Music Monday: New Month, New Music

 It's May, y'all, and that can only mean one thing... THE EUROVISION SONG CONTEST. To get in the proper mood, I watched the Eurovision Movie: the Story of Fire Saga and fell in love all over again. But the best part of my Europrep has come in the form of the soundtrack from that movie which includes this gloriousness: the Song Along. I was slapping the back of the sofa and shouting at the dogs, "Do you see that?? That was Loreena! LOOK IT'S JESSY MATADOR IS THAT JAMALA WITH THE LYRIC ABOUT WINNING THE WAR?" 

As you may have guessed, the dogs didn't answer nor care. But I do. Quick history: when I moved to the UK in 2009 I took my three greyhounds and my cat. One of my dogs died shortly after I got there, of osteosarcoma. The second one, her bonded pal and soulmate, left me, Daisy (greyhound number three) and the cat to mourn and cause my husband to wonder what he'd gotten into with his new American wife. He finally suggested that I should watch Eurovision because he thought it would cheer me up.

He was right. Eurovision is happy memories of doing a TIGHT 8 TO 10 on the train platform in Leeds. It is dancing with my workmates in the bookshop. It is searching for the BBC1 feed on the tiny telly in our hotel in Maison Lafitte on our belated honeymoon. I have missed watching it live since we've been back in the US and I'm again on the trail of a way to watch BBC1 with Graham Norton's commentary on the 22nd.

For now, enjoy the Song Along from the Eurovision Movie. It's everything that is fun and mad and glam about Eurovision, and it makes me smile (and get up and dance, but don't tell anyone).

Song Along Lyrics, including the performers in each section.

[Song 1: Cher – "Believe"]

[John Lundvik, Anna Obodescu, Both]

No matter how hard I try

You keep pushing me aside

And I can't break through

There's no talking to you

[Bilal Hassani]

It's so sad that you're leaving

It takes time to believe it

[Bilal Hassani & John Lundvik]

But after all is said and done

[Bilal Hassani, John Lundvik & Anna Odobescu]

You're gonna be the lonely one, oh

[Loreen & Jessy Matador]

Do you believe in life after love? (Sing with me, yeah)

I can feel something inside me say

I really don't think you're strong enough, no

[Song 2: Madonna – "Ray Of Light"]

[Loreen]

And I feel (And I feel) like I just got home

And I feel

[Loreen, Jessy Matador & Anna Odobescu]

Don't think you're strong enough, no

[Petra Nielsen, Anna Odobescu, Loreen & Jessy Matador]

And I feel (And I feel) like I just got home

[Petra Nielsen, Anna Odobescu, Loreen, Jessy Matador, Will Ferrell & John Lundvik]

And I feel

Quicker than a ray of light

Quicker than a ray of light

I really don't think you're strong enough, no

[Song 3: ABBA – "Waterloo"]

[Jamala]

Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war

[Erik Mjönes]

My, my - at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender

[Molly Sandén]

Oh, yeah - and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way

[Erik Mjönes & Molly Sandén]

The history book on the shelf

Is always repeating itself, woah

[Anna Odobescu, Loreen, Molly Sandén, Petra Nielsen, Jamala & Jessy Matador, Will Ferrell]

Waterloo, I was defeated and you won the war (You won the war)

Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore

[Song 4: Céline Dion – "Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi"]

[Elina Nechayeva & Conchita Wurst]

Ne partez pas sans moi

La joie d'être libre

Vous qui cherchez une autre vie

Vous qui volez vers l'an deux mille

Ne partez pas sans moi

[Song 5: Black Eyed Peas – "I Gotta Feeling"]

[Netta, Will Ferrell, Molly Sandén, Erik Mjönes]

Tonight's gonna be a good night

That tonight's gonna be a good night

That tonight's gonna be a good night

A feelin' (Fill up my cup, mazel tov)

(Do you believe in life after love)

That tonight's gonna be a good night (Look at her dancing)

(Quicker than a ray of light)

(Just take it off)

[Netta, Loreen, Molly Sandén, Erik Mjönes]

That tonight's gonna be a good night (I can feel something inside me say)

That tonight's gonna be a good night (I really don't think you're strong enough, no)

A feelin' (Quicker than a ray of light)

That tonight's gonna be a good, good night (Do you believe in life after love?)

[Will Ferrell, All]

A good, good night

Notes from Exile: Whistle and Hum

Daisy Mei Mei and me in Wales, August 2011

Y'all, I think I have officially lost my mind. I will give regular Lettuce readers a moment to STOP LAUGHING.

I've been working hard on getting paperback copies of Daisy's book, Proud Racer: An American Greyhound in Yorkshire ready for the virtual signing event for Beach Bound Hounds that starts this Friday. It was originally published by Lulu, but I wanted to move it over with the rest of my work on Amazon and I waited FAR TOO LONG to do that. So I have been scrambling. 

Along with that scrambling has been a whole lot of reminiscing and remembering and for the most part it has been a good thing. I've thought about how her eyes would just about fall out of her head each night when she had her vanilla ensure and Life cereal combo that we used to keep weight on her near the end - and been able to laugh at the eyes rather than fixate on it being "near the end." I'm almost ready, three and a half years later, to put the red duvet cover back on the bed. It has a permanent place in the stitched pattern where she used to sleep, because she was like a marlin on a hook and could never get comfortable right away. I have no idea how many stitches she pulled out to get it JUST RIGHT.

But today, either I have manifested my need to have her in my life again just a hair too much or I've officially gone round the bend from too much isolation in the time of COVID. Today, as I was sitting here at my desk working, I heard the girls winding up to sing. Not an unusual occurance - for Ciaragh it LITERALLY takes me tapping my foot on the floor or a beep sounding on one of my devices, and the Canine Tabernacle Choir is OFF TO THE RACES.

Ciaragh started with some whining that Bryn soon matched in pitch and the BARK/WOOO verse that the wolfhounds sing became part of the tune. Willow-Pickle has her own verse to sing, the melody, if you will, over the percussive sounds of Ciaragh and Bryn. Hers starts with a GRRRRRRRR and then builds into the most soulful and musical ROOOOOOOO. All of that was happening.

And then, I swear - on my life and those of my dogs and my husband and whatever else you need - I heard a very distinct fourth voice join in the chorus. It wasn't a bark or a roo or a growl, it was a hum (those of you with sighthounds may recognize the noise I'm talking about, it usually precedes the roo/howl). It continued and then stopped, replaced by some high pitched whistles just before the others fell silent. I should have recorded it, but all I could do was sit with my hands on my face, Home Alone style, as my jaw dropped. Tears filled the edges of my eyes.

I have had seven greyhounds in my life since 2000, and all but two of them would throw their heads back and roo with angelic grace and ear splitting pitch. (Well, 2.5 - Hunky couldn't so much ROO as he could WOO but it was still a similar sound.) Lizzard would sort of make a sound like Bea Arthur yelling at you after smoking a pack of cigarettes. More WAAA than ROO, and very scratchy. She barked (every day at 4:30 ON THE DOT because that was dinner time) more than she sang. 

Daisy didn't sing. She would hum alongside the others, seemingly unsure of her own voice and slightly unnerved if she was in a large pack of hounds that were all singing. If she got too nervous (or annoyed, as we discovered when Willow-Pickle joined our pack), she would make this loud whistling noise through her nose. It was very high pitched and in a staccato rhythm for the most part, though some of those long, sustained whistles linger in my memory - and probably my eardrums.

I heard my Daisy "sing" with the other girls today and it made my heart happy. It may have been my imagination, but it was real enough. Thanks, Mei Mei. Give the other 6 head butts and licks for Mommy, okay?

 

FTH Oopsie Daisy, 14 August 2004 - 2 December 2016

She truly was transcontinental.

You know, I'm sitting here staring at the blank screen and can't even bring myself to type the words that she's gone...and she's been gone for two months now.  I still expect to come home and hear her whistling from the bedroom, demanding that I hurry up and let her out. But the whistle has fallen silent.

I listen for her toenails on the hardwood floors and remember how, when we lived in the UK, she made no sound at all on the carpet and could sneak up on me, suddenly jamming that needle nose into my ear and exhaling. There's nothing in my ear now, no cold nose or loud exhalation of warm doggie breath. It's just silent.

I call the other two dogs by her name and they look at me, with a mixture (I think) of confusion and sadness, wondering simultaneously who I am talking to and where Daisy is. I wonder that too.  Is she with the Fab Five Plus Clowny? Are they now the Magnificent Seven? I don't get answers, though. As always, my Bridge Pack is silent.

We see things that she would have loved, go to places that made her happy, and the memories are sometimes so strong that I can smell her Frito Feet and feel her nose pressed up against my neck, as she would do to make sure of me. I think for a moment that I can hear her Snappy Jaw that should have struck fear, but didn't, not in me...but there is no snappy jaw, not anymore. Everything is silent.

She was a larger sized female for her breed, but she was Bryn's Little Big sister.  She was a good foot taller than Willow, and lorded that size over her Little Little Sister. They still run and play and I can hear their tags jangling as they bound up and down the stairs. But Daisy's tags, still on her purple dragonfly collar, remain silent.

I want a do-over.  I want more time. I want for her to not have suffered through the heart murmur and the heart disease and the Lasix. I want to take her to Ireland and to Canada. I want her to have the jacket with all the little patches from everywhere she was able to visit. All these things I want...and all she wanted was to be able to rest.  Rest well, my world traveler, my Psycho Puppy Girl, my Angel...my Mei Mei.  You earned it.  I just wish it wasn't so silent around here.

Meet Bryn...

Her ILP name will be something with beansidhe (banshee) in it, but I don't know what that will be yet.

On Saturday, Anne and I drove up to Tennessee to pick up a five month old wolfie pup that was in need of rehoming.  Simon and I have always wanted a big fuzzy, wolfhound or deerhound, and so we jumped at this chance.

Daisy probably would have preferred that we hadn't, but since she doesn't have thumbs she doesn't get a vote.  She does, however, get loads and loads of extra attention and has resumed sleeping in the middle of our bed, pushing us to the very edges and taking all the duvet for herself.  Fair play.

On Sunday, Bryn made her first appearance with the Hounds of East Fairhaven, giving the crowds something to ooh and ahh over and HOEF a full time wolfie member for the first time in almost a decade.  She was a star, braving the cold, trolling for turkey tendons, and posing for loads of pictures.  There is something about a giant breed that captures the attention, even when she's only just a baby.

So far we haven't lost any thing to her voracious chewing except for a tiny bit of sanity when she chooses a toy that squeaks.  But even that is tempered by the fact that she makes sounds that resemble Lucas's Chewbacca as she chews...she is just hilarious.

We did a bit of puppy proofing before she came home, but for the most part we just keep an eye on her and keep her busy with appropriate things rather than wait until she's chosen something inappropriate to dissect and investigate.  While it has only been just over 36 hours, she has responded well to correction when needed and is just a big old growly rumbly furry lovebug that tried to climb onto Simon's lap for snuggles last night when she got sleepy.

We adore her and hope that Daisy will too in time...keep an eye out on the Lettuce for more stories of Bringing Up Bryn!

Regall Azkaban, "Clowny," 11/2002-9/2013

He's been gone for a week and a half and I still can't really get my head around it.  There are times when I feel it and it is so raw and fresh that I'm taken back to sitting in my car like the coward I am as Simon stayed with him in the vet's office right to the end.  There are other times when it is as though he was one of my many fosters that has passed in and out of my heart, making only the smallest of dents.  There are times when I feel as though he is waiting at the vet for me to pick him up.

And then there are the times, the gut-wrenching awful sobbing painfully horrific times when I know he is gone, when I can feel the jagged edges of what I suppose used to be my heart like a broken wine glass lodged in my chest and when I swear that I will never, EVER let myself be hurt by any being, human, canine or otherwise, like that again.  I'm actually having one of those times right now, as I sit at my desk and write this post.  Finding a picture of him drove me to distraction and I took a good half hour to just study the steady progression of white fur down his face over the course of the two years he was mine.

Well, really, I was his.  In a way I thought would never happen after my precious boys Profee and Hunky died, Clowny owned me in that way only boy greyhounds of a certain silliness who have hearts far bigger than their chests can contain can do.  I think that's why I'm so wracked with guilt over being relieved that the pee pads are folded and waiting to be returned to Angel-On-Earth Nancy Bowden rather than still waiting in a heap in front of the constantly churning dish washer.  How can I be relieved that he isn't on his bed in the sitting room, barking out a chorus to remind us that he needs something?  Is my heart that hard?  Have I succeeded in closing off the part of me that relishes every tilted head, each raised ear, all those wags of that whip-like tail?

No.  I'm just tired, bone and soul, and it will take time for me to recover.  That's what people tell me, and I guess I'm still in the recovery part because I'm still convinced that there was something we could have done; or that the vet on that last awful day was just being kind to us when he said he suspected that Clowny had a form of cancer that could have caused the entire downward spiral that was our summer.

All I can do is hope that the two years with us were good ones for him.  I know he enjoyed traveling, he loved Sandy Paws and Beach Bound Hounds, and he was always happy to go to the festival.  One of my best memories is sleeping in the back of my tiny Fit with Clowny during a rainstorm at the Georgia Renaissance Festival...me in full hoop/corset and Clowny getting as close as he could for a cuddle.

I love love love you, Clowny-Boo, and I will never ever forget our short time together.  You run now, with Hunky, Jeany, Bo, Profee, and Lizzard and spin just as much as you want.  I'm just sorry we couldn't do more to fix that stupid old body so that it could support your beautiful spirit for a little while longer.

Quédate conmigo,
Si no estás no sale el sol.

I'm so glad she was born. SO glad.

At first, she looked like this...

I've recounted the story of how FTH Oopsie Daisy/Daisy/Daisy Duke/Daisy Mae/Mae/Mei Mei/Princess came into our lives.  You have undoubtedly heard me brag about how she was named by the community of greyhound freaks over at GreyTalk, how she lived on her Mama Caffie's kitchen floor until she was old enough to go outside in the puppy runs, and how my entire family on my mother's side once gathered around the computer to watch her come in spectacularly, amazingly, and fabulously dead last in one of her attempts to break maiden at JAX.

(For those not versed in Racing Vocab, that means she has to win a maiden race to get to run with the big dogs.  She didn't do that at JAX but did at Sanford Orlando, where she got up to Grade A.  I'm sure you've heard THAT story before as well, so I'll move on.)

Then, this happened...

What you haven't heard from me lately is that Daisy is nine years old this week (there is a running debate about the Leelo Babies Birthdate so I celebrate 12-14 August to cover all my bases...and because I love her too much for only one day).  Nine.Years.Old.  It has been almost a decade since I watched via text on GreyTalk that she had been born, almost a decade of knowing about her and waiting for her and loving her.

I know, everyone moons over their dogs like they are the only ones that have that sort of relationship.  I know that I am not the only one that loves my dog.  But y'all, my Mei Mei is special.

She came home to me and Simon at the tender age of 2.75, in March of 2007.  Me and Simon weren't even a Me and Simon at that point, not officially, but he was Daisy's Dah-dee from the start.  She never had trouble understanding him like the other dogs did, and would look up at him with the most adoring expression as he talked to her, as though trying to understand every syllable that came out of his mouth.  She still does that.  With him.  With me if I prattle on too long she licks me to shut me up.

She came into a family of old dogs.  Hunky was 10 when Daisy came home, going on 11, and Jeany would turn 10 the next month.  They were still reeling from the loss of Profile, who was the clear pack leader, and were none too thrilled to have this young and bouncy dog around.  So she adapted to them, not the other way around.  She would defer to them in all things, and became a comfort to both of them as they got older.  She also took their Mommy's focus for awhile, so that they could sit around and love each other and not be bothered by my constant fussing and attention seeking.

After Jeany fell down the stairs in Keighley, Simon kept finding Daisy curled up next to her.  She could have been out exploring her new home, terrorizing the cat, or doing a host of other doggie things, but instead she decided to make sure Jeany was comforted.  I think Jeany actually liked it.  After we lost Jeany, Daisy was forever snuggling up to Hunky, even when he wet his bed, and I'm not sure if it was to comfort him over the loss of Jeany or herownself.  Daisy falls hard in love, and when she loves you, you know it.  She loved her big brother and sister with a fierceness that I wish more people could possess.

And now, all she has to do is this and I'm a goner. 

Now she's back in that position again, after two years in the UK of being the only dog, getting all the attention, and generally living like the Princess she is.  With Clowny's injury and subsequent paralysis, Daisy has to navigate a world where her people are either ignoring her or telling her to be careful, don't stand on Clowny, let him finish eating before you dive into his bowl, etc.  She could turn into a spoiled brat, acting out because she isn't getting the attention she's used to, taking her frustration out on Clowny who is, to be fair, the easiest of targets right now.

But she doesn't.  My precious baby girl, my Daisy Mei Mei backs up when we ask, she waits to be allowed to clean up the food Clowny leaves behind, she snuggles on the bed with him at night until he grouses at her to move.  She takes her toys elsewhere and plays on her own, tossing George, her stuffed monkey, up in the air over and over until someone notices.  She follows me down the hall when I just need to go cry about Clowny a little without letting him see me do it and licks my tears off my face.

Today (and the two days prior) are more than a celebration of her birthday.  Today is a reminder that through some twist of fate, I was given the gift of Daisy.  Love you to absolute bits, my babygirl, to the moon and back.   I don't know what your Daddy and I would have done this summer without you.  Thanks is not enough, not by a longshot.

"You're my back bone.
You're my cornerstone.
You're my crutch when my legs stop moving.
You're my head start.
You're my rugged heart.
You're the pulse that I've always needed.
Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.
Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.
Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.
Like a drum my heart never stops beating...
For you, for you."

(from Gone, Gone, Gone by Phillip Phillips)

Changes in Attitudes...

Well, the last time I was posting, Clowny was walking.  About a month later, he stopped walking.  That change went hand in hand with Clown stopping prednisone.  He walked around, slowly, at Mountain Hounds in Gatlinburg but for the most part he stayed in our room and was miserable.

He has changed medicine twice and has been to see a holistic vet for acupuncture and laser therapy, but is still not walking.  His back legs work and are responsive to pain, but there is some sort of disconnect in his spine so he can't make them stay under him.

Our lives now are consumed with picking him up to go outside, washing pee pads, washing blankets, pleading with him to eat, and watching him struggle when he slips out of our hands and onto the floor with a crash.

There hasn't been much to blog about, really.  Two weeks after his...accident?  Onslaught of symptoms?  Two weeks after that I finished for the summer at Clemson and have been taking all the interpreting work I can get in order to pay for his treatments and keep all four of us fed.  I want to get out of the house, but with limited funds and his limited mobility, I feel guilty if I'm gone more than a few hours.  And poor Clowny smells like a bad day at the assisted living facility...but being a greyhound we can't bathe him every day.  His fur would likely fall out!

I don't think I've slept more than 2 hours at a go since Memorial Day.  He cries when he needs his pee pad changed.  He cries when he poos.  He cries when he wants water, or when he just needs to roll over.  And thanks to my supersonic hearing that I'm positive I inherited from my mother, every time he cries I wake up.  To be fair, I also wake him when he licks...which he does a lot, probably just to alleviate his own boredom.

I'm also participating in another Camp NaNoWriMo this month, so I'm already feeling a bit guilty about using my writing time here rather than on the Work In Progress.

There are those in my professional life that have been insensitive at best and downright insulting at worst about my dedication to my dog and what it means for my life.  To be fair, the one person I'm thinking of now has also made insulting comments about my choice to put my husband and our life above my duty to my work or how ridiculous is it that I want to have children, so I'm not sure that I should be bothered too much by comments about how much I love my dog.

Anyway, all of this is not a cry for attention or pity, far from it.  We have a wheelchair for Clowny now that we are trying to make work, and the next step after that will be a ramp for him to be able to go in and out the front door.  This post is meant more as a catch up...so that those who do understand why we do what we do for this amazing creature that shares our home and hearts will know what's going on.  Hug your hounds and take every chance you can to see them run, play, and even walk across the room to beg for a treat or just gaze at you.  Trite as it may sound, you just never know when those things will be taken away.

Mommy loves you, Clowny.  To the moon and back.

On wobbles and stumbles and leaps of faith...

My magic boy, Regall Azkaban ("Clowny")

On Wednesday night, I got home from work and let the dogs out of the bedroom, scolding Clowny as per usual when he bounded out past the baby gate, spinning around like a top and careening into Daisy.  That sort of behavior made putting a muzzle on him impossible and Daisy mad, so it was not winning him any points.  I think I might have even popped him on the noggin to get his attention.

I let them out, I let our foster dog Mannie out, I fed the dogs...all went as it normally did. That evening Clowny had one of his more vacant episodes, but with him being almost 11 and that night there was a thunderstorm on the way, I didn't worry too much.

The next morning, last Thursday, I got up and went to work as normal.  Hubs rang me on my way in to say that Clown had lost complete use of his back legs and it looked like he had experienced a stroke.  I nearly crashed my car.  Of course, I turned around and headed back home, trying to find an open vet practice as I went.  The one we normally use, whom I will call Vet #1, had a voice mail message telling me to call the E-Vet.  I did that, and the nice girl that answered told me that they don't take emergency clients after 0730 because the overnight vets had left.  Sorry?

I then called Vet #2, whom I think will become Vet #1 in the future, and they were not only in the office but said to bring Clowny in right away.  I got back home, assessed damage, cried some more, and Hubs and I rushed him off to the vet.  Massive Steroid Jab number One happened and we took him back home.

That was Thursday.  I worked from home that day, afraid to leave Clowny for too long.  He was dead weight that day, passed out cold for most of it, probably from the massive steroid jab the vet gave him.  I tried to help him move around because I can't lift him like Hubs can, and only resulted in both of us being frustrated and him almost biting me in my face.  Thursday was a crappy day to say the least.

Then Friday happened.  We took Clowny back to the vet for Massive Steroid Jab number Two, and by the time we got ready to leave the vet he was moving his back legs.  He couldn't keep them under himself or stand, really, but he could move them.

I got them settled at home and headed off to work with my head ANYWHERE but in my office at Clemson.  Hubs rang me around lunchtime to tell me that Clowny had RUN ACROSS THE YARD to investigate the men dumping the topsoil that Hubs had ordered.  Run.Across.The.Yard.  He said it wasn't pretty in the least but Clowny was MOVING ON HIS OWN.

Friday night was uneventful other than doing massive loads of laundry.  Greyhounds, it seems, are like small children who have waited too long to tell someone they need to pee.  When you pick either of them up and squeeze the bladder, you are going to get wet.

Saturday morning we checked in with the vet who said to keep him on 25mg of prednisone a day until Monday when we would re-assess.  By Saturday evening, this happened:

That is Clowny, wobbly and stumbling and absolutely certain that he can make it across the yard WITHOUT YOUR HELP, THANK YOU VERY MUCH MOMMY.  And me, in a squeaky voice, proud of his progress and terrified that he will hurt himself and in complete and utter AWE that the paralysed greyhound I'd seen on Thursday was now running, sort of, in the yard.

More leaps of faith to come.  More progress to report.  I have never been prouder to be Clowny's Mommy.  Not ever.  Watch this space.

Sandy Paws and other Peaches

Clowny's paw print, Jekyll

It always amazes me how Sandy Paws is up on me and then is over so fast.  I spend all year waiting, anxiously, to see a group of people that in some ways are closer to me than my own family...and like a flash, I blink and I'm on my way back home.

This year's get together was no different.  My Mister and I rented a minivan (go on, get that out of your system, me in a minivan) and headed down to Jekyll Island with Clown and Daisy.  Those two rode in STYLE...I was even more irritated than normal that the Mister hasn't gotten his SCDL yet because it would have been HEAVEN to crawl back there on the gooshy dog beds and nap all the way to Georgia's Golden Coast.

The hotel where we stayed was okay...older, and definitely not the posh affair of the last two SP events, but homey, in a way.  What was NOT cool was vending from hotel rooms rather than in a large vendor hall as we've done in the past.  You didn't get to see anyone if you were vending, other than those you were staying with or your vending partners.  I was lucky enough to glom (is that a word?) onto Janet Schaffer of Casual Bling and Suzie Collins of Skinnyhound Designs so that I could sell my books.  I sold seven, which is a record for a greyhound event.

Sandy Paws started out as a means to an end for me, and remains so.  I didn't go initially because I wanted to attend an organized gathering with workshops or because I had a stack of books to hock.  I went because I had preadopted an amazing creature called Daisy (FTH Oopsie Daisy) and was now a part of the Follow That Hound family.  So changes to the venue or schedule, ice cream socials and over-priced buffet meals really aren't a factor to me when I think of Sandy Paws.  The only thing that I do, really, that has anything to do with the event, is help sponsor the creation of crowns for the greyhounds named King and Queen of SP (even though my own hounds have never even been nominated...not even after Daisy went to SP 2012 a mere 5 days after a transatlantic flight-turned-nightmare).

Anne and I pay to have someone make crowns that fit the theme of the gathering, and this year was no different...except that prior to this year's SP someone in the organizing group got her pants in a bunch over a design for a Tshirt that the aforementioned Suzie made...for us, the FTH family...because she wanted EVERYONE to know that it was NOT an official SP13 shirt.

Well, duh.  Suzie didn't make it for everyone.  Not everyone is a Peach.  :)  Not everyone is part of the FTH family. But the WAY that the person made it clear to anyone that was listening was just over the top and plain rude, really.  You would think that it would be common sense not to make an enemy of a very popular vendor, but apparently it wasn't.

So jump ahead now to the crowning of the King and Queen at SP13.  Anne and I are there, she has the crowns and I have the bling that Janet made for the winners.  The person with the twisted pants approached us and took the lot, heading up to the front of the room to get things started.  We didn't think anything about it until we heard HER announcing the King.

Problem...part of our sponsorship of the crowns and bling means that we get to present them to the winners. It's a neat way for us to be a part of the gathering and to get to meet the winners...or, like at SP12, crown one of our own as King when Lightning (FTH Lightning) won.  Well, because Anne is a superhero, she charged down to the front with me, Mighty Mouse, trailing behind her to find out what was going on.  We were offered the chance to announce the Queen, but she turned it down, pulling a victory lap back to her table, and I continued on Anne AutoFollow back to the back.

Y'all...I don't have time for grownups that act like children, I really don't.  Not during a swiftly moving weekend with people that I adore that I only get to see once a year.  To the organization's credit, a few of their members approached us afterward and apologized, but you see, the damage was done.  Once again, I'm not "in the know," or a part of the core crowd...and finally, after over a decade of doing greyhound adoption and hanging out with greyhound people...that's okay.  I don't need it, or as my perfect niece Joy says, "I can't use it."

Keep the drama.  I love my Peaches, I know what is important in my life, and I'm off to celebrate it.  GEM and Mountain Hounds ahoy!

Quickie...Cross your fingers, please?

Proud Racer: An American Greyhound
in Yorkshire, by Nancy E. Dunne

Just wanted to give you guys a little heads up that Daisy's second book, An American Greyhound in Yorkshire, has been entered in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest for 2013.  I don't expect that it will go anywhere but...you never know.  Three cheers for Daisy Mei Mei, international dog of mystery...and for her mommy for finally sprouting a pair and going for a contest.  Fingers and paws crossed!

What a long strange...year...it's about to be.

Starry, Starry Blackberry Wallpaper

I'm not going to do my standard "Year in Review" post today.  I'm also not going to list resolutions for the new year that I will certainly break.  What I am going to do is tell you my plans for the year, so that this time 2014 I can look at this post again and see how close I got to getting it all right.

A short disclaimer:  This optimism is destined not to last, so enjoy it while it is here.  I'm sure I'll be back to my regular emo ray of sunshine self very, very soon.

This year is going to be very lucky for me and mine.  We have a house.  We will have a fence and a deck soon.  Our basement floor will return to normal.  We will get all our boxes from the overseas move unpacked before summer.  We will have guests from the UK and the US and Canada and wherever else we have friends to come stay with us. I will be having a Eurovision finals party at my house in May. Daisy and Clown will maintain, healthy and happy, as they are today.

Our family will grow.  We've gotten downright scientific about this whole process, and while we will definitely increase the canine population of the house with a larger and fuzzier newcomer, I am confident that we will also add to our family of humans.

I will get something published.  In the past, I have resolved to "make part of my living with my writing" and I've done that. Daisy's book and my others are still available on Lulu.com. This year, however, is when that takes a step up.  This is the year that all my nano-noveling and other pecking at my keyboard will be shared with the world, as well as the year that I truly start to believe that I have a story to tell that people want to read.

I will be doing more things in the name of self-care.  There will be yoga and meditation to quiet my mind as well as a dedicated effort to start running again while my knees will still allow me to do so.

There will be travel.  Watch this space, as I will be filling all five or six of you in on my travels in a more timely manner than I have in the past.  Along those lines, and in combination with the above publishing work, there will be a photo book in the works of our honeymoon trip.  We are fairly decent photogs, me and my Mister, and I want to share the incredible experience we had with others.

I am going to be a better listener and friend, and will spend more time doing and less time talking about doing.  Of course, this blog doesn't count...

Finally, I'm going to look back on this post on 1 Jan 2014 and smile at all I've accomplished this year.  Happy New Year, Lettuce Readers.  Live long and prosper, and all that jazz.

For my friend Carla, with all my love...

“Where are they?”  Daisy asked, her question directed at thin air.  “And why can’t I see you?  I saw Profile before.”

“Because we’re all together now,” Jeany said.  “Things are different now.  Things are changing.  But we’re all still watching Mommy and now watching Daddy Simon.  You’re the one that has to take care of Mommy now, like Profile taught you.  She is going to be lost without us.”  

“I’m lost!” Daisy sniffled.  “I can’t do this by myself.”

“Yes you can,” Jeany said, her voice fading a bit.  “I’ve got to go, Pup, but we will all be watching and listening.  If you need us, just go outside and look up at the stars.  That’s where we’ll be, dancing around and playing.”
-from An American Greyhound in Yorkshire

I won't say goodbye, because it isn't. I'll just say see you later, because I will, Stardancer.

Carla with FTH Sassy Thang, Sandy Paws 2009

Xie-xie, Mei Mei.

My Mei Mei and Me at Gretna Green, May 2011

Today I want to talk about my dogs.  Well, one of my dogs.  I know, that's a real departure for me.  Well, hang on to your hats.  Today I want to tell you about my angel, my Daisy, my Mei Mei.

The idea came to me while reading a wonderful article from the SF Gate about how greyhounds heal hearts.  Click here to have a read, it's a good one.  I will wait.  You might need a tissue.

I got into the office today meaning to write about that, and found my entry for Daisy to win Beach Bound Hounds Queen this year (she didn't win, but to me she is more than a silly title anyway):

I pre-adopted Daisy when she was about a month or two old, via the Follow That Hound! Program (now sadly closed).  I watched her race (badly) and then when she retired, she came home to me.  Daisy has always been a light in my sometimes dark world, but I’m nominating her today because she made the difference between me giving up and trudging on during the two years we lived in England. Don’t get me wrong, I love England and the reason I moved there, my husband Simon.  I moved there with Daisy and my two other precious GC dogs, Hunky and Jeany.  They arrived a few days before I did and sadly Jeany took a bad fall down the stairs in the house.  She waited until I got there with her little sister Daisy right by her side, literally.  Daisy stuck by Jeany and gave her comfort through what must have been excruciating pain, which was amazing because Daisy was a little afraid of Jeany.  To be fair, we were all a little afraid of her, bless her sweet Diva Princess heart! Sadly, Jeany did not make it through surgery on her shoulder.  Hunky was devastated.  Jeany was his world.  Once again, my Daisy came through and even though she had never been close to either of them, she was Hunky’s shadow, generally making sure of him, to paraphrase Piglet from Winnie the Pooh.  Hunky gave up and went to be with Jeany about a month after we lost her, and Daisy found herself with a new charge:  Mommy. Losing them so close together was awful.  Going through that while 4,000 miles away from everything and everyone I knew was soul destroying, honestly.  I didn’t want to do anything after that, but Daisy knew better.  She would crawl up on the sofa with me and snuggle up for hours.  She got in the bed with me in the mornings after Simon left for work and did everything she could think of to make me smile and laugh (hard work, that).  She helped me remember what was good and happy and furry and loving in life.  Daisy helped me get out into the world again, and was instrumental in making me more social because people always wanted to meet her and pet her (red fawns are apparently more rare in the UK than here, and especially so when they are as tall as Daisy is).  She rode buses and trains like an absolute trooper, and I never had to start a single day while I was there without her bouncing on the bed and licking me from hairline to chin.  We all say that our greyhounds saved us and not the other way around, but I truly believe it to be true for me and Daisy.  She saved me even when I didn’t want saving, and for that (and the fact that she has traveled outside of the US!) I want to nominate her for BBH Queen 2012.

If you look up the meaning of Mei Mei you'll find a variety of answers.  I call her that because, via being a Browncoat myself and learning all my Chinese phrases that I know from the Firefly 'verse, I heard Simon Tam call River that during one episode...and looked it up.  I choose to call her that because one translation I saw was beautiful little girl.  The title, "Xie-xie, Mei Mei," in the 'verse would translate to Thank you, Mei Mei.  Dong-ma?

Daisy came to me at a very turbulent time in my life.  My ex-husband and I had pre-adopted her when she was about a month old, and from that time until she was two I watched every one of her 5 attempts at breaking maiden at JAX and then watched for the results of her races at Sanford-Orlando.  Babygirl got up to grade A there!  In the late autumn/early winter of 2006 I got "the email" from Cathie Lambert, Daisy's "Mama Caffie," saying that my girl was ready to come home.

Profile was sick.  The tumor on top of his skull was getting bigger and was impairing his vision and his ability to eat.  I took him to the vet at Thanksgiving and found out that it was cancer.  Hunky and Jeany weren't young by any means, and my old cat Franny was getting older and more frail with every passing day.  Oh, and I was in the middle of a divorce which thankfully was amicable, and had moved to Montgomery, Alabama which might as well have been the other side of the world from all my greyhound support.  When Cathie emailed me I freaked out and said it wasn't the right time.  But she knew better.  And she was right.

I picked up my Mei Mei in February of 2007 after losing Profile in January.  My heart wasn't ready.  But she knew better.  Daisy came dancing into my life and always seems to know when I need a spin around her own personal dance floor, because I'm missing Profile or Hunky or Jeany or Franny or even Mills, her nemesis.  She crawls up onto the sofa with me, inching ever closer until she is touching me and then she just stays there.  Hours after hour after hour she stays there.  That's what I was talking about in the entry for BBH Queen.

Now don't get me wrong, Daisy is 110% her Dah-dee's girl.  My Mister is, without a doubt, the center of Daisy's universe.  But she has a job to do, and that job is to make sure Mommy is okay, and she does it without fail nor complaint.  She is my angel, my Mei Mei.  Clown brings his own talents to our little family, but it is Daisy that keeps me off the ledge.  Ta very much, Mei.  Mommy loves you to absolute bits.

Battening down virtual hatches...

Hurricane Sandy, Satellite Image courtesy the Telegraph

Say what you will about those of us who spend a lot of time on Facebook, but today it has been a godsend.  I have so many friends that I consider family stretched all up the eastern seaboard and Facebook has helped me check in on almost all of them to make sure that they have made it through the onslaught of Hurricane Sandy as it made landfall last night.

One of those families, a Follow That Hound family member, had to be rescued from their house by kayak...and their greyhounds, long hailed as superheroes, walked through the chest deep water until they could get to higher ground.  I will be continuing my good thoughts, vibes, and Facebook watching until I know each and every one of them is safe and dry and out of harm's way.

Corsets and moving vans and nephews and Nano...oh myyyy...

Random acts of Silly doth abound in Fairhaven...

(You should absolutely read that Oh My in the way that George Takei says it.  In fact, every time anyone says Oh My it should be using his voice.  Every. Time.)

So it's been awhile and I've promised time and again to blog about the honeymoon, the European extravaganza that was the months of May and June for me and The Mister.  This isn't going to be that post either, so if you've been waiting for that, you might as well keep surfing.

It's currently the end of October which means the Carolina Renaissance Festival has been in full swing for four weekends now, leaving only three to go before we sadly pack up the Dog Barn for another year and start madly plotting our garb for our trip to the "Southern Kingdom" of Newcastle in Georgia in the spring of next year.  But wait, that's not all that's going on...I'm still working on getting my soon to be former roommates decked out in garb of their own (a court gown to be done by this coming Saturday as well as a doublet!  I must be MAD.), moving into a new house, and starting a NaNoWriMo on Thursday.  Mad indeed!

We thought that it would be easy to do when we started this sewing project back in August (nevermind that I was doing a Camp NaNo then as well).  We planned to do the parts of the gowns at the same time and finish them both before Opening Weekend so that we didn't have to worry.  Ah, the best laid plans...

My gown is mostly done, as you can see in the photo above.  There are some bits that need finishing and WHO KNEW that thing would be as HEAVY as it is, but there you are.  Beauty is pain.  I had a little girl curtsy to me yesterday because she thought I was royalty ("your dress looks like the queen's!") so I guess it's all worth it.  Out of the mouths of babes...if ONLY my garb looked like Bettina's work!

Anyway, so mine is almost done and will have to be re-done before next year.  The sleeves are the heaviest part and will have to be grommetted in so that I can removed them before performing mundane tasks such as going to the privy or picking up poop or...amazingly enough...putting on my cloak!  It was like I was holding two persian cats under there.  Not good.

We've almost completed our move into the new house.  As I type, The Mister is wrestling with putting up blinds and unwrapping/setting up IKEA bookshelves.  It never ceases to amaze me the size difference in our furniture in our American house as opposed to our English one.  Where are my "huge" leather sofas?

Over the weekend my brother in law Andrew and his...partner?  Girlfriend?  I'm not sure the appropriate term, but they had a little boy, the first grandson/nephew for the Dunnes.  I'm hoping to see photos soon, and I need to get on the ball and email my niece, the new kid's big sister, to check in on her.  Being a big sister is not always as glamorous as it looks, and I want her to know that Auntie Nancy has been there/done that and would love to listen if she needs to discuss the finer points of siblings.

Finally...Nano starts on Thursday and I think it's going to be EQ fanfic for me again.  My hope is that all of this writing I grind out in November (as well as the past Nanos that have been on the same theme) can one day be edited to remove anything that the EQ head honchos may think is actually their property and made into a fantasy novel that can be published and read by people other than me and my sometimes muse, Mike (who brought one of the main characters to virtual life in game for years).

Yeah, so...that's what's going on here.  Not much, really, in the grand scheme of starvation and war and Hurricane Sandy, I suppose.  But enough.  You hear me universe?  I've got enough for now.

Oh myyyy indeed.

What I've been up to...

You'll see me for a second when she talks about the heavy costumes we wear...I'm on the left in the orange.

A Falk in the Driftwood Worest..with Peaches.

Are we there yet?, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

(thanks and love to Zilch the Torysteller for part of the title...)

This weekend was the annual Sandy Paws event...and if this were years past I'd be doing something uber fun right now in Jacksonville before getting ready to go to Orange Park to watch the dogs run. But alas, with gainful employment in higher education does not always come annual leave, so here I am, back from my break, blogging. Yeah.

I headed down Thursday night after work to spend a whirlwind weekend of meeting, greeting, laughing, and even a little tired crying (on the way home yesterday) with people that are one of my families of choice: my greyhound friends and more specifically my Follow That Hound friends. Even though with the closure of B&J Kennels this year the FTH program is no more, we all still get together and we all still feel like a big extended family.

Friday afternoon Anne and Leah and I went out to Driftwood Beach for some photos of me and the dogs...but I ended up just wandering around and taking pictures because HOLY MOLY is that place amazing. Oaks felled by a hurricane created petrified sculpture. It's like walking around and seeing dinosaur bones. Insane.

Friday night was spent laughing until we cried with good friends. I need more of that in my life. I need my Peaches.

Saturday was more Sandy Paws fun, including the crowning of the king and queen, a live auction (including one of Daisy's books that went for $55 I think?), and then the tired returning to the villa for one last night's sleep to the sound of the waves.

Yesterday was awful...I hate the annual theft of an hour by Daylight Saving Time even though it means I'm only 4 hours behind Simon rather than 5. But the pretty face in the picture there kept me company for the ride back to Greenville, and I wouldn't trade a minute of that time even if it did seem to be an hour earlier.

I'll get my pictures uploaded to Flickr soon...stay tuned. Roooooooo!

Flashback Post #5...for those about to Sandy Paws...

Profile Seinfeld, or How to Win the SP Talent Show without even TRYING.

Lurve

Lurve, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

Well, my bags are packed (not really), it's early morn (in the US), the taxi's waiting (he's here for a neighbor I guess), he's blowin' his horn (not really, that's just someone jaywalking)...

I don't leave till tomorrow, but I am trying to go on and process it today so that tomorrow isn't so awful. Flying days SUCK, but at least there are some bright spots this time:

I start a new job on Tuesday. More details on that later, as I'm not sure they've told everyone else that applied for the position.

We are an interview (and possibly a piece of documentation or two) away from Simon having his green card.

I will be living with my ClownA at least M-F and hopefully more if I can find a place to live that I can afford.

But still, something is tugging at me. This tiny island grabs hold of you with all it has when you let it, and it is so very hard to let go. One day I'll be back for good, but for now we are ready to start a new chapter living in America. I've been ready to start that chapter since May!

See you guys on the other side of a big ocean and a tin bird.

It's more exciting than all that, honest!

Snores of a Clown, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

Well, the 2011 CRF season has almost come to an end. We have two more weekends to go, and I have a day and a half left to work.

Speaking of, if you're in the area before about 1pm on Sunday, 13 November or any time on Saturday, 19 November come see me and Clown in the doghouse!  And while you're at it, you can follow us on Twitter, like our page on FB using the box on the right hand side (make sure you're following the official HOEF page for the most up to date info), and join our FB group.

Right, shameless promotion done. This season has been so much better than I think any of us could have imagined back at the beginning of October. Just before the season started (and I do mean JUST BEFORE, like A WEEK BEFORE) we had a major change up of leadership and basically how we operate as a group. Rather than one director as has been the way in the past, we now have an advisory board made up of one member from each adoption group that is represented. So much more democratic as well as taking the burden off just one person.

Sadly, in the change up we did lose some members but we have gained about seven new members in the process. Almost every day we've been at CRF this season the dog house has been full to overflowing with dogs! We've had such a good time. The atmosphere is relaxed and fun again like it was in the early days when we had nothing but a tiny wet tent and a few hay bales on which to sit. It's been a good thing overall, and will ensure the continued success of the group and the growth of membership. Win-Win!

As you can see, my new boy Clown has taken to life at the festival like he's always been there...I think he might be channeling a bit of Hunky there as well.

So Huzzah and Well Met! Two more weekends and then we're planning for GARF in the spring!