Blog Tag Immunity

I was tagged twice last night. I am responding but I am also proclaiming my blogger tag immunity status. I had no idea what to post about myself that you guys don't already know about my so I asked my husband to help me out on this one. His responses are bold and my commentary follows.

Tell 'em that you're gray. Gray, not gay, people. And not that there is anything wrong with being gray or gay. Yes, I am about sixty percent gray. I have been having my hair colored every four weeks for almost twenty years now.

Tell 'em that you like antiques. Ah, good call David. Yes, I love antiques especially when they have a history back to our families. When our house gets back together from our oh-my-gosh-what-were-we-thinking-when-we-started-this-project I will show you some of my favorites. I do have a love for old books. I love the way they smell and the way the feel.

Do they know you are going to be the mother of the groom? My oldest son is getting married in June. That means I have about ten months to lose weight, find a beige dress, and learn how to keep my mouth shut. Wish me luck with that one!

Do they know that you like pictures of leaves and fruit and stuff? I think what David is trying to say is that I decorate with botanicals. Photographs, vintage prints, simple floral arrangements.

That the only reason you are a cat person and not a dog person is because you don't like to pick up dog poop. True enough, my dear.

This is the first time in fifteen years that I haven't had a houseful of dogs. I originally had a kennel where I bred and showed shih tzu and yorkies. I sold that when we moved to this house three years ago.

When we got to this place we had four great danes, all of them from rescue and one more fabulous then the next. I also was active in greyhound rescue at the same time I had the danes so we usually had about four greyhounds in addition to the danes.

Big Boy, Brindle Greyhound. Came to me with a broken leg, nursed him back to health and got him ready for adoption. He always liked to sleep with a blanket over his head. He was by far the tallest greyhound I ever had the pleasure to live with, yet he looked dwarfed by the danes.

Another picture of Big Boy with his favorite doo rag.

Scuba Doo had a sad story. Things like this are so out of the normal, the majority of the greyhound tracks are good facilities but that doesn't mean you can't end up with a unscrupulous kennel manager.

Scuba's kennel manager took the money and ran. Stole the valuable equipment, cashed the checks and left the dogs to live in eleven dogs to live in their own filth until someone discovered them days and days after he ran off. My Scuba was one of the few to survive. He was stained and burnt from sitting in his own urine, he was shy, timid and had to relearn that food wasn't going to go away again.

Scuba lived with as about four months until he was ready to become someones beloved pet forever. He left here with about as much confidence as any other greyhound, but always remained skittish in new situations.

Now this is Arianna trying to watch television with Cole, a mottled blue merle great dane laying in her lap. Cole did not know any boundaries.

When we got Cole he was about one hundred and seventy pounds and could hardly walk. Long story short, it was a thyroid problem and once he had his situation remedied and maintained he was a very proud svelte one hundred and thirty five pounds of love.

Cole eventually was put down because he had later developed a neurological disease that would continue to progress. We tried to keep him going as long as he could, but once he started to shuffle his feet and fell down a flight of steps, well our choice was an obvious one.

 

This is Bree, a very poorly bred harlequin dane. She was an absolute hoot and a genuine bitch. She was about ten years old when we had her put down. She had a horrific swayback from delivering too many puppies in a puppy mill situation and the pain from her arthritis couldn't be managed anymore. She was miserable and it was her time.

The funniest thing about Bree was when she was happy her tail didn't wag from side to side like a "regular" dog, instead it went around and around in a giant circle.

 

And this is William, trying to budge Travis out of his queen size bed. William, like all my other danes, came to me through rescue. He was a magnificent tall male, he was 36 inches at the shoulder and when I put my arm straight out his ear pricks touched my underneath my outstretched arm. Oh and he loved me. So much. He was well bred and a dane owners dream come true. I believe he weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds. He, too, thought he was a lap dog.

And then one day William started to cough up blood and was always tired and very wobbly. It wasn't hard to deal with because we always took in the rescues that didn't have a lot of time left but we wanted to give them the best possible out of their remaining years. Turns out my dear William was heart worm positive. Damn. So we dumped a couple thousand bucks in to him for the treatment (you know the bigger the dog, the bigger the bill) and had him on crate rest for eight weeks.

As William recovered his true personality began to shine through and he was an absolute mean, mean dog. He was territorial and wouldn't let any humans near me, not even the kids. Then he snapped at David and you could actually hear his jaws smack together and all David was going to do was lean over William and give me a hug when he got home from work.

Well, the decision got made that this dog had to go and it killed me. My vet reassured me he couldn't be rehomed because there wasn't a place in the world that would have been able to tolerate a situation such as that. My vet even tried to rehome him for me and it just wasn't possible. This was an eight year old giant dog that was ready to bite. Danes live to be eight to ten.

Now let me stress that William's case was highly unusual. Danes are fabulous dogs, William was not the norm. My kids used the danes as pillows to watch television.

That you don't like to do housecleaning. That wasn't fair David and now you have to come up with three more things as a penalty for that one thing.

That you like dirt track races. On our first date David took me to a dirt track race and I was hooked immediately. I am not really a fan of the dust and I have no desire to get up close and get that dirty but I love it. And I am a screamer. I yell at the cars and the drivers and at other fans that are three sections away from ours. I usually yell until I have no voice.

My favorite car to watch would be the late models, when they come on the track and you can feel the motors of the vehicle rumbling in from the top of your collar bone all the way to the bottom of your ribcage? Well, it is fabulous.

My second favorite? I like the grand nationals. I could really care less about the sprint cars, too many flips and restarts, more cautions than I have patience for on any given night. Now I know these car names change for what ever area you live in, even different tracks in Wisconsin call these vehicles different names but those are the names they use at the track we go to in Plymouth Wisconsin which is a one third mile track.

Tell them the name of that book you are reading. I am almost done with Wicked, The Life And Times Of The Wicked Witch Of The West by Gregory Maguire. When that is done I will be reading Son Of A Witch by the same author.

Do they know you have seven cats? I think I may have mentioned that, honey.

Blog Tag Immunity status activated.


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