Who Needs Reindeer?

Who needs those reindeer slackers when Santa Paws has ex-racer greyhounds that clock in at 45 miles per hour?

Season's Greetings,

Love, Eileen, Elvis and Olivia

A Decision to Live With

I always thought that when the dreaded time came to say goodbye to Elvis, I'd let my sweet greyhound go peacefully. Gracefully.

I would recognize how lucky I was to share all those wonderful years with this special dog, kiss my beautiful boy on his needle nose, and hold him tight as he embarked on a new journey. One that would entail racing off to join my mother who, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, will be eagerly awaiting his arrival on the other side with arms outstretched. Anxious to once again embrace her beloved "grandpuppy."

But I now realize that what I think I'm going to do and what I'm actually capable of doing are two entirely different things.

I can't let Elvis go. Not yet. Not without a fight.

Not while he's still the happy, affectionate dog he's always been: eager for walks, anxious to eat and ready to play. That's why I've decided that so long as his quality of life isn't compromised, I will do whatever it takes and whatever it costs to fight his cancer and extend his life.

I can't live with myself if I don't try.

This is why I've scheduled Elvis for his first chemo session on Tuesday. If he tolerates it with no ill side effects, he'll have four more sessions, spaced three weeks apart. This treatment could buy him several months of quality time. Every new day I get with Elvis with be a precious gift, accompanied with the knowledge that I'm doing the very best that I can for my boy.

And at the end of the day, I can live with that.

Post Feast

You have your Black Friday and I have mine.

Happy Thanksgiving 2011

Wishing everyone a joyous Thanksgiving Day filled with the love of family and friends.

~Eileen, Elvis & Olivia

From Joy to Despair

I had planned on using this post to introduce my new ex-racer greyhound, Olivia. I was going to describe her sweet disposition, beautiful, brindle coat, and her four dainty paws that look like they've been dipped in milk. Not to mention the impressive fact that she hasn't yet had an accident in the house or chewed one single shoe.

I was going to boast that the lovely Olivia is a canine dream come true. But I can't write any of that. Not today, because my heart is breaking.

This morning I took Elvis to the vet to treat what was diagnosed last Friday as a mild case of doggie bronchitis. He appeared to be getting worse, so I thought another check-up before the offices close for Thanksgiving might be a good idea.

But instead of bronchitis, both Dr. Arnott and I were shocked to discover that, just since Friday, an ugly mass the size of a plum had sprouted on my pup's neck. Emergency surgery revealed it was just the tip of an even uglier tumor inside his throat. Dr. Arnott removed as much of the beast as he could, but said the roots extended far too deep to get it all.

Then he phoned with the news.

My beloved boy has a terminal and very aggressive tonsil cancer. Chemo and radiation aren't viable options, not for this type of cancer and certainly not for a 12-year old dog.

This afternoon, I returned to the clinic to visit Elvis since he has to spend the night hooked up to an IV. I laid on the floor near his crate and held his head against my chest until his agitated breathing slowed down and he started to relax. Through my tears, I stroked him, kissed him, and told him what a good boy he is and how much I love him. Oh, how I do.

And in his weakened, groggy, doped up state, Elvis managed to lift his paw and lay it across my arm. Letting me know, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

My boy, my precious boy. He loves me too.

A New Face a Comin'

The cat's out of the bag. Or rather, the dog that is. If you read my November 9th Pet Tales column in The San Francisco Chronicle, you know that I caved in. The clean house, free time and extra money just got to be too much. I couldn't stand it any longer.

I had to get another dog.

So I got on the horn with Stu Homer of Golden State Greyhound Adoption and submitted my request for an ex-racer greyhound. Other than requesting a small dog, since Elvis is already a big boy, I had no idea what I might be getting. That is, until Stu phoned last week to tell me my new dog had been selected. I'm pretty sure he said it was a female and I know he said it was brindle-colored and coming from Florida. I don't remember much because only his last words made a real impression:

"She's Lucy's cousin."

Now, I know that this fact doesn't amount to a hill of beans. And yet, it matters. I'm thrilled that my new dog is related to the sweet pup I lost to a wicked liver disease this past July. Even if it's nothing more than invisible doggie DNA, a little piece of my beloved girl will continue living in my home and soon, in my arms.

Because she arrives today. Stay tuned....

Hunting Season

The other morning I was making my usual pre-dawn drive through a windy, woodsy canyon when, through the early morning mist, I came upon a breath-taking sight: A majestic buck, grazing in a field with a doe at his side. Had there been a spot to pull over, I would have done so, just to absorb and enjoy the tranquil moment.

I drove on, but the lovely image lingered in my mind, as did a gruesome thought: What I had appreciated as a snapshot from God would be seen by some as an opportunity for venison on the plate.

And I mused...how can anyone take pleasure in killing these beautiful creatures and call it a sport?

Karma, baby, karma.