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."

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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.

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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.