Garden Envy

This weekend has been the local village's "Open Gardens" weekend, raising money for the village hall. For payment of a small fee, you can nosy about in the gardens of those brave and industrious souls who are prepared to show their gardens to the public. I have admired golden hens and blue Lutyens benches, and rows of currant bushes and giant compost heaps, but I know deep in my heart, if I had an acre of garden, it wouldn't look like the ones I'm wandering round.

Any garden I have would be "Designed by Dog", and there would be no delicate little alpines in the borders (that die when wee'd on), nor would my lawn look like a bowling green. There would be long patches of couch grass (Herbie's favourite snack) and a long smooth bit for Holly to sprint on, as opposed to the cunningly curved vistas with artfully posed statues. One garden today had a lifesized fibreglass cow. I wouldn't have one of those, either.

On that subject, I went to the hairdressers, and Sharon gleefully told me of the tourist who had come in for a cut earlier in the week, and then asked the salon manager for colour as well. "But not like yours, it looks common. I want something more subtle." Of all the people I'd want to insult, it wouldn't be the woman with scissors (and peroxide) in her hands...

Losing Weight

Not me, unfortunately, but Herbie. It looks like the CV247 was only able to stave off the inevitable for so long, and now he's going a little further downhill. His appetite is still excellent, so I'm giving him extra cottage cheese after breakfast. Maybe he'll eat tripe again. It was a tip I gleaned from Lurcherlink a long time ago, as a way of getting weight onto a scrawny sighthound, but Herbie was fed a lot of tripe when he first developed swollen glands, and was losing a pound a week despite eating till he was barrel-shaped. He ate tripe through the early weeks of chemo, and then started refusing it. I don't know if he'll associate it now with chemo, but it might be time to try again.

Tripe, even uncooked, is vile stuff. The Scary Parking Attendant in Helmsley has adopted a new Great Dane, a young male (of course he'd intended to get a middle-aged bitch!) whose owners were emigrating to New Zealand and couldn't afford to fly the dog out with them. The Dane was used to cooked tripe, but after cooking it once, the SPA's wife said "Either the tripe goes or I do." An intelligent woman, who had realised that the dog certainly wasn't going.

Fortunate for me, then, that I need to lose weight, I'm excused the tripe diet myself - but if that was all I had in the house, I would definitely rather starve!

Back Again

Bit of a long haul, almost as if we'd had to invent fire from scratch. But finally, we have Stove (yet to be named - apparently named objects work better) in place, and although there's a fair bit of decorating to be done, I have a major sense of achievement. Also an empty bank account, but I know that as soon as winter comes, I will be very happy I've spent my money on heating.

Herbie let it all wash over him - he wanted to go investigate the builders and the heating engineers for ten minutes, then he'd had enough, and went back to bed. Holly, on the other hand, spent days waiting for her chance to escape, and finally took it, the one day I'd gone back to work and left the engineers to it. They managed to catch her (in fact she got bored, and trotted up the garden path and waited by the front door for them to let her back in) and were quite embarrassed when I got home. After all my careful warnings. She can't open the front door, but she can open all the internal ones, so Keep The Front Door Shut.

Slowly the house is returning to normal, or what passes for it in this part of the world. I wouldn't want to have to install new heating again in a hurry.

More From My Collection

... of terrible photos.

Someone told that humans get red-eye in photos because the light from the flash reflects off the blood vessels in the back of the human retina. So what do dogs have in the back of their eyes, to get this green glow?

The dogs have been enjoying the warm weather; it's the first time this year that I've been able to leave the back door open all day, and they can potter in and out. Unfortunately Holly has discovered a bird's nest in the golden privet, and barks every time she can hear rustling. I've told her a hundred times "It's a bird, not a c-a-t." However she keeps on barking, up the wrong tree, and I have to go and haul her in and shut the door before the neighbours complain. If she spends the entire summer barking at this tree... I'm going to be keeping her in.

Herbie is plodding along. His nodes were shrinking the tiniest bit, but then I gave him some Metacam because I was wondering if he didn't look rather stiff - now they're back where they were. He seems a little stiff in the mornings now, but it wears off once he's walked a hundred yards, so it may be arthritis rather than cancer-related. He's been on so many other supplements I'd given up on the glucosamine. Back to the drawing board.

We may be offline for a little while, with the builder coming next week, and my only phone point is right next to where he'll be demolishing the old fireplace. I'm moving everything I can upstairs, including the computer, but we'll be back as soon as we can.

Happy Birthday to Meee!

Herbie was nine on Thursday. If I'd known he'd reach this age, there'd have been fewer tears along the way - when he was seven, I thought it was his last year ever. Here he is, peeing on a branch brought down by the snow in January. I didn't saw it off then, and now I don't have the heart, it's his very most-favourite pee spot.

The trouble is, I only have a cheap digital camera and there's a long delay (1.6 seconds according to the manual) between my clicking the shutter, and the camera actually registering the picture. Greyhounds move fast when they want to, so however carefully I set up that perfect image of the hounds, most of my photos end up looking like this:

That's why I don't post pictures all that often. I have so many pictures either of their rear ends, or sleeping, that I'm bored. I don't have the patience to wait for days for that one perfect shot. I don't have Angela's talent for photography, that's for sure.

A Grey Easter

Cloud, then rain, then cloud. I have been trying to spring clean, but Holly thinks this is very boring, and will only let me do boring things for half an hour at a time. Then she barks and runs around, until I take her out in the garden to play.

Herbie no longer wants to walk as far, so Holly isn't getting as much exercise as a young girl needs. If I take her without Herbie, she tries to herd me back towards the house, and lets me know plainly that I've forgotten something very important, i.e. Herbie. Mad moments running round and round the clothes airer are about all we can do without taking/tiring the old lad. He stands on the back doorstep, shaking his head, before plodding back upstairs to bed. He has to have morning and evening walkies, but no more than half an hour these days.

He's still swallowing his CV247, but he seems static. It's better than some of the alternatives. In a couple of weeks' time, a builder's coming to open up the fireplace to install a wood-burning stove, and I'm worried it'll affect him. It's been hard even keeping him stable, but I've waited four months for this stove to arrive. We may have to spend a few days in the car, parked somewhere with rabbits to watch, while the builder builds, or unbuilds. Some weeks, I think I've done nothing, but keeping things on an even keel is not nothing. I keep telling myself.

Almost Famous

I was pleased and surprised to find Herbie inside this month's copy of Dogs Today. I'd emailed the editor to ask about CV 247, and subsequently sent an update on his progress, which appeared on the blog for pets trying CV247, but I wasn't expecting to see Herbie in print. I showed it to him, but he didn't seem too impressed. I think he wanted a photo of himself in his younger days, before his face went white.

There are still no miracle cures, but given that I wasn't sure he'd last long enough for the postman to deliver the first bottle, he's doing OK. He's stopped going downhill at least.

He's currently nursing a sore ear, after trying to sniff a cat's bottom. The neighbour's ginger tom didn't want his bottom sniffing, and swiped across the top of Herbie's head. Blood everywhere, and I think it's a vet trip for antibiotics tomorrow. At the time, I was mostly pleased that Holly hadn't despatched the cat, and hadn't realised Herbie was hurt, but later I found the trail of blood up the stairs, and realised Herbie had taken a direct hit. That cat has zero nerves. I do a cat-scan every time I open the back door, to make sure the garden is cat-free. This one decided to jump over the garden wall and stroll across a lawn with two greyhounds on it. I am trying to make sure the neighbourhood cats survive, but they're not making life easy for me.

A Fraction of a Shade...

... of an improvement - the nodes at the back of Herbie's knees, his popliteal nodes, are softer and smaller. No longer like liquorice torpedoes, but not quite as small as the jelly beans they're supposed to resemble. It's not a big thing, and from the front he still looks like a bull-frog, but it's the first time since we stopped chemo that a node actually got smaller. It might not be much, for 3 and a half weeks of CV247, but it's something.

Holly, on the other hand, is trying to head for extinction as fast as she knows how. I don't know what an electric fence would do to a greyhound, but I don't want to find out. There's a footpath runs across a field near the house, and the owner of the field has fenced the path off with an electric wire (and it's live, I can hear it clicking) to keep a shaggy Shetland pony enclosed. I spent an exhausting walk trying to keep Holly away from the wire, but some kind of deathwish meant she couldn't stay away from it. I was pretty cross with her by the time I came home.

I was tempted, briefly, by the thought of fostering - Greyhound Gap is crammed to the gills again - but given I'm struggling to keep the two I've got alive, I'm probably not ready to foster just yet.

Week 2 and a half

..of CV247. It's been a bad week, Herbie's been reacting badly to something, breathing too rapidly. I stopped all his medications, his breathing went back to normal, and then I tried again. The CV247 is OK, so are the zinc pills, but the mushroom capsules aren't going down well, he went all saggy and limp within 12 hours of re-introducing them.

It's difficult with Herbie, he's sensitive to so many things. I always thought I had a cast-iron dog, he could eat anything without ill-effects (OK, except the entire dish of cauliflower cheese meant to feed four adults - a pint of cheese sauce was probably a bit much), but he was younger then, and now he seems to react to every change.

So, he's no better, but then again his nodes aren't any worse. Given that they'd been growing noticeably, perhaps this is progress. I've bought some wheatgrass and some compost. The first batch is soaking. I don't know if he'll drink wheatgrass juice, but it's something we haven't tried yet. Other people are writing happy optimistic posts about miracle drugs, but we're just standing still here. I suppose there are worse places to be standing. Sigh.

Vodka glasses

... are very useful when it comes to mixing up dog medicines. 10ml of medicine is an inch or so in the bottom of a shot glass, easy to add a tiny scoop of Vitamin C powder, then syringe up and squirt into dog. Don't remember when I last used them for actual real alcohol.

Herbie's stabilised again - he wasn't brilliant last week, but he found the car sponge again on Friday and shredded it, so it can't be all bad here.

The place where it is all bad is over at Ari's - Alfie has gone to the bridge. Run free, Alfie. I'm not sure what happened, but it sounds like every dog-owner's worst nightmare.

Downhill

Herbie's not great. I think I've discovered CV247 too late. I think "just too late" are the saddest words in the English language (a novelist friend, asked the same question, said "posthumous acclaim". It's the same thing). He's become more plodding, and reluctant to walk downhill, because that means on the way back, he'll have to go uphill. He's still eating, and yesterday evening he was happy that I'd come upstairs to bed, and was rolling on his back, waving his legs in the air (aka roaching). Even so, he's somehow fading.

We'll carry on with the CV247, since it's not supposed to have any side-effects (I tasted it though, it tastes oddly metallic). It's the first time I've tested one of his medicines, but it has been used on humans, and is meant to be safe.

The only spot of light relief has been my father, who kindly offered to fetch a variety of tins of catfood from the supermarket, for my sister's already fussy Maine Coon cat. He announced that he'd got one of everything, even the supermarket's own "Guts in Gravy".

My sister, who is very protective of her cat, rushed off to inspect the tin, while I thought, "That's remarkably honest of them". She came back and said "Were you wearing your glasses?" "No".
"It says 'Cuts in Gravy'. " But it's too late, the damage has been done. Tinned pet food is now known in our family as guts in gravy.

Waiting for the Post

We've had a postal consult with Richard Allport (my own vet had just done a blood test, checked Herbie's weight and manky teeth) and now I'm waiting for Herbie's meds to arrive. His nodes seem to be another notch bigger.

He's currently in disgrace for standing in some poo in the dark, then running upstairs. I've had to sponge poo-ey footprints off the stairs, the rug, his bed... fortunately by the time he reached my bed, his feet were dry. Small mercies.

Once More Unto the Breach

... dear friends, once more. I've asked my vet for a referral to Richard Allport in Potters Bar, to see if he thinks it's worth Herbie trying the drug developed by the late John Carter. There's a blog up and running for people who are using this drug, CV247.

Herbie ran miles this morning. He saw a rabbit and that was it, off over the horizon. I spent ages staring into the distance, at the spot where he had disappeared, and suddenly he popped up behind me. To do that, he had to have done a huge loop round. There's life in the old dog yet.

Tonight, the dogs had pink and purple mince - beef mince boiled up with red cabbage. The meat goes purple on the outside, but when you mash it up with a fork, it has a pretty pink and purple look to it. The cabbage doesn't look great though.

Eight and Five-Sixths

I'm back to counting. It's mostly been degrees centigrade (supposed to reach the heady heights of 8 degrees C, I am so happy it's above freezing!) but today it's Herbie part-birthdays. His nodes seem to have taken another leap forward in terms of growth. We're seeing the vet tomorrow for a check-up. She's agreed to refer us to a vet who will prescribe CV247 but wants to see Herbie first. She's understandably wary of a drug she has no personal experience of, but the Editor of Dogs Today, bless her and her house for always, has given me a list of vets who will prescribe.

It's pretty late in the day to be trying experimental (in the eyes of the licensing authorities, anyway, I know the drug has been around for a while) things on Herbie, but there are meant to be no side effects. Either it works or it doesn't, and it's worked on some mice with lymphoma in trials. I swing between wanting to leave Herbie be, and refusing to give up without a fight.

The more it snows...

... tiddly pom, the colder my toes, tiddly pom (as Winnie the Pooh once said). And the blacker the bruises. At the moment I have one black elbow, a matching shoulder, and a green and purple knee. I have spent the weekend resting up, because my right arm has been out of commission after falling on the ice at the Park and Ride at Monk's Cross. The concept is, you get out of your nice warm car into an ungritted skating rink, and if you're still alive by the time you reach the bus, it then takes half an hour to get to where you really want to be. Funnily enough, numbers of passengers are decreasing.

Herbie and Holly are both being little asterisks (as in ****s) and refusing to leave the house with the new dog walker. I've told her they're both adult dogs, they can make their own minds up, they just can't use a door key, so as long as she opens the door to the garden, it's up to them if they want to go out and wee. Maybe a walk is a bit ambitious at this stage. I'm worried though. She said Herbie bared his lips at her this morning and growled. Is he becoming possessive over the house? It's so unlike him, he'd normally run and hide at the first sign of trouble. I need to be at home.

There's a programme on telly tonight about how the over-40s have little chance of finding jobs anyway. What with that and the chance of developing Alzheimers before I even retire (TV programme on Terry Pratchett's illness) and... there must be some chocolate in the house somewhere. I'm off to look for it.

Snow-delay-ee-hoo

Yes, more snow. Sigh. I was supposed to be running a workshop today, but can't get there, and nor could half the participants. It was a lot of work to arrange, and now I've got to do that work again. I like snow when I don't have to go anywhere. This isn't one of those days.

I read some interesting news on Beverley Cuddy's blog about CV247, a potential cancer cure. I need to find out more, and see if my new vet's open to trying to contact a vet in Hungary. One can but hope. Herbie's as OK as he's ever likely to be at the moment, but his nodes are so big, and his crusty nose seems to be getting worse.

Oh, and my dogwalker has winter vomiting virus, so in a way it's just as well I can't get to work. The dogs and I can all stand on the doorstep together, shake our heads, and go back upstairs.

Wherever you are, stay warm.

We're IN

... but so much work still to do. It's taken me a while to sort out the PC (I left the main power cable behind!) and we have no central heating, and the roof leaks in the tiny back bedroom I was going to use as a study, so my PC is balanced on a small folding table. I have very little furniture, because the last place I owned was too tiny to fit any in - 18th century weavers' cottage, mine was the only single one not extended - 18th century people must have been weentsy, and equally they would have had no furniture. Older people in the village remembered when the beaten earth floor in my house was concreted over (1930s), and when the well in the path that ran past the cottages was paved over (1950s).

This one is much newer, 1950s, and obviously had a bit of a makeover in the 70s, but nothing's been done since. Now I've put down dog-proof flooring downstairs, carpeted upstairs and I'm about to have the place rewired. Everything's been work, from the leaking and corroded connection to the washing machine... I could go on.

Herbie's accepted that this is his new home, and likes the little lane that leads downhill to a succession of wet fields. However his teeth have become noticeably worse, and I have a dilemma. It may be too dangerous to give him anaesthetic, and certainly my old vet was reluctant to risk it, but equally Herbie's teeth are getting browner and browner, and he has very limited tolerance for toothbrushing. I'm going to have to get to know our new vets down the road.

Going, Going...

...almost moved. Beyond stressed out, I have no idea how I'm going to get everything packed tomorrow. I spent today painting while the carpet men put in stair carpet - I can't risk little greyhound feet slipping on the stairs. The carpet men disassembled the bed I had just painstakingly assembled. Tomorrow I will put the bed back together. And go in search of more boxes.

I have an insane amount of books. If only I'd been brave, like Ari was last year, but I just don't seem to be able to get rid of them. Now I'm paying the price, in terms of packing anxiety. I never ever want to move again.

Merry Christmas

Holly in her holly-collar, thanks to Helen on Greyhound Gap's forum.

And Herbie, who rarely wears a collar these days on account of his poor lymph glands.

A very happy holidays to everyone!

On the move

The stress levels are cranking up - I'm moving house on the 7th January, and the new house is still a mess, and I have no cooker, and and and... So I may not be blogging much for a while, even though I want to get a picture of Holly in her Christmas collar on here. So while you're stretched out in front of the TV, think of me, stripping wallpaper and trying to get years of grease off kitchen tiles...

I keep telling myself I could just move in and live out of cardboard boxes for months, but I'd still have to decorate, this time with dogs. Decorating With Dogs -someone should write a book. It's hard to keep greyhounds and paint apart, so I have to get as much done as I can.

If I don't get as far as a Christmas message, Merry Christmas!