The Case of the Stolen Guinness…

The other day, my Facebook and Flickr friend Lydia Martin of BlueFox Photography stuck a post on Facebook that made me think of our Greyhound Tigger.

Tigger was our dog when the kids were still pretty young.  He died in 2008.  We adopted him off the track through a wonderful Greyhound rescue organization Greyhound Options.  It didn’t take him very long to realize that he had at long last hit the jackpot and he settled in fairly quickly and easily.  We bought him a big bed and he spent most of his time on it curled up on it in the middle of the living room in front of the fireplace.

I remember one night when I had had a busy day.  The kids were finally in bed and Greg was out of town. I was ready to have a little time to myself and to watch some television.  I just wanted to relax.  I went and looked in the refrigerator and there standing on the shelf was one can of Guinness.  It shone like a beacon to my weary soul.  I took it out, opened it and poured it slowly into a beer mug.  Because I like my dark beers pretty close to room temperature, I took it into the living room and put it on the coffee table to allow it to warm up a little and turned on the TV.

Then the phone rang.

Those were the days before caller ID when I felt that I had to actually answer the phone every time it rang, so up I got and back into the kitchen I went.  I don’t remember who was calling.  I imagine it was Greg telling me he got to his final destination safely, but I wouldn’t swear to it.  The call only took a few minutes.  When I returned to the living room, Tigger was sleeping on his bed, the TV as on, the cats were in their usual places and my mug of Guinness was empty.

Tigger never admitted to drinking my Guinness but I know that cats didn’t do it.  I mean they were cats after all and only 30 year old Scotch whiskey or the best Champagne would do for them, I’m sure, if they bothered to indulge.  It had to be the dog.  He didn’t seem to suffer any ill-effects from his indulgence and I couldn’t stay mad at him for more than a couple of seconds.  I went back to the kitchen with my empty mug and brought back some ice water.  Just watching my relaxed dog helped me relax and we all had a nice evening.

Tigger was a great pet.   We never regretted our decision to make him a part of our family.  I think that some people have misconceptions about what it would be like to live with a Greyhound.  Here are some things that we learned about Greys after our boy came to live with us.

Greyhounds are just big couch potatoes.  Sure they love a good walk, but they don’t need a lot of vigorous exercise.  While there may be exceptions to the rule, a Greyhound is a mellow, gentle dog.

You can have Greyhounds around small pets.  Not all of them are good around small pets though.  After all, they spent their days on the track being taught to chase small animals.  But most of the Greyhound adoption agencies try to figure out if the individual dog is cat and small dog safe.  When Tigger came to live with us, we had two cats.  As it turned out, our cat Asta fell in love at first sight and the two were the best of friends throughout Tigger’s life with us.

A lot of Greyhounds love to sing.  When Tigger came to live with us, we thought it would be fun to teach him how to sing Take Me out to the Ballgame.  He took to it quite enthusiastically.  Then we decided that maybe we didn’t want a singing Greyhound and quit encouraging him.  In reality, Greyhounds are very quiet dogs.  But being hounds, they do howl now and then.  When Tigger was a young dog, every time I would get home from somewhere I could hear him singing in the house before I opened the door.  I don’t think he was singing Take Me out to the Ballgame, I’m pretty sure he was singing, “I love you, Barb, and I’m so glad you’re home.”

If you have room on your floor and room in your heart and are on the look-out for a dog, consider finding a Greyhound adoption agency in your neck of the woods.  Greyhounds make GREYT pets!

P.S.  My daughter Carrie and I are embarking on a road trip next week so I’m not sure when I’ll see you again.  Happy Summer Solstice to You All!

Ode(ish) to Burgess and Asta…

The other night I was watching Star Trek:  The Next Generation.  Yes, I am a nerd, okay??  The episode was “Schisms,” Star Date 46154.2.  It’s the one where Mr. Data (the android, for those non-nerds out there) was giving a reading of his original poetry.  One of the poems he prefaces with the explanation that throughout the ages, poets have written poems to those who have had a profound effect upon their lives and the poem he is about to recite is an ode in honor of one who has had a profound effect upon his life…his cat Spot.

Watching this sent me time traveling, remembering my cats.  I’ve had five cats in my adult life and, without exception, they have all had profound effects on me.  But I’m not a poet so I won’t be reciting any odes here.

The cats I miss the most at this point were the last two to leave us.  They were littermates that we got from a friend of ours who taught at the local elementary school.  Therefore, we named the male Burgess Elementary School Hale.  Burgess was a cat who had a personality as large and important as his name.  He was a handsome, Maine Coon(ish) cat with big paws that almost covered the palms of my hands.

But in spite of his size, he was very quiet when he wanted to be and quite graceful.  He was an agile and efficient mouser and the very best lap warmer in the wintertime.  I rarely sat at my computer without him sitting here on me, so every email I sent had a Burgess hair in it.

Burgess shows off the Lion Cut that he got every summer.

He was doglike in being a shameless beggar for food and had a real lazy streak in him.  He didn’t mind us laughing at him as some cats do.  He was gregarious and comical.

He rolled out of bed, but didn't bother to go back and waited patiently while I took his picture.  Silly guy!

His sister was Asta Charles Hale, named for the dog in The Thin Man series by Dashiell Hammett.  She was the rare cat who loved water and was a sink-sitter.

The last few years of her life, she took a shower every morning with my son Evan when he was home.  She would come out wet and with spiked hair, but looking very self-satisfied.

She liked to tag team with Burgess on mouse patrol and was also responsible for helping me trap two snakes that got into our house so that I could set them free.  Burgess would have killed them.  Asta was a Buddhist in practice and by nature.

She was our greyhound Tigger’s best friend.

Asta outlived both Burgess and Tigger and once Burgess left us, she took up residence on my lap.  She learned to accept Olive, the pug, as part of her family.  She was an adaptable, affectionate little soul.

I miss them both so much and consider them to be my true and valued friends.

Ode to Spot by Data

Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature,

An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature;

Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses

Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.

I find myself intrigued by your sub-vocal oscillations,

A singular development of cat communications

That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection

For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.

A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;

You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.

And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,

It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.

O Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display

Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.

And though you are not sentient and do not comprehend,

I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.

I probably won't post again until after Christmas day but I hope I have time to visit your blogs.

  In any case, I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays all around!