The Holidays
Every day is a holiday with greyhounds. Their gifts of leaps and bounds in greeting. Their gifts of wiggly-waggly bodies when you open your eyes in the morning. Their gift of leaning on you when you pet them. Their gift of always looking you straight in the eye, and down to your soul.
This holiday, though, I'm farming out my hounds as I get on a plane with my Italian Greyhound, Isabelle, and head to West Palm Beach and Dad. It'll be an adventure I'm sure. Isabelle is a ten year old, strong willed, independant, 17 lb girl, that has never been in a Sherpa carrier. I adopted her in March, when her breeder no longer wanted her because her last litter was born dead. In August, during our vacation, she jumped over a loft wall, which she thought was a table top, and flew down about 20 feet to the rug below. Paralyzed in her back end, she started scrambling around in October. Her drunken sailor moves, have now become the crab scuttle. She gets around most everywhere she needs to, particularly to the food bowl. She's still a bit incontinent - thank dog for raw feeding, at least the turds are hard little things - so leaving her with someone was not an option. So we'll have our holiday adventure with Dad together. I did not tell Dad about the hard turds that may end up on his floor. Shush....
posted by Claudia @ 4:54 PM
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