, if he wants car sponges...

The East Wind Doth Blow

...And we have had snow, and the dogs are loving it. There's something about powdery fresh snow underfoot that makes them want to run like crazy. We had an inch or so overnight, and the same again during the course of the morning. I'm glad, in a way, that Herbie didn't have chemo yesterday, because it means he's feeling well enough to enjoy a run.

Not Chemo Week 18

We've reached the end of the line, as far as chemo goes. The last time, Herbie was weak for a fortnight after the treatment, but the lumps only stayed down for a couple of days. I talked things through with the vet, and he felt that it's not a good sign that Herbie's not bouncing back from the chemo. There's a risk each time with the doxorubicin, and it's better that we leave him as he is now, happy and wanting walks, though with a lumpy neck, rather than making him downright miserable for little progress.

In theory, 80 per cent of dogs achieve remission with chemo - for the stats to work out, there has to be another 20 per cent, and unfortunately Herbie's in that group. So, all I can do now is feed him lumps of chicken, and enjoy the time we have left.

Home Again!

And very happy my little dog-family are still all here. Herbie found it tiring to be surrounded by lots of other people, and put himself to bed as soon as we got back. Holly, on the other hand, sniffed round the house, then went to the front door, as if to say "OK, you can take me back to the party now".

One of my brothers, who only sees her every 3 or 4 months, couldn't believe how sociable she's become. When she first came to me, all humans were dubious, except me (because I fed her). Slowly, she's come to accept other people, and now she ricochets off them like a skate-boarder off a ramp. We're still working on the "Humans are NOT launch-pads" command.

It's been a long year, but it was the year I found Graham's article in Dogs Today, the same week Herbie was diagnosed with lymphoma. Unfortunately, by the time the article appeared, Prince had gone to the bridge, but I was comforted to read about someone else's experience - I felt less alone. Since then, I've also found Fiona with Yogi's journey and this week, Emily, with Maggie (and the guide-dogs in training!) In the time Herbie's had lymphoma (first lumps appeared in April, but he was being treated for auto-immune disease until September), there have been two dogs I've known of, Daisy the boxer, and Peatie McSweetie the greyhound, who passed on within a few days of diagnosis, before they were able to start chemo. I've been very lucky, and I am so grateful for every day that there are fresh muddy footprints on my duvet cover.

I'm not making New Year's Resolutions this year, but I am making New Year wishes, for myself and for everyone else going through this: Stay lucky!

We've Eaten the Reindeer...

... and if we don't get our presents soon, we'll start in on Santa...

It's been another dark, foggy day, and the hounds are getting restless. They've piled all their bones and blankies into a heap, while planning their next move. I'm about to pack the car, so we can go to my Dad's for Christmas (only a couple of miles down the road, so not a big trip!)

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Mind You Get My Good Side...

Herbie won't let me take photos of the side with no whiskers. His left side still has whiskers, but he gets grumpy when I follow him round with a camera. It's also Chemo Week 16, and last week's dose really knocked him for six. His blood test today shows that everything looks fine, but he's definitely weaker. I'm hoping that next week's Christmas goose (old Scandinavian tradition) will perk him up!

Jack Frost...

... has stolen Herbie's whiskers - but only half of them! OK, I know it's the doxorubicin really, but I woke up this morning to find a couple of long black spikey whiskers on the duvet cover. I looked at Herb more closely, and the whiskers on the right side of his face have gone AWOL overnight.

I don't know why, I was expecting the hair loss to be more gradual. I know dogs don't lose hair anything like as much as humans do during chemo, but I somehow thought it would be more evenly spread. I'll see if I can get a picture of Half-Whiskered Herbie, but there's so little light today - hard frost and grey grey grey.

A Vaccine One Day?

In this week's Dog World, in the breed notes for Rhodesian Ridgebacks, there was mention of a vaccine being developed for lymphoma at Penn State University - I found details of the clinical trials here:

http://www.vet.upenn.edu/departments/csp/oncology/trials/cd40activatedbcells.html

I don't normally read the dog weeklies, that are all about show dogs, but a neighbour, who used to show labradors, mentioned the article, so I bought a copy. Apparently the dog who first trialled the vaccine has been cancer-free for three years now. I hope the trials are successful, and that the vaccine becomes available over here.

Chemo Week 15

The third dose of doxorubicin, and another visit to Mr. Lowe in Knaresborough. Herbie was un-nerved by it all, in part because another dog was protesting in the background the whole time. She was in for an operation, and not happy. I stayed with Herbie while he fought the anaesthetic, then waited until he was done. He's always very groggy, and keen to get back in the car.

While the results aren't as good as I'd hoped, the nodes aren't getting worse, and the popliteal nodes are down. The vet thinks that as long as the drugs are keeping the cancer in check, and he's not reacting badly to the drugs, it's worth continuing, so we're due back at the beginning of January.

When we got home, crisis! Herbie seemed to have dislocated a toe on his left back foot, and suddenly the nail was 90 degrees north of where it normally is, and his whole foot was splayed because a middle toe was lying sideways. I rang my usual vets, we rushed round, and as he jumped out of the car, he yelped. He'd relocated his own toe, he didn't want any more vets, thank you. I marched him in anyway, and the vet on duty said yeah, that happens sometimes, keep an eye on him in case.

Herbie's still coming round. It takes him all day to get over these treatments, and he's often a bit fragile the day after. I'm beginning to feel that way myself...

Random Weekend Musings

When you tag people, there's always people you miss - in this case Ritinrider, with her blog about scholarships (see, this is why I have dogs, I can afford training classes), and Erika the Wordsmith, who manages to write despite the efforts of the cutest toddler ever (and if he could be guaranteed to stay that size for ever, I would consider adding one to the menagerie!)

Here in the Northlands, we have managed to snatch a dry walk in between the rain and snow showers.

Tagged twice in one week

Well, tough, folks, you're only getting the one set of facts. Tagging may be a fun game to play, but there are limits! The man responsible for all these shenanigans lives here: http://grahamandprince.blogspot.com/

Rules:Link to the tagger and post these rules on your blog. Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird. Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1) I grew up in Bahrain, where we had street dogs, who lived partly in a nearby palm grove, partly in the shade of our garden wall. They all looked to be part saluki, but my favourite, Sandy, had a curled-over tail like a basenji. They got all our left-overs.

2) I used to work in a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye called Murder and Mayhem (and felt right at home!)

3) I've written to my MP a couple of times now about greyhound welfare, and it's a real thrill to get a thick envelope back with the House of Commons logo on it (OK, know that sounds weird).

4) Recently packed in a job in local government - once thought it was a good idea, but then I worked for this one council...

5) I adopted Herbie from Sister Lilley, who appears in the James Herriot books as Sister Rose -she's in her 90s now, and has been adopting dogs out for the last 60 years or more.

As for passing the tagging on, I was going to select some blogs at random by pressing the "next Blog" button, but the first one, although all in Spanish, had a picture of a lady with no clothes who appeared to have lost her contact lens, she was crawling across the floor looking for it, and that's when I thought the Naked People Who've Lost Things blog probably wasn't a good one to link to, so instead, it's the Dog Virgin, Nancy (and family), YM, KaylyRed and Nigel and Sola. Sorry guys, but it's a dog-tag-dog world out there...

Chemo Week 14

Phew. Made it past the 13-week unlucky stage. Herbie is feeling much better as we scale the steroids down, to the point of naughtiness. We don't have many house rules, but one of them is: No Bones Upstairs. All dog-food remains downstairs.

Herbie smuggled a bone past me and into his bed in my bedroom. Holly's only ever tried it the once, and was caught straight away, clonking it up the stairs. Herbie got away with it for some time, until I realised the funny noise I could hear was Herbie grinding a bone down.

I can't be cross with him, in fact I'm rather pleased he's feeling well enough to misbehave. On the larger doses of steroids, he stops being a dog and starts being an ornament that needs feeding. He just lies in a little heap all day and doesn't want walks or attention. Now he's being pesky, and it's a huge relief.

A little light reading

Yes, it's the Donoughue Report. The one that's supposed to have the welfare of greyhounds at its heart, the one that's supposed to stop the greyhound racing industry from going down the tubes because people keep moaning about all the dead greyhounds.

Unfortunately, it spends so much time reassuring the current club members they'll all still have jobs (and look, there's a corner office with a swivelly leather chair), that it fails to get to grips with some of the real issues. For example, the number of greyhounds that end up in dog pounds every year. If they banned every owner and trainer with a dog registered to them that wound up on the council's death row, there would be a big gap in the ranks. Not surprising they don't want to follow up that issue.

Then there's the weeny issue of no one actually having any authority over the independent tracks (I guess the name is a bit of a giveaway). Without legislation, no one will have. So, the ex-NGRC, henceforth the JFBC (Jobs For the Boys Club), think they could self-regulate, while someone else checks up on the independents. And that would be fine, as long as no one ever checks up on the JFBC. Because they've done such a fine job of policing themselves all these years. And promising to politicians that they will, and politicians being daft enough to believe them.

Both Holly and Herbie were dumped - Holly was pulled from the pound at the 11th hour, while Herbie spent six weeks at a vets, he was in such poor condition. I'm not about to believe any promises on welfare, I want to see legislation and criminal convictions.

Chemo Week 13

..And a flurry of superstitious dread at the number. It's only a number. Herbie went for a blood test this morning, and his white cell count is holding up. That's one relief. Unfortunately he doesn't want to walk much, which is bad sign. However, I think it's related to the prednisolone. He is one of the few dogs who doesn't tolerate it well, and his muscles waste fast. He also becomes depressed and mopey, with intermittent episodes of rapid heartbeat and panting.

It's possibly the only thing that will slow his cancer down, so I'm sticking with the prescribed dose because the lumps are growing back more slowly. But his little face, at the top of the stairs this evening, panting, worries me. The vets at Cambridge said it's more of a psychological effect, and physically he'll be fine. But he looks miserable. I'm not sure what to do. I think I may have to phone the vets again.

A Big Thank You

... for all the support I've received over the last day or so. Going to the vets is turning out to be stressful these days, and I really appreciate all the kind comments.

Today I have mostly been soaking sugar beet pellets. These come in 25 kilo sacks (the smallest size) and I put half a dozen pellets in a bowl of water this morning.

The end result looks like something you scrape out of a blocked drain. Tomorrow Herbie gets his first taste.

Chemo Week 12

We're just back from Knaresborough, and Herbie is still wobbly from the sedative. Our first visit to Mr. Lowe, who felt that Herbie was still in good condition, despite everything he's been through to date. I felt in really good hands, and had the first good discussion with a vet about how diet can really make a difference. I've been asked to stop all carbs, and if he needs a little fibre to keep his poo firm, try sugar beet pulp. Apparently you can buy this from equine feed merchants, so I'll go to Farmway tomorrow morning.

For tonight, all he's having is a little boiled chicken, and probably the same again for breakfast. And we're back on the prednisolone, just when he'd finally been weaned off them. At the moment, it's any port in a storm. If he doesn't achieve remission with this dose of doxorubicin, there may not be much point in continuing. Once multi-drug resistance develops, as it seems to have done in Herbie's case, all we can do is slow things down a bit.

Herbie's Winter Coat

Here he is, in his new winter coat, courtesy of those nice people at Greyhounds in Need. Now that he has so many shaved patches, from ultrasound tests and blood tests, he needs his fleecy coat!

Chemo Week 11

This is a week we don't have to go anywhere, since Herbie's next treatment isn't due until next Tuesday. Now that we're off the weekly treatments, it might seem odd commemorating individual weeks, but I'm keeping track of when we started on this journey.

So, Week 11 may not seem exciting, but I'm sure that without chemo Herbie wouldn't have had a week 11. In the summer, when we didn't know what was wrong with him, I bought him a new winter coat, while secretly wondering if he would ever get to wear it. Fortunately, he has. Faith and hope come and go in waves. Like meditation, where you count your breaths and try to stay focused, I'm counting the weeks.

Life Before Dogs

It's funny, but I've almost forgotten what it's like not to live with dogs. I've been reminded by reading a wonderful, funny blog by a lady in the pre-greyhound stages (catch it here http://cowprintdoggie.wordpress.com/ ).

There's a long list of things I didn't know about or understand before dogs, such as the importance of a good doormat. Other things include (with explanations for the caninely-deprived):

Pig's Ears (yes, real ones, off real pigs, sometimes with an ink tattoo still visible)
Kongs (rubber chewing things stuffed with food - a form of dog entertainment)
Tick tweezers (owning a pair miraculously stops your dog getting ticks - how does that work?)
What Frontline is (flea treatment)
Ditto Panacur and Drontal (worms)
The concept of a poo-torch (unless they go directly under a lamp-post, you will need help finding the pile)
Poo-bags - why biodegradable nappy bags are no good if it's raining (they dissolve before you get home)
Teeth-chattering (your greyhound doesn't have flu, he's just pleased to see you)
Bed ownership (it's not yours anymore, that's for sure)

I'm sure other things will occur to me. Since I've had a dog, complete strangers have stopped me in the street to let me know the butcher's got rabbits in, and the dogs would love one, or that's there's broken glass just past the bus-stop, best take a detour. You become a different person - and it's not just the fine coating of dog-hair on your clothes.

A New Day, A New Doormat

I know, I know, hold the front page. It's a little bit tragic when the most exciting event in your life is a new doormat. However, the mud months are beginning, and once you first hear the patter of tiny (dog) feet, you begin to appreciate things that are machine washable. Before I had dogs, I never gave doormats a second thought.

The dogs have just pointed out that they themselves must not get wet, under any circumstances. Today's venture out into the drizzle was a one-off.

Herbie's sub-mandibular nodes are beginning to swell a little. I'm not sure if this is normal, but it's 10 days before we see the new vet in Knaresborough. He's doing OK, and is now sleeping with Honky the Pheasant curled up under his chin. (Honky no longer honks, since Holly punctured the squeaker. This means that he is safe for Herbie to sleep on.)

Yay, it's working!

After the first dose of doxirubicin, and all the up-chucking, Herbie's submandibular nodes are shrinking. It suddenly all seems worth while.

A Little Better

Yesterday, we were all so tired that Holly, Herbie and I spent the afternoon each with 0ur heads under our respective blankies. Today, Herbie's feeling a little better, and had some chicken for breakfast.

At lunch, I was going to give him some egg, but he barged Holly out of the way for a Markie (crack cocaine for dogs, and he hasn't been allowed them for months) and then again for some steak. (My father came over to walk Holly and had brought some left-over steak.) It's been a couple of hours now, and the steak seems to be staying down - fingers crossed!

I'm in a better mood today, but not impressed with the concept of anti-vomiting pills after a dog has started chucking up. The Cerenia tablets came straight up again, and I know now to insist on an injection. I'm learning lots, but mostly at poor Herbie's expense.

Chemo Week 9

Or, wall-to-wall dog sick. "He may experience some nausea or vomiting." Yup. Oh boy.

We went to Cambridge on Tuesday, and they agreed that the COP protocol had stopped working, and it was time to try doxorubicin at three-weekly intervals. He had the first dose there, and an anti-emetic injection. Good job it lasted long enough to get us home, because my sister, God bless her, drove us there in her car. It was a long day, four hours each way, plus stops, and a five hour wait while they did tests.

Now Herbie's home, and not feeling too good. I've been to get some anti-emetics from the vet that say "May cause vomiting if given on an empty stomach". Great, really useful for a dog that's thrown up and now won't eat anything. He's also only had three-quarters of one pill so far, because he keeps gacking it up, no matter how much I stroke his throat to make him swallow. Greyhounds aren't built like other dogs, and pilling them isn't easy.

I'm about to go to bed and pull the covers over my head. Leaving the front door open so that Herbie can vomit outside for a change.

Not My Favourite Dog

A certain young lady trod in something nasty on her trip to the woods on Friday. Unfortunately I only realised half way home, and so the inside of the car was covered in poo-prints. Both dog beds needed an urgent wash.

Today, we reach the car and she has a brown streak across the middle of her head. And her muzzle has brown smudges. Luckily I keep baby wipes and kitchen roll in the car, but even so... I could cheerfully swap her for something less poo-encrusted.

A trip to the Experts

I've arranged to go see Cambridge Vet School next Tuesday with Herbie. The chemo is no longer holding him stable, so it's time to go see if there's anything else left in the medicine cupboard.

Chemo Week 8

Herbie was weighed again, and caused me vast embarrassment, he's 36 kilos now, and a bit of a porky pup. Maybe it's time to lay off the tripe. The steroids make him more interested in food, but I think it's time I started monitoring portion sizes.

However. The nodes at the right side of his neck, where this whole saga started, are enlarged again. The chemo may be losing its effectiveness. Given that first-line chemo hasn't knocked him into remission during the first seven weeks, what are the chances of anything else working?

My vet is going to contact the oncologist at Cambridge to discuss where we go from here. And I've taken Herbie out to rustle his way through the autumn leaves, in the warm sunshine.

Holly - Just Because

She isn't getting enough attention at the moment.

Magnetic Fields Cause Lymphoma?

I've just been reading the October issue of Bark magazine which mentions some research done in 1995. Apparently dogs living in homes with high magnetic fields are seven times more likely to develop lymphoma.

Suddenly I remember that at our last house (we moved in January), Herbie's upstairs bed was next to a powerpoint and a phone socket - and (his choice) next to the radiator. Although he spends most of this time on my bed, did he spend too long near a power socket? And what about this house? It might be shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, but I have Holly to think about too...

Then I found out how much the cheapest EMF meter costs... plus I can't afford to move just now. Wonder if I should cover all my walls with aluminium foil?

A Semi-Birthday

Yesterday was Herbie's 7 1/2th birthday. It might not seem like a big deal, but it is. He first developed swollen lymph nodes around his birthday, six months ago, but went untreated (or rather, treated for the wrong thing) for four months, so his survival to date is a little miracle in itself. There were moments in August when I didn't think we'd see his half-birthday.

It seems too much like tempting fate to mention future landmark dates, so I won't. Every day is a bonus, but I'm glad he made it to 7 1/2.

Chemotherapy Week 7

He's back home after his seventh lot of chemo, and is exhausted. Before he goes into the vet's consulting room, he is shivering, teeth rattling, deep shudders running across his ribs. He does NOT like this process.

But now he is safe for another week, and his blood test shows that his white cell count is fine, apart from the eosinophils. These have been on the low side; there are various infections known to cause raised levels, but I have not been able to find out what low levels mean. His neutrophils have been slowly rising, to 3.4, which is on the low side of normal for ordinary dogs, but just fine for a greyhound. Greyhounds have a different blood composition to other breeds, and the test results judge "normal" by other dogs. Everything has to be re-interpreted in the light of greyhound blood values.

I no longer have to collect pee samples, now he's off the cyclophosphamide, so that will make Tuesdays easier. He still has lumpy lymph nodes, though....

Damp and misty morning

Will the dogs go out, will they heck. Herbie has made it perfectly clear where he intends to be spending the morning.

Greyhounds suffer from a little-known condition called "meltophobia", a morbid fear of dissolving in the rain.

No cure has yet been discovered.

Another day, another drug

The vet rang this afternoon. Since Herbie is developing cystitis with the cyclophosphamide (Endoxana), she's been consulting with the awfully nice people at Cambridge Vet School. Herbie's oncologist has suggested we substitute it for chlorambucil (trade name Leukeran). Again, every other day, and it's cytotoxic, so you have to wear rubber gloves to handle it. I now have a special pair of pink rubber gloves in the kitchen (Pink for Pills) just for dog medicine. Plus, this one needs to go in the fridge.

Chlorambucil has a whole different range of side-effects. Let's see how we go. Herbie doesn't know about this one yet.

Boiled-up Liver

... and other culinary delights. One of the hardest things I've found is taking the time to provide a good anti-cancer diet. I've taken a look at a number of places, including Canines in Crisis, Laurie Kaplan's book and Ginger's diet (for hemangiosarcoma), and added some supplements as recommended by Shawn Messonnier.

So far, I've steered clear of the so-called "miracle cures", because they seem more like faith healing, and I'm not sure my faith is sufficient. Maybe later.

At the moment, Herbie is getting a packet of frozen raw tripe or other meat (available from pet shops with a freezer, as 400g bricks) defrosted for breakfast, with a fish oil capsule, and in the evening some boiled meat (chicken, liver, lamb, turkey) with boiled broccoli and/or cauliflower or green beans and a little brown rice, with some arginine and glutamine (available from the body-building section of health food shops).

Tonight we're boiling up lamb's liver. He's been putting on weight, after losing four kilos in the early stages, when he wasn't being treated. I'm not sure if it's the diet or the treatment that's putting the weight back on him, but he is almost tubby now, and for once I don't mind.

Chemo for Lymphoma Week 6

I've just retrieved Herbie from the vets. As usual, he is starving, anxious to be home, and exhausted. His urine sample is clear this week, but the vet has consulted with his oncologist at Cambridge Vet School - no cyclophosphamide for another week, to be sure his bladder is healed.

It's weird, it's almost like you've failed an exam. Failed one of the chemo drugs. I shouldn't take it personally, different dogs react differently, and that's why I've been chasing round the garden with a plastic bowl every Tuesday morning, to get the sample for testing. (Such fun this morning, in the rain. Somewhat of a diluted sample.)

He is now crashed out in the blue and white dog-bed that he's too big for. His lymph nodes are slightly smaller this week. Little, tiny incremental improvements.

My Happiness Depends on Poop

Dog no poop, me no happy. A worrying morning, hoping something would appear. Plenty has gone in the top end over the last 24 hours, so where is it all? At lunchtime, success! A little step for a dog, a giant step towards human calmness.

Now that I'm feeding Herbie on a home-cooked diet, there's a lot less residue (so to speak), but even so, he used to go twice a day before chemo. Now he's on chemo, he'll only go in the mornings. It's not listed as a known side-effect of steroids, but the vet assured me that slowed "transit times" were a known feature of steroids. (There was me thinking maybe the chemo was killing off too many gut lining cells... or something. Should have paid attention in biology class.)

The trouble with all these drugs is that you never know what's an unusual side-effect, and what's normal, and when to start worrying. The net result is, you worry all the time. Maybe I should set an alarm clock, and allow myself half an hour's worrying a day, then forget about it until tomorrow.

For more on steroid side effects, see http://www.veterinarypartner.com/Content.plx?P=A&S=0&C=0&A=1622

Lymphoma - The Story So Far

Herbie has been a particularly unlucky dog, as far as getting a diagnosis. I took him to the vets at the beginning of April to arrange for a dental, as his teeth were looking quite manky - not unusual for a greyhound. He'd cracked a tooth last year, and my then vets had said it's best to leave it unless it's causing trouble. New vets said Hmm, time to come out, and he'll need antibiotics first. While he was on a week's course of antibiotics, prior to the dental, the lymph node on the right side of his jaw swelled up, golf-ball hard.

The vets said Not good, he'll need a biopsy under general anaesthetic, so he was booked in for a week after the dental. Then 10 days' hellish wait, and the verdict: not lymphoma. The entire node was removed, so it seemed a clear diagnosis. He healed well, but the nodes on the other side came up, then the popliteal nodes (at the back of his knee). Further tests, for bacterial infection, viral infection, you name it. Anti-histamines, in case of allergy. Then prednisolone, in case of aut0-immune disease.

The steroids had an immediate effect, but made him very sick. Rapid muscle wasting, to the point where he could barely stand, climb stairs, and walks were out of the question. Panic attacks, panting with rapid heart beat, for hours at a time. I was afraid the treatment would kill him. He lost two kilos in 10 days. After a week, the dose was scaled d0wn rapidly - but his nodes went right down.

Then a frustrating two months(!) while I asked for a second opinion, phoning the vets a couple of times a week, and little or no action. They wanted to start him on cyclosporin, for auto-immune disease, and I wanted that second opinion first. Finally, a referral to Cambridge vet school, and a nightmare six-hour drive (should only have taken four). I had to leave him there, but by the time I came home again, they already had a diagnosis. Lymphoma, and well advanced. Lungs clear, but spleen swollen. Could they start treatment immediately?

Absolutely. A month later, Herbie is still alive, his nodes are reducing, but he's a long way from being in remission.

Lymphoma Treatment Week 5

It's been a long time since I posted, and in many ways I have a superstitious dread about posting details of Herbie's illness. But I want to keep a record of how he's doing - at the moment, his vet bills are the only record I have.

He was finally diagnosed with lymphoma on 4th September (long story, I'll post later) and had his fifth chemotherapy treatment (intravenous vincristine, part of the COP protocol) on Tuesday 8th October. His urine test showed microscopic traces of blood, so the vet asked us to lay off the cyclophosphamide for a week, and see how he's doing next time.

One of the risky side-effects of this drug is hemorrhagic cystitis, so I'm glad they caught the signs early. See Graham and Prince's blog for how uncomfortable this can be: http://grahamandprince.blogspot.com/2007/07/wells-run-dry.html