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Kango says "Ice cubes are FUN!" |
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A LIFE SAVED By Kathy Pena According to Murphy’s pedigree, he is the son of a champion. Since he spooks easily just walking around the block, I’m guessing his racing career was less than illustrious. My daughter and I had just been through a very heart-wrenching year. In April, our beloved kitty lost her battle with cancer. In the summer, my marriage ended. We lost both guinea pigs to respiratory infections within weeks of each other, and our faithful dog had to be put down in October. My daughter and I clung to each other throughout the remainder of 2000, fearing what we were to lose next. We are very animal-oriented people and it was extremely difficult to come home each day to no one who needed to be fed or walked or petted. We desperately needed to be needed. We had done some volunteering at Hemopet in 1999, and decided to adopt a greyhound. It would alleviate some of our pain, while nobly saving a dog from a life in a kennel. I had definite ideas as to what I wanted in a grey: small, female, and brindled. The staff gave us a short list of personalities that best suited our lifestyles and home environment. One of them, Murphy, was very large, with cream-colored velvet at his nose, a reddish-fawn body and a black tail; a beautiful animal, but nothing at all like what I had envisioned. He also had the saddest face I had seen on any dog. After several successive weekends, my daughter said that Murphy seemed like he needed us as much as we needed him. So, the match was made and we took him home in late December of 2000. A year later, we adopted an 8 year-old female, Tess, to keep him company. On July 4th this year, we celebrated Murphy’s 7th birthday with a trip to Petco, treats and fireworks. He has blossomed from that forlorn, brooding dog into a wonderful companion. He checks on "his girls" before going to sleep at night and guards the house while we’re at work or school. He is my walking buddy, my tug-of-war adversary, and my alarm clock when I oversleep. He is playful and loving, and affectionately leans against my legs, just to let me know he’s there for me. In the past year and a half, each of us has come a long way. We’re both happier and more fun loving. I feel loved and needed by a very handsome guy. Thank you, Murph, for saving me. Kango’s instructions on how to play with ice cubes - First, hold it in your mouth so it freezes your tongue, then shake your head vigorously to get it out. Pounce on it, and start all over again!
By Karyn Zoldan In 1998 I was laid off from the company I helped build. I was very depressed and decided to get a dog, something I couldn’t do previously with my 60-hour workweek. I was thinking poodle since I grew up with one, until the fortuitous day at the Oakland Airport where a mini billboard caught my eye. The billboard showed a Greyhound wearing a stocking cap sitting on a loveseat. Until then my knowledge of Greyhounds was limited to buses. I don’t remember any of the text but I wrote down the web-site address. Later that night I was online and within 15 minutes I filled out an application. I liked the fact that Greyhounds didn’t shed (that’s a myth), that they were couch potatoes, and that I would be doing a good deed. Within a week I received a call from the Orange County/Greater Los Angeles chapter of GPA. I didn’t have a preference to color or sex, and cats were not an issue. I passed inspection and went to check out a 4-1/2 year old, black-and-white parti boy. He was shy but he walked well on leash. I was supposed to check out another hound but I didn’t need to look further. I was smitten. Painter came home the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Within 24 hours I felt my depression lifting and while petting him, I cried tears of joy. |
Within a month we both blossomed. Friends and acquaintances that I hadn’t seen in a long time came over because they had never seen a Greyhound up close and personal. We walked my (then) Redondo Beach neighborhood and everyone wanted to meet him. He loved the attention and everyone knew his name. We became the best of friends. Almost a year later GPA called to ask if I would foster. I knew I couldn’t afford a second dog and was fearful of failing fostering. However, I took the challenge and requested a female. I picked up Birdie, a stunning 2-year old brindle. She and Painter met on equal ground and into the house she burst like a tornado. Within 20 minutes she jumped on the bed and the couch. She picked up the stuffies, ran outside throwing them up in the air. I wished I had a video camera. Painter rarely played with the stuffies but now he wanted to play too. She was housebroken in three days. About two weeks later I had to fly to San Jose for the day so I decided to drop her off for spaying and then drop Painter at a friend’s. We all went into the vet’s office, but when I put Painter back in the car he cried. I had never heard him make a noise like that. I left him with a friend who also had a dog and picked him up the next evening. We came home but he went from room to room and just moped; he didn’t even seem enthusiastic about eating or walking. The next morning I picked up Birdie and brought her home to an ecstatic Painter. They both seemed so excited to see each other; it was a happy reunion. Until this point I had tried my best not to bond with her, or so I told myself, but Painter seemed livelier around her. Dogs may be (wo)man’s best friend, but dogs are dogs’ best friends. For all the instant love I gave Painter, I held back with her. She had separation anxiety and chewed shoes, clothes, and lots of receipts. I disliked the name Birdie and silently called her Lily. Then GPA left a message and wanted to know if she was ready for adoptive prospects. I panicked. "Lily, come", I called and she did. Painter is a laid-back people-loving dog, and Lily is still a pistol who meets people on her own terms. The three of us are living happily ever after in Tucson, Arizona. SIZE DOESN’T MATTER By Anonymous Being a foster home destined to get the big "hard to handle" boys, I often hear phrases like, "My goodness he’s big" or "Are they all this big?" or "Do you have any smaller ones available?" or "He must take up a lot of space!" and so on… To answer these questions let me tell you a little story about two fosters that I have had. The first one is definitely the smallest one so far. He was a 67 lb. male and was quite often mistaken for a female because he was so small. To protect the innocent we will refer to him as "The Militant Midget" or "MM" for short. Well, this little guy gave me more attitude and more trouble in one week than any of the other greys that I have come across so far, whether foster or my own. MM didn’t want to share the loveseat with anyone else, including me. He didn’t want to go out for last potty break when it was time, and he definitely didn’t want to be told where to sleep. MM had his mind all made up that he was going to run the house---needless to say we had several serious conversations about this the first couple of days he was with me. Fortunately, for my sanity and his fantastic luck, a good friend of mine, Colleen, came to visit. He saw her, jumped on the loveseat next to her, kissed her all over and went home with her a week later. She just loves him to death, but they still have "talks" on a regular basis about who the boss is. After MM, I began to wonder if I was cut out for this, none of my dogs had been that difficult and it was very frustrating. I decided to give it another shot. My next foster was to be an 83 lb. "hard to handle" BIG boy. First thought, "OH MY GOD!" Second thought, "He is going to be twice as big as MM". Is he going to have twice as much attitude? |
Are we going to have twice as many conversations about who runs the house? What if he wants to sit on the loveseat with me - will there be enough room? He’s HUGE!! I had committed myself so I went, picked him up and brought him home to begin his search for a forever home. He walked in the front door and sniffed EVERYTHING!! He then proceeded to the backyard and the toy box for the next five hours. When he was through with that he decided it was time to find Boss Dog (me) and follow me around, lie at my feet and sniff everything I touched for the next few days. He never got into trouble and the only "talks" we had were about who could tell the other dogs what they were allowed to do. When he finally decided it was time to lie next to me on the loveseat, my first thought was "Definitely not enough room", but I let him try anyway. He climbed up next to me, did a couple of turns and plopped down like a ton of bricks. In all of this maneuvering he never once touched me. The only time he invaded "my space" was to lay his head on my lap. I don’t know how these big boys do it, but they manage to stay out from underfoot and fit into spaces smaller than you would imagine that they could. When you are looking for your grey, please don’t let size be a deterrent because you "don’t think you have enough room". Many people assume that I have a huge yard because all of my dogs are on the large end of the scale, but all I have is a very average sized yard. The greys always manage to make greyt use of the space they are allowed whether it’s a small condo or a big house with an even bigger yard. All that really matters to them is that they are with you. In this foster mom’s opinion, "THE BIGGER THE BETTER" And if this isn’t enough reason to look at the big boys, then here are some more advantages to having a large grey: - You don’t need to bend over to pet them
- Best of all---they give GREYT BIG hugs!
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Send your articles and pictures to: Joy Moss, Editor, Needle Nose Notes 4857 Royce Road, Irvine, CA 92612 greytjoy@msn.com Contributions are always welcome and help our cause. Needle Nose Crew, P.O. Box 3012, Laguna Hills, CA 92654-3012 
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