Greyt Expectations – Your Hound in Their House or How a Crafty Dog Learned to Break all the Rules!

 

We all read about how people should treat their dogs, what they should eat, how they should be kept, and where they should sleep.  Before we had our hounds I had very firm ideas where dogs should or should not be, and most definitely not on the furniture.  I read so much about people who put their dog’s beds in their bedrooms or even shared their beds with them, and that was definitely a no-go for me.  However, Penny has taught us how important it is to adapt your living style around your hound, and that they should have a degree of say in how they live.  After all, it’s their home too.

Sally, greyhound, A Hound in the House,

Sally – our first greyhound.

          When we had our Sally, the first greyhound we had ever taken home, we soon found that we were on a steep learning curve.  The family dog when I was a kid was a Shetland sheepdog who ate tinned dogfood, slept in a plastic basket in the kitchen, rarely went upstairs and never on the furniture.  Before Sally arrived we had spoken to Greyhound Rescue Wales colleagues who had greyhounds, and to the people who had done our home check.  Their greyhound had liked Weetabix for breakfast, and dried food at tea-time, so this is what we followed.  Sally was pretty relaxed and this suited her.  Over the years we tweaked things as she got bored of Weetabix, so would ring the changes with cut cornflakes, or frosties, or porridge, and add plain yoghurt.  Sal would have s light snack dinnertime (crusts or leftovers if we were home) and then a main meal at 5 o’clock – and woe betide if we were late, as Sally’s stomach was more accurate than the atomic clock at Harwell!  She would raise the roof with barking to remind us.  Dried food was supplemented with scraps, and eventually became a mix of dried food and our food.  She thrived on it.  When Sammy arrived, she went on the same diet, two meals and light scraps/food if we were there lunchtime.

          Just like my first dog, Sally was not allowed on the chairs or settee in the house.  On the first evening she climbed up on a chair and I tipped her (gently I might add!) onto the floor.  She never climbed on the chairs again.  When she conquered the stairs (very quickly, I might add!) she was allowed up on our bed, but only when there was a cover on and we were there.  Sally used to get bored lying upstairs on her own and always wanted to be where I was.  I can remember working on the pc in the back bedroom (grandly called “The Office”!) with her lying right under the chair, terrifying me in case I rolled the castors over her ears.  Sammy loved to sneak upstairs and would love to lie in the sunshine on our bed and would sleep there all day given the chance.  After lunch she would cry by the living room door for Armelle to let her go upstairs, where she would stay until she either;

a) Demanded a walk

b) I got home from work

          Sally loved her bed in the kitchen.  From her first evening, she would go out to that bed in the evening usually before we went up to our own bed.  Shew slept through the night until I got up the next morning when she would go out the garden for a toilet stop whilst I prepared her breakfast.  Sammy, on the other hand, liked to come up to bed with us for a short cwtch, and then would come downstairs when I called her for a piece of cheese or a treat, when she would then go to the garden and then to her kitchen bed for the night.

Sammy having a doze

Sammy having a doze

          In some respects we were quite strict about this.  Even after Sammy had shared the bed in the motorhome with Armelle and I on her holidays she would still want her own kitchen bed when we were in the house.  When we had our fosters we changed a bit; Queenie was badly abused by her owner and within days of being with us she tried to tear the kitchen door down at night.  We let her sleep in the living room as she was more comfortable there.  With her toileting issues too, she would only mess at night on a carpet and not on a hard floor – a legacy of her being locked in a concrete-floored shed.  Rhys also decided that the kitchen was not for him so we had to patch up the kitchen door again!  He liked to sleep on the settee in the living room, so for the first few weeks we assessed him that’s where he slept, until he discovered the upstairs bed, and for his last fortnight with us he slept on his blanket in between us. 

          Lizzie never left the kitchen for the first three weeks we fostered her and always saw the kitchen bed as her safe place.  She was the very least adventurous of all her dogs, so quiet and scared of the world, and rarely went into the living room and never ever upstairs.  And then there was The Penster.

          We had learned over the years with experience that some things are more important than others.  The rules we had strictly enforced with the other dogs were somewhat relaxed by Penny.

          Firstly, we discovered that Penny really loved her food.  And then some.  Breakfast was fine but a light snack soon became insufficient and she would come and stare at you, or even bark for a bit more.  Within a few months Penny had initiated a cereal breakfast with yoghurt, a light lunch – Armelle’s scraps but with kibble or later with a pack of pate dog food, and then a dinner just about 5 o’clock.  She started to try it on a bit, and began demanding lunch earlier than 1 o’clock (sometimes as early as 11.15!), and the same for tea time (4 o’clock seemed right for her).  Tea time she does now (mostly) wait for me to come home from work.  She loves a mix of dried kibble with human food, usually 50/50 or even 30/70.   Her favourite lunch is a deconstructed sardine sandwich (very Heston Blumenthal!), which consists of broken up bread (preferably wholemeal), and sardines (again, preferably with tomato sauce).

          Penny is also not a walkies dog.  Sally and Sam would nag if they did not have a walk.  Penny, on the other hand, is happy to go out the garden and very reluctantly go for a walk round the block.  She has never been keen to go out in the rain, or in the dark, and if she decides she does not want to walk, she splays her legs open and you won’t shift her.  Even with bribery of her favourite treats.  She has learnt to ask to go to the toilet so if she wants to go out, she asks.  If we go out in the car then she will take a walk (preferably with another dog for company) and sometimes this is the only way we can get her to toilet if the garden is too wet and muddy.   

          The first evening Penny was with us she wandered into the living room and sat on the grey bed that had originally belonged to Sammy.  This was on the floor next to my chair.  For a few weeks this was sufficient.    Then one evening Penny came in after scouring her food bowl and slipped onto the settee next to Armelle, on a fleece blanket we had initially put on for Rhys.  This has become a regular and she will often walk up to me and either nudge me or walk past a couple of times until I go and sit on the settee too and she will lie on the cushion next to me, head in my lap.

She has also developed a love of the area behind my chair which has two walls and a cabinet on three sides and is quite sheltered.  This is her cwtch where she goes when she feels insecure or just for some quiet.  She has her second living room bed in there.

          For the first few weeks Penny was happy to sleep in the kitchen but then she started banging the kitchen door and even started to chew it.  So, we left the door into the living room open.  This proved satisfactory and Penny would sleep there on her grey bed.  Once the settee had been claimed she decided that this would be her night-time bed and so she slept there instead.  She was a good dog, obedient, non-destructive, so we decided to cut her some slack and let her sleep where she was comfortable and quiet.  However, when we went to Belgium in the motorhome with Penny she got to enjoy sleeping on the double bed with us.  She would get really excited at 9 o’clock when it was time to put the bed out – Armelle would have to hold her back with all her strength whilst I put the bed together, and then Penny would be the first one on it.  When we came home from Belgium the settee was no longer good enough and so we broke the last taboo of all and she began to come up and share the bed with us.  Fortunately it’s a king-size but she does have a habit of trying to push Armelle out of bed if she gets the right angle and leverage.

Penny Dignam, Penny the Crafty Dog, Crafty Dog

Penny the Crafty Dog in her finery.

          This has actually become quite relaxing, having the whole pack together.  It’s no coincidence that since Penny started coming up with us we have all slept better.  She has started to vary her habits by sometimes sleeping downstairs and sometimes with us, which is again fine.  Penny has taught us a lot, but we have also learned from the fosters with their issues.    

          I guess that’s what this article is all about; greyhounds need ground rules, a routine, so they know what the basics of the household are.  With time, they might push the envelope a bit, and in return for them being well-behaved, I think it is fair to give them a bit of leeway.  Penny is a real star; at the end of the day, she is a healthy, well-balanced and relaxed hound in the house who loves her home.  Love your greyhound – and give them a break!

(for more  on our rescued hounds, look up the book  “A Hound in the House” available on this website here.

What’s After the Rainbow Bridge?

Greyt Expectations – What’s After the Rainbow Bridge?

          Have you ever had that feeling when you are alone that you feel there is someone watching you?  Sometimes you may even hear or think you hear something. Zoologists would explain it as those primeval nerves and peripheral senses that once protected early humans when they first came down from the trees. These can in part explain the supernatural and superstitions many of us believe in.  However, sometimes we see things that are not so easy to explain. 

          Our pets are our companions and they invest so much emotion in us as we do in them.   They can be our constant companions, and they miss us when we are gone, and get so excited and happy when we return.  It is not surprising that when they pass on they can leave ripples in the atmosphere, emotional recording so to speak. 

          Sally was our first greyhound and she was a wonderful character, so popular, and was loved by many people.  She was particularly close to my Mum.  Sal had arrived only a month after my Mum’s best friend had passed away and in many ways she filled that need for friendship that had been created.  The routine of dog-sitting on a Tuesday and Thursday became important in helping my Mum through the grieving process and getting her back in the swing.  Sally was so very affectionate and she and I became inseparable; wherever I went, so did Sally.  She would wait patiently for me to come home from work or, on a Thursday, for 2 o’clock when my Mum would arrive with a milky way and let her out the garden.  If I worked upstairs on the pc, Sal would lie at my feet, often so close to the chair that I had to watch that I did not roll over her ears with the castors.  When my appendix burst, I spent 2 months off at home with her and we had some real quality time together.  Then, two years later when I broke my leg whilst walking her, I had three months at home with her.  At this time Armelle still worked 4 days a week so Sally and I were literally on our own from morning to tea-time.  It was great being with her, and on days when I was depressed or worried, she was there to sit and listen to me, not complaining or offering any reproach.  When Sally headed towards 13, Armelle was off work for a while, and I also as I had had the metal plates taken out of my leg, so we again had some quality time together.  Fate had given the three of us a month together, and it was only a few days after we both returned to work that on a Tuesday evening she was taken ill and in the early morning passed away.  I was in the room with her at the time.

         

Sally Greyhound, Greyhound Rescue, Crafty Dog Cymru

Sally our first hound in the house

It was a year or so before we had Sammy, our next greyhound.  She was very sensitive soul herself, and within a few weeks had also grown very close to my mum.  We had only had her a few months when she started a very strange habit; she would sit or lie down and look into space, about 18 inches up, as if listening intently.  She would not just stare blindly but she was really watching something (or someone).  You could read her facial expressions as she would (usually) lie there looking and listening.  Jokingly I said she was listening to orders from The White Dog – our Sally.  This went on all the time we had Sammy. 

          Sammy grew close to our next door neighbour Betty.   Sammy began to stop by her garden gate to go and see her.  We found out that Betty had become very ill with cancer, and Sammy seemed to realise this and became more and more insistent that Armelle should call.  She would go in and sit at Betty’s feet and watch over her, and she would wait patiently as Betty fussed her.  In the September we were going on holiday and the day before we left, Sam as had become usual, insisted on seeing Betty.  They sat with each other, and as Armelle made to leave, Betty spoke to Sam, telling her that they would probably not meet again.  Sam had to be practically dragged out of the house – she even sat down in the hallway and refused to go.   True enough, Betty passed away when we were on holidays, they never did see each other again.  When we came home, Sam would walk past the gate, but never stopped to call in; she knew Betty had gone.

          We did not have Sammy two years when she was attacked by another dog and, despite an emergency operation, she died at the vets.  It was a horrible death, and she was so young – it was the week of her fifth birthday – and it seemed to me that she had never had a chance to live a full and proper life.  She had been cheated.

          I’ve never believed in ghoulies or ghosties, or things that go bump in the night, nor am I particularly superstitious.  However, I have had to change my opinion over the last few years.  It must have been about six months after Sammy died that I was in the kitchen and as I turned towards the fridge freezer I saw a black shape pass from the kitchen into the utility room; I thought it was a black greyhound.  I went out into the utility room – but there was no-one there.  I put it all down to my imagination.  A few months later I was in the downstairs cloakroom early in the morning as I was getting ready for work.  The door was slightly ajar and as I turned to stand up I saw a small black greyhound trot past the door.  I opened the door wide – again there was no-one there.  I began to believe that for some reason Sam was still about, and keeping an eye on us, as Sally had kept an eye on her.  We had no dog at that time as we were in between hounds, but even since Penny has arrived I have still occasionally seen Sam.  It is usually in the kitchen or utility room, never upstairs, and always just a fleeting glance not a good view, and always unexpected.  It has never felt frightening or spooky, just unusual.  I have sometimes even felt her brush against me.

          Since mentioning this, a number of other pet owners have talked of seeing their pets after they have passed on; they have seen them, heard them and even smelt them.  Why does it happen to some and not to others?  I would suggest that in Sam’s case, she was so young that she still wants to share some time with us and is not ready to go yet.  She has only once seemed to talk to Penny.  Armelle has never seen her (or not admitted it!).  Sal was so very close to me yet I have never seen her – why has she not made an appearance?  I guess we’ll never know. 

          At the end of the day, I find it quite comforting to think that Sam is looking over us, and even that it seems to reaffirm the idea of life after death.  As Hamlet said, there are more things in heaven and earth….

Penny, Greyhound,Bluebells, Crafty Dog, Crafty Dog Cymru

Sammy in the bluebell wood

Spooky Adventures with Rubbish and Friends

Ghosties and Ghoulies, Hounds and Hysterics….

Here is the Hallowe’en story from 2016 – a spooky adventure for Rubbish the Rabbithound, the Mighty Finn and Jeffrey the ancient marmalade cat.   Its not too scary – honest!

The Haunted Castle or Or Rubbish and the Hound of the Basquet-Villes

In the blood-red glow of the fireplace the rabbits sat in a huddle, all waiting on Bob’s every word.  It was a dark and cold autumn evening and they were gathered round listening for the story to continue.  “And in the glow of the brightest moon there stood a massive hound, with enormous teeth as sharp as knives, that dripped blood.”

“Ooooh,” the little rabbits went.

“And his eyes glowed like the coals in this fire,” Bob pointed to the hearth.

“Awwww,” the kits replied, their eyes as wide as the ghostly hound’s jaws.

“And do you know what the Hound said?” Bob asked.  He leaned towards them.  Their little heads all shook a “No”.  He beckoned them to come closer.  And closer.

They all shuffled forward.

Bob whispered, “The evil hound said…..” They leant closer.

“WOOOFF!” Bob shouted.

A whole row of little rabbits jumped three feet (all four feet) into the air.  Everyone laughed, Bob loudest of all.

“You know Bob, they all love your stories,” Bluebell, his wife and the mother of the warren, told him.  She chuckled too as she watched all the little rabbits smiling and giggling and teasing each other.  All of them, except Tom.  Tom was not quite the youngest of the rabbits in the warren but he was the smallest, and he was also the most adventurous and the bravest.  Tom slowly raised his hand.

“Yes, young Tom,” Bob asked.

“Dad, it’s about the ghostly hound of Hell,” he answered quietly.

“What about it,” the father rabbit smiled.

“I’ve seen it,” he replied.  The laughter in the room suddenly turned to silence.

“What do you mean?”

Tom looked at his mum and dad and the others as he spoke.  “I have seen the hound and heard him.”

The room suddenly, despite the coal fire, went very cold as a chill fell over the rabbits.  “It’s only a story, like all Bob’s stories,” Bluebell chided him.

Tom was adamant.  “I saw the hound.”

All the eyes in the burrow were now on the little brown rabbit.  Bob waved his paw for Tom to continue.  “I was playing in the far woods near the river.  Across the river is the old castle.”

“It’s haunted,” one of the other rabbits whispered to the room.

Tom shook his head.  “I don’t believe in ghosts.  Or at least, I didn’t.  One afternoon I was there when it started to get dark, and I could see lights in the broken windows.  I walked over the old bridge through the gateway to see where they were coming from.”

All the little rabbits’ eyes were open even wider than they had been when Bob was speaking.

“In the courtyard I heard voices.  Someone was shouting.  I sneaked inside to look.  There were two humans arguing. They looked like they were wearing pale grey clothes.  As they waved their arms around and screamed I noticed something odd.  I could see the walls of the castle straight through them. Then they walked away through a doorway and vanished.    I was really glad they went as I began to think they must be ghosts.  Just when I stood up, I could feel that someone was watching me.”

“Ooooh,” went one of the girls.

“I could also feel a cold draft on my neck.  I turned around very slowly,” Tom’s voice was faltering a bit now as he remembered what had happened.  “And there in front of me stood an enormous dog.  He was huge, with a huge mouth and a gigantic tongue and freezing cold breath.  His eyes were red and glowing.”

“What did you do?” even Bob was hooked.

Tom swallowed.  “I said ‘Hello’.”

The room went even more silent if that was possible, apart from the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

“What did the hound say?” asked Bluebell.

“Woof?” asked Bob.

Tom shook his head.  “He yelped, jumped backwards and ran away into the castle.”

There was a hush for a second, and then someone said, “Oh, what a swizz.”

Everyone laughed again and the atmosphere broke.  They all thought Tom had been telling a story and within a minute everyone was going about their ordinary business.  Everyone, that is, except Scutter, who was the biggest of Tom’s brothers.  He put his arm around Tom and took him to the quiet part of the room.  “Is that all true?” he asked the little rabbit.  Tom nodded truthfully.

“That’s odd.  Ghosts and a frightening hound that’s scared of a rabbit.” Scutter bit his lip thoughtfully.  “Sounds like a job for the Mighty Finn and our Rubbish.”

Tom smiled, “Oh yes, they’d love that!”

Scutter gave his brother a squeeze.  “We’ll go over tomorrow morning and tell them all about it.  Finn will have a plan.”

“Or Jeffrey,” the little one added.

Scutter frowned, “Oh yes, Jeffrey will definitely have a plan!”

The next morning the two rabbits slipped through the gap in the tall green doorway that led into the walled garden which was home to Cath and Sean (alias the Maid and the Butler), Finn the wise old Scottish deerhound and Rubbish, the young brindle greyhound who lived with them.  Walking up the path the rabbits looked up to the top of the red brick wall to where Jaffrey the ancient and creaky marmalade cat usually sat.  He was not there today.  Further towards the house there was an old shaggy grey rug that looked like it had been thrown over a chaise longue.  On the chair alongside they could see the young greyhound, lying on his back with his paws in the air.  As they drew closer Rubbish saw them and called out a “Hello!”  The shaggy rug moved and drew itself up to its full height, becoming the Mighty Finn, the lord of the Glen and master of the woods.  He shook noisily, throwing of wisps of grey hair into the autumn sunshine.  The rabbits looked up into the pair of deep brown kindly eyes that sparkled back at them.  “What ho, my little friends!” he smiled.

“Morning Rubbish and Mr Finn,” Scutter replied.  Tom despite his braveness was always in awe of the great deerhound and just blushed and waved awkwardly before sidling closer to his brother.

“How can we help you?”  Rubbish lay on his haunches to look at the rabbits better.  Finn winked at Tom, “I sense an adventure, young Rubbish” he announced.

Scutter grinned, “I think so Mr Finn.  Tom has seen something very strange in the ruined castle.”

“Oh yes?” Finn answered.

Tom nodded and stepped forward, “Yes sir.  I think its ghosts.”

As he spoke the sun went behind a cloud and it became sharply cold.

“Finn doesn’t believe in ghosts, do you?” Rubbish looked to the deerhound.

There was no reply.  Finn leaned down and quietly asked Tom to tell him what he had seen.  He listened carefully and then considered what the rabbit had said.

Rubbish looked at the deerhound that was clearly deep in thought.  “Is this a two biscuit problem?” he asked.  Finn nodded.  Rubbish passed him two dog-choc biscuits that Finn chewed slowly and deliberately.

“I am not a believer in ghosts but I have to accept what young Tom has seen.” He crunched his second biscuit and the rabbits and greyhound awaited his further ideas.

Finn straightened himself and smiled, “I have a plan.”

“Hooray!” cheered the rabbits.

“Rubbish, you and I must go to the Old Castle and see what’s going on.  Let’s go and meet the ghost.”

The rabbits jaws dropped.

“Oh,” said Rubbish.  “I’ve never met a ghost.”

Finn’s eyes twinkled, “My dear Rubbish, neither have I.  It will be a first for both of us!”  He laughed out loud and the others joined in.

Little Tom said to himself, “Well, ghosties, you’d better be careful!  The Mighty Finn is on your case!”

“We’ll need some help,” Finn added.

“The Professor?” Rubbish inquired.

“Yep.  The very same,” Finn said.

Scutter and Tom were puzzled.  “Who’s the Professor?” they asked.

Suddenly they heard the sound of claws slipping on slates, a loud scream and some very rude words.  And the thud of podgy fur on grass.  The smell of liniment and pilchards told them that Jeffrey had arrived.

“What ho, gents!” the rounded vowels of the very well educated ancient marmalade moggy came across the lawn.  They could see where he had landed as he nonchalantly dusted himself down, straightened up his hat and sauntered over the lawn towards them.

“That Professor,” Rubbish replied to Scutter.

“First class dismount,” Finn told him.

“ Ok – I just missed my footing,” the moggy grumbled.  As he walked you could hear various joints clicking and creaking.  Rubbish could see that he had his best teeth in today – the ones that almost fitted – as well as the leather flying helmet and goggles that were becoming his trademark. Ever since the Father Christmas escapade, Jeffrey had taken to wearing them.  He often wore the scarf as well but today he had given that a miss. “So what’s up?  Oh, hello my little bunny friends!”  He beamed a very shiny white smile at the rabbits who smiled back.

“Hi Jeffrey”, they said. “Tom’s seen a ghost.”

“What?  Ghost?” Jeffrey sounded shocked.

“Apparently so,” the deerhound said.  “At the old castle in the woods.  I think we should make a visit and see what’s what.”

“Absolutely!  Capital idea!”  the cat enthused.

Rubbish, on the other hand was not quite so keen.  He was not entirely sure what a ghost was (despite hearing loads of Bob’s stories) but what he had heard had not made him very enthusiastic about meeting one.  “Is it safe?” he asked.

Jeffrey laughed his best “Devil-may-care” laugh.  “Good gosh, I shouldn’t think so.  Ghosts can be rather nasty don’t you know.”  He looked down at the rabbit.  “So what sort of spectral manifestation do we have?  Nasty screaming poltergeist, bloodthirsty headless horseman, evil phantom with an axe?”

Rubbish now felt even less like seeing a ghost.

“It’s a big hound,” Tom answered.

“Ah, yes, a flaming eyed savage howling hound from the depths of hell itself,” the cat smiled.  “Terrific fun!”  He had produced a notebook from a pocket somewhere in his fur (that always amazed Rubbish) and was frantically scratching notes with a stub of a pencil from the same hidden pocket.

Tom shook his head, “Well not really….it’s a big ghostly hound alright but he’s frightened of rabbits.”

“Eh?” The scribbling stopped.

Rubbish looked at Finn who grinned back at him.

“Frightened of giant ghostly rabbits?” asked Jeffrey.

Tom shook his head again.  “He was frightened of me….”

Jeffrey almost dropped his notepad.  He looked down at the little rabbit who barely came up to his waist.  “So you screamed at him?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I said Hello,” Tom mumbled back.

Jeffrey tutted.  “That will not do.  That’s not normal.”

“Do you mean not ‘Paranormal’?” Finn chuckled.

Jeffrey harrumphed.  “No matter, let’s go and see the phantoms.”

Jeffrey climbed onto Finn’s shoulders, the two rabbits sat up on Rubbish and they rode through the woods until they came to the edge of the river where they stopped to look across at the castle.  It was a huge grim, grey stone building, with a tower at each corner.  The bridge (also grey stone) led over the river towards a gateway.  At some time the castle’s owners had decided to make it more “homely” by putting in large windows facing the bridge.  They had failed; the now empty windows and the large open gateway made the castle look like a gigantic stone skull whose bridge of a tongue led in through its wide open mouth.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Rubbish.  They all agreed that it definitely wasn’t.

“Come on,” Tom led the others over the bridge and in through the arch.  It was mid-day when they had started across the bridge, and it was a lovely sunny day.  As they came through the gateway the sunlight faded and instead over their heads was a dark and cloudy sky.  There was no sound, apart from the occasional “caw” of a crow in the stone work somewhere.  Just crossing into the courtyard made them feel much, much colder.  Rubbish shivered.  “It’s a bit spooky,” he told Finn who had to agree.  The change in atmosphere had even made the hair under Jeffrey’s flying helmet stand up, which in turn made his goggles slip forward.

“So where did you see these apparitions?” he asked Tom, struggling to see him through his goggles.

Tom pointed across the courtyard.  As they looked over, there was a noise up on the battlements.  Five sets of eyes (one in goggles) swivelled upwards.  On top of the wall stood a human dressed in faded grey who looked back down at them.  As Tom had said earlier, they could see the black clouds straight through him.  He faded away.

“Ooh,” Scutter spoke, breaking the silence.

“Definitely a ghost.”  Jeffrey was scribbling in his notebook.

“Yup, definitely a ghost,” a deep voice behind Jeffrey said, “Spell it G-O-S-T – ghost.”

The five animals froze.  None of them had said that.  Who was behind them?  Slowly they all turned around.  Very slowly.  Even Finn, brave as he was, could feel the hair on his neck and his hackles rising as he looked at the person who had spoken.  In front of them – between them and the way out to safety- stood a gigantic hound, three times as large as Finn and with a huge mouth full of teeth, and large red, baleful eyes.

“Bless my soul,” whispered Jeffrey as he popped his goggles back on his head.

“Oh flip,” said Rubbish.

Scutter was lost for words, as was Finn.  The five animals stood staring at the phantom hound, as he stared back.  It took the little rabbit to break the silence.

“Hello.  I’m Tom, this is Finn, Rubbish and Jeffrey and my brother Scutter.”

The hound glowered down at them, menacingly.

“Hello,” he replied.  His face lit up with an enormous smile.  “I’m Francis Julian Montmorency Cholmondeley Basquet de Ville.”

The animals stared at him, mouths wide open.

“You can call me Frank,” he grinned.  “So pleased to meet you.”

“Are you a…..”

“Yes, yes, I’m a ghost.” Frank replied.  “Been one for…ooooh…three hundred years.”  He looked at them and his face became very sad.  “It’s very lonely being a ghostly hound.”

“Aw, don’t cry,” little Tom said.

“Buck up, old chap,” added Finn.

“”Indeed, don’t be so glum, chum,” added Jeffrey.  He always felt rather posh but compared to this hound with his aristocratic name he was feeling rather common.

“We’ll be your friends,” Rubbish found himself saying.  Almost immediately Franks face ignited again with another huge smile.  “Splendid!” he cried.  His enormous phantom tail swept the air silently.

“Frank, my good fellow, are you the only ghost here?”  inquired Finn.

The phantom hound scowled, “No.  There are two other nasty ones.  Sir Hector and Lord Dougal.  They were here when I was a pup.  They died in a sword fight and have been quarrelling and fighting ever since.  They are not very nice ghosts.  I’d keep out of their way, if I were you.”

“Are they dangerous?” asked Scutter.

Frank nodded.  “They play pranks on people.”

“Nothing wrong with a good jape,” Jeffrey laughed.

“But their tricks usually mean that someone else also becomes a ghost.  They locked me in the cellar under the great hall once and I was there for a hundred years until they let me out by accident.”

The animals’ smiles all vanished.  “That’s not nice.  But can’t you walk through walls?” Finn asked.

“The cellar walls are made of ironstone which spirits can’t go through.  I was stuck there.  They used to come down every day and tease me.  You can’t imagine how boring it was being stuck in a dark damp room for a hundred years.”

The animals all told Frank how horrible they thought the other ghosts were.

He shook his huge hairy coat and grinned.  “I’m out now!  Let me show you round,” he led them across the courtyard and inside the ruined castle.  As he took them into the different rooms he told them about the family that had lived (and died) here.  There were all the famous Lords and Ladies of the Basquet family, including the mad Lord Rupert “Snoozer” Basquet who invented the flying machine and was the first person to die in a flying accident (fell off the high tower in his aero machine and landed in the moat), Lady Cecily Basquet-de Ville who was a bit eccentric and thought she was a duck (she was quackers), and Sir Nigel Stavely-Basquet who was the first man to invent the electric socket (and the first electric shock); you would think he had learned from Lord Rupert.  They were all rather colourful characters.

“So what about the other two?” asked Rubbish.

“You mean Hector and Dougal?”

Finn and the others nodded.

“There was a big battle over there where the trees are now – it was just a meadow in those days, on which there camped a huge army.  They tried and tried to cross the river and attack the castle but never managed to get in.  In the end Lord Dougal rode out and challenged the Lord of the castle to have a man to man fight, and the winner would take the castle.  Sir Hector came out and they fought with sword and shield, from dawn to dusk, neither of them getting the better of the other.  They started with swords, then maces, then massive broadswords.  The story goes that they got so exhausted by the end, and they hated each other so much that their hearts just exploded and they both died.  They were buried in the castle chapel, the army went away and a peace treaty was signed.”

“Well that wasn’t too bad,” said Scutter.

“That’s what you think,” a voice as cold as ice rang out from the balcony above.  There stood a ghostly figure with long hair and a particularly scary face.

“He cheated me out of this castle – it was mine!” another voice shouted back from the stairway opposite.  Here stood another spectral shape, with an equally ghastly face, a thick black beard and wearing a suit of armour.

The animals huddled together, even Frank, as they looked back and forth at the two ancient enemies screaming across the Great Hall at each other.  “I think we’d better get out of here,” Finn whispered.  Their ghostly screeches echoing around the Hall, the animals quietly slipped out back into the courtyard.

“That was a lucky escape,” Frank told them, “Fortunately they were too busy squabbling to do anything to you.”

“Why don’t you find somewhere quieter to haunt?” asked Jeffrey.

Frank sighed, “I can’t leave here.  Those two hid my favourite toy when I was dying so I am doomed to stay here until I find it again.”

“That’s so sad,” Tom commented.

The phantom hound sniffed, and a spectral tear ran along his long nose and dripped off to disappear before it hit the ground.  “I’d love to leave.”

The sound of screaming and swords clashing could be heard now in the Hall.  Hector and Dougal were at it again.  The crashing of swords ceased and the sounds of shouting grew louder – the ghosts were coming towards the doorway into the courtyard.

“You’d better get away whilst you can,” Frank told them.  “It was very nice meeting you.”

He waved to the animals as they made their way to the bridge.  “And sorry I was so scared when I met you,” he called to Tom, “But I haven’t seen a rabbit in a couple of centuries.”  Tom waved back.

“Where are they?” screamed Sir Hector, brandishing his sword.  Beside him Lord Dougal stood swinging his axe. They glared across the courtyard towards the hound who shook his head, “I don’t know.  I think I scared them off.”

“Pity,” Sir Hector answered.  “I have not hunted rabbits in a long time.  If we made them a ghost, then we could hunt them around the castle forever.”

“Aye,” Lord Dougal agreed.  “And I like chasing cats.  That would be fun too.”

“What about the dogs?” Frank asked, fearing the worst.

“We don’t have to make them ghosts.  We could just leave them dead.”  Dougal retorted.

Hector laughed, and for the first time in centuries Dougal laughed with him.  From the far side of the bridge as Finn and the gang made their way into the forest they could hear the shrieking laughter and wails of the ghosts drifting towards them.  The dogs trotted faster, hoping that it was only the sound that was following them and not the ghosts themselves.

From the battlements Hector and Dougal watched the animals disappear into the trees.  “They won’t be back,” Dougal grumbled.

“Pity,” Hector said.  “I love the taste of rabbit.”

Dougal laughed.  “Have you ever eaten dog?”

Hector shook his head in reply, “But I’d love to try.”

From one of the empty windows Frank looked out toward the forest and sighed.  He had really liked having some friends.  Never mind – perhaps someone would come along again – hopefully before another 300 years had passed.

Once Finn was sure that there were no ghosts following and that they were safe, they slowed down and talked about everything they had seen.  Tom and Scutter were tired and slept on Finn’s shoulders as Finn, Rubbish and Jeffrey hatched a plan.  They all felt really sorry for Frank, and wanted to make his life – oops, death – easier.  How could they sort out the two horrible ghosts that tormented him so much?  They really needed to be taught a lesson.

“What can we do?”  asked Rubbish, “They are ghosts, and can walk through walls and everything.”

“Not all walls,” Jeffrey replied.  “Did you hear what Frank said about the ironstone?”

Finn agreed, “Yes, I had also thought about that and I have an idea of how we can use that.  But first, we need to know what we can do to control ghosts.”

“We can’t grab them or hurt them, or even frighten them.  And they are clever as they have hundreds of years of being ghosts.”

“True, my little greyhound friend,” Finn frowned.

Jeffrey pulled his goggles up, “I might be able to help you there.  I have something in my shed that could help.”

By then they were coming to the warren, where they dropped off the two rabbits who waved them off.  It was not long before the three mouseketeers came to the walled garden.  Jeffrey hopped off Rubbish’s back and called over his shoulder, “Give me ten minutes, I’ll see you two later!”

His portly ginger shape scrambled over the red brick wall into his garden.

“What is he up to?” Finn asked.

“No idea,” Rubbish replied.

“It’s always a worry when he has that look on his face,” Finn smiled.

On the patio the Maid had laid out two bowls of dog food and one of cat nibbles.  She was very thoughtful.  There was no sign of her or the Butler, but after all, it was Thursday which was the evening they went ballroom dancing.

Rubbish and Finn munched their way through their food, both of them thinking hard on the problem of the ghosts.  As they were finishing they heard the thud, ouch and creak as the Professor returned.  He was dragging a large box with writing on it.  It said something like “ectoplasmoscope” (this way up, handle with care, does not contain batteries).

“Righto gentlemen, let’s see what we can do.  What’s your plan Finn?  Ooh, food,” at this point Jeffrey’s face disappeared into his cat nibbles.

“We have two problems.  Firstly, we have to find Frank’s toy so he can get away from that castle.  Second, we need to get those two ghosts wrapped up and unable to cause any more trouble.  I have had an idea about that.”  Finn explained.

Jeffrey had finished his food and was rummaging in the box.  Out of it came a square shiny rucksack with wires sticking out of it, a pointy aerial, which he fixed to his flying helmet, and what looked like a garden hand-fork (which it once was) and a large wrist watch.  They were connected by a wire to the rucksack.  Jeffrey muttered something under his breath and gave the rucksack a shake and it began to hum and from the top there was a strange orange glow.

“Knew this would come in handy one day. This –  he announced.  “- is the latest technology for spectral research.  Bought it on Cat-Bay some years ago but never had a chance to use it.  It’s a ghost detector! “

Finn looked at Rubbish and Rubbish looked back at him.  Finn shrugged.  “What does it do?”

“I think it detects ghosts?” Rubbish whispered.

“Reeaallly?  I guessed that much,” said Finn.

Jeffrey looked out from under his helmet, “Ah, it does more than that, my good fellows.  If I reverse the electro feed it can emit an ectoplasmic discharge.”

“Emit a what?” the two dogs asked.

“It’s like a ghost being punched,” the cat enthused.  “Let’s just say we can find them, and give them a dose of their own medicine!”

Finn and Rubbish both grinned.

“So when should we go back to the castle?” the little brindle greyhound asked.

“When they least expect it,” Finn answered.  “When are ghosts most active and people more likely to keep away?”

“At night?”

“Just so, young pup,” Finn said.

“Spot on!  There’s no time like the present!” called Jeffrey over the loud hum of the ectoplasmic thingy.

So, as soon as dinner had settled, the three mouseketeers were back on the path through the woods, heading towards the castle.  Rubbish thought to himself, “Ghosties, you’d better watch out!”

At the castle Sir Hector and Lord Dougal had been giving Frank absolute Hell.   They had jumped out from walls at him, chased him around the battlements and screamed at him as he tried to take a nap.  Frank had at last managed to outwit them and was sitting on what had once been a window seat at the end of the Long Gallery that looked out towards the river.  He could hear the other two shrieking and squabbling far across the castle.  Frank sighed.  In 300 years he had never felt so sad and lonely.  Just then, he saw a flash of light through the trees.  Something glowing faintly orange was coming towards the castle.  “Oh no…..it’s either a Corpse Candle or one of the Flaming Ghouls.”  The corpse candle was a haunted light that visited now and again to torment Frank, as well as to wind up Hector and Dougal.  But a flaming ghoul – they were particularly horrible noisy screaming phantoms that flickered with flames.  They allegedly ate the bodies of dead people from graves.  They got on well with Hector and Dougal and also enjoyed frightening Frank.  He felt even more depressed.

However, the glow was moving too slowly for a corpse candle and was too dim for a ghoul.  As Frank puzzled over what it was, he saw the three friends emerge from the trees.  It was Jeffrey the cat that was glowing – he was wearing a large box on his back that shone a dim orange.  “Eh?” Frank asked no-one in particular.  He slipped silently off his seat and crept down to the gatehouse to meet his new friends to ask them what they doing.

From the trees Finn and Rubbish could see movement at the gatehouse.  The red glow – what was that?  It was Frank.  They waved to him as they came to the end of the bridge.  He held his enormous paw to his lips to signal for them to keep quiet.  They walked over to him where Finn outlined his plan to the phantom hound who smiled broadly.  “Great idea,” he whispered.

Jeffrey was fiddling with some dials on the large watch on his wrist.  “Spectral anemometer controls,” he explained.  The three dogs looked at the cat totally blank, “It’s very technical,” he frowned at them.

“You do know how to use that thing?” asked Rubbish.

Jeffrey the Professor looked most offended, “Why of course.  What sort of idiot do you think I am?”

Finn coughed quietly, “Let’s get on, gentlemen.”

Frank led them across into the great hall and to the kitchens at the far end.  It was here that Hector and Dougal had taken to having shrieking contests as the acoustics were better.  The din of the two screaming ghosts was excruciatingly loud and indeed, the stonework made for some incredible echoing and reverberation.

“Ready?” Frank whispered.

Rubbish gave him a greyhound thumbs-up, and Finn nodded.

Frank jumped through the doorway into the kitchen, and called out “Hey, you two!  Come quick!  Those animals are back!”

The evil spirits appeared by his side.  “Where!” screeched Dougal.

“Rabbits and Cat for dinner,” Hector hissed.

Frank pointed to the hall.  The ghosts floated out and as they moved seemed to get brighter and more ghastly looking.  You could clearly see the large bloody scar across Dougal’s face and the split in Hector’s head where an axe had made its mark.    They also seemed to grow taller.  Rubbish the little brindle greyhound stood in the middle of the hall.

“Hello ghosties,” he called over cheerfully.

The spirits hissed and screamed and slithered swiftly across the hall towards him.  Ghosts are fast – but a greyhound is faster!  As they drew closer Rubbish sped off across the Great Hall.  He ran into the far corridor and squeezed himself into a small opening where he hid.  It was not only ghosts that could vanish!  As he disappeared, there was a series of loud barks in the Hall; it was Finn.  “Call yourself ghosts, why I’ve seen more frightening pusscats.”

“What?” shouted Hector.  “You despicable hound.  How dare you!” Dougal sounded even angrier than Hector.  They forgot about Rubbish as they flew across the Hall towards Finn.  Deerhounds are also swift and cunning and Finn led them another merry dance around the corridors.  He too slipped into a corner leaving the ghosts to slide past him.

Out popped Rubbish again, “Come on, you two!  I thought you two were the scariest ghosts in the land.  You’re not even the scariest in this castle!”

Hector and Dougal spun around to chase after Rubbish again.  This went on for another couple of times as first Rubbish and then Finn drove the two ghosts into a total frenetic fury.  No matter how they tried they could not catch the two hounds.

Sitting in the middle of the Great Hall watching all this entertainment and enjoying it greatly was Frank.  He had waited centuries to see the two spectres get what they had given him.  It was now time for the final part of Finn’s plan.

What the ghosts had not realised was that they were being led up the Great Hall to the top of the steps that led down to the dungeon.  Rubbish was at the foot of the stairway with Jeffrey.  It was Finn’s turn to wind the ghosts up now.

“Well ladies,” he called over to them.  “Shall we dance some more!”

If Hector and Dougal had been alive, they would have died with sheer anger and frustration.  They flashed across the hall, cursing, swearing and clawing the air as they headed towards the deerhound.  Finn poked his tongue out and leapt down the steps.  The ghosts took the bait and shrieked after him.

“OK,” said Rubbish.

Jeffrey started twiddling his dials and the electro-thingy lit up.  It started to hum louder and the lights got brighter.  The fork began to crackle.  “Super!”

Finn got to the foot of the steps and headed full pelt down the corridor.  The ghosts chased after him, screaming in true phantasmal fashion.  Frank lollopped down the stairs behind them and Rubbish and Jeffrey followed from the foot of the steps.  Finn stopped before the door to the cell.  The ghosts slowed.  Perhaps they sensed something?

“Not so clever now, are you, dog?” Dougal spat, growing taller and more menacing as he faced the mighty Finn.  Finn was not scared, but neither was he entirely comfortable with two terrible figures bearing down on him.  Their faces seemed to change colour to a blood-curdling green.  Hector drew his sword and it glinted in the light of the torches set along the walls.  Finn stepped back.

Behind the ghosts Jeffrey moved to the front and Frank and Rubbish behind him.

“OK you two.  I think the game is up!” Jeffrey called to the ghosts. They spun around to face the cat.

Hector looked at the motheaten old moggy in his flying helmet waving a garden hand-fork at him.  “Oh yes?  Do you think I’m some sort of weed?”

“This is not what it appears,” The Professor replied.  “It’s an ectoplasmic probe.  With one step I will throw you back across the room.”

Dougal issued a hollow laugh, “I think not.”

Finn stepped to one side, away from the opening of the cell.

“Alright – I did warn you!” Jeffrey tapped his watch.  The box on his back was humming and vibrating and the orange glow had nearly changed to red.  The fork crackled in his hand as…….the lights went out and the box fell silent.  “Oops…that shouldn’t have happened…  Where’s the handbook….?””

The ghosts came closer to the old cat and Hector raised his sword.  Rubbish, right behind Jeffrey, remembered an old trick he had seen the Butler do.  He leaned over and gave the ectoplasmic thing a bang with his paw.

It burst back into life, it erupted with noise and the crackle on the fork became a small spark, then a flash of lightning which hit the two ghosts and lifted them off their ghostly feet and threw them bodily down the corridor and way past Finn.  They landed together in a heap in the cell.

“Quick!  The door!” called Frank.  Finn stepped across and closed the door of the cell and threw the bolt across.

Hector got up and made to pass through the door – but he bounced back.  “What?”

“Let me try you fool,” Dougal muscled up past him and stormed at the door – and slammed against it.

Frank walked up to the door and looked in through the grill.  “Don’t you remember?  Ironstone walls and an iron door.  Ghosts can’t cross iron.”  He did not gloat or tease them; it was all in a matter of fact tone.

“Let us out!  Let us out!  We’ll tear you limb from limb into little strips!”

Finn looked at the ghosts through the grill too. “That’s not really going to encourage anyone to let you out, is it?  Frank – what should we do?”

Frank thought for a second.  “Maybe a century shut up together might make them mellow a bit.”

“What?  With him?  That’s inhuman!” screamed Hector.

Jeffrey grinned.  “My dear sirs, but none of us are human.”

Finn laughed, “No, we are better than that!”

The hounds and the cat made their way back up the corridor.  Frank was even singing.  At the top of the steps in the Great Hall Frank stopped to thank Finn, Rubbish and Jeffrey for all their help.   “At last I can wander about my castle in peace – sleep when I like and even have visitors when I like.  You will come and visit?”

“Of course, old chap,” Finn answered for them all.  “It would be an honour and a privilege!”

“Oh – hang on” Jeffrey had taken off the electro thingy and was fumbling in his pocket. “I found this in the corridor in the dust.”  He held up an old leather ball, very dried up, but the stitching still held it together.

Frank’s jaw dropped open and tears filled his eyes, “That’s it!  That’s my toy!”

The animals were surprised, amazed even, and so pleased for Frank.

“Now I have that, I can leave here.  I don’t need to stay in this castle as a ghost anymore!”

“You can leave?” asked Rubbish.

“I can. “ Frank looked sad for a second, “But I don’t want to.  I have not had friends for so long that I don’t want to leave yet.”

Jeffrey straightened his hat, “You don’t have to go.  You can remain a ghost  but  can leave the castle.  You can see the world.”

“You can come and meet the Maid and the Butler!” Rubbish grinned.

“I think we’d better warn them that a six foot tall ghostly phantom hound is coming for dinner,” Finn laughed.

Frank looked worried.  “Will I have to wear a tie?”

So when you come to the old castle in the deep dark forest, and you listen, you might hear the screams and shrieks of Hector and Dougal, still locked in their cell.  They have another 95 years to go before Frank decides whether they have become good ghosts.  And if you see a six-foot ghostly hound with huge jaws, a silly grin and a big waggy tail chasing an old leather ball don’t be afraid;  its only Frank, the Hound of the Basquet-Villes.

For more adventures of Rubbish, Finn and Jeffrey –  go www.crafty-dog-cymru.co.uk and look for the books.  There’s also the free download of the Christmas adventure – How Rubbish the Rabbithound Saved Christmas!

Characters copyright Chris Dignam/Crafty Dog Books Cymru, all rights reserved.

Greyt Expectations – Chris Dignam’s Rescued Greyhounds – Teething Troubles – Good Dental Health

Why our Penny was down in the mouth…

 

          We all know how important it is to look after our teeth and that we need to brush them at least once a day and preferably more.  Animals can’t brush their teeth so have to rely on us in two ways; providing the right type of food, and brushing their teeth for them as required.  This week we saw what a gum infection can lead to as our Penny had to go in for a tooth descale and ended up having teeth out.

          We brushed her teeth at least twice a week with doggie toothpaste, and would give her stick chews and dental chews to help the process.  We did this with all our greyhounds and to some extent this worked.  Sally did have to have a few teeth out, some of which we put down to her never chewing her food.  Crunching hard food is supposed to help shift plaque and debris.  However, this is not really logical; imagine you relied on eating a packet of biscuits instead of brushing your teeth – it just would not work.  Eating carrots or hard fruit or vegetables can help but not all dogs like these.  Sally would sit by the kitchen sink on a Sunday waiting for her carrot when we prepped dinner but if we gave Sammy a carrot she just looked at you as if you were nuts – “What – you want me to cook this myself?”. 

          In the end you have to use a toothbrush and doggy toothpaste.  This is usually meat flavoured (apparently but they hide it well) and you can apply it with a toothbrush or a finger brush (which looks like the finger of a glove with nobbly bits on).  You rub the paste onto the teeth and it is supposed to break down the tartar and debris.  Sally hated the toothbrush, but would allow me to use a battery powered brush (she was a strange dog!).  Sam would sit and almost enjoyed having her teeth cleaned.  Just take it gently, and get the dog used to the brush for short periods and build it up to a rub around the teeth over time.

Sally, greyhound, A Hound in the House,

Sally still had most of her teeth into old age.

Some dog owners swear by feeding their dogs raw food as this is was what nature intended.  It consists of raw meat (hearts, mince, chicken) and the accompanying bones too.  Chewing bones helps keep the teeth clean, and raw bones do not shatter like cooked ones which is why they can be given raw chicken bones.  The argument is that this is what they would eat in the wild and what they evolved to eat.  We were seriously considering this but events overtook us.

          Penny did not have an auspicious start as far teeth were concerned – greyhounds are renowned for having rubbish teeth and gums.  Many dogs have a sloppy diet when they race and due to being fed in batches they are also used to bolting their food as the slow eater will end up hungry.  Less scrupulous trainers or owners will also feed their dog poorly which just compounds the problem.  When we picked Penny up from the rescue centre she had been spayed and her teeth scaled.  In spite of this, she had bad breath which we put down to her digestive system.

          So Penny began each day with cereal and a large couple of dollops of plain yoghurt, which she absolutely loves.  Whereas Sally’s digestive system had been awful (I won’t go into the details but you can imagine the outcome or should I say output!) Penny’s has always been really good.  The outside of her teeth was always pretty good, though they would occasionally go manky so we would start more intensive cleaning.  We even tried changing her food to find one that gave her better breath which was occasionally successful.  Weirdly, she was better with human food. 

          Her breath was still not very fragrant but looking inside her mouth it was not so obvious why.  Last week she went in to have the musk glands in her bottom cleaned (never a nice thing) and in passing we mentioned the bad breath.  The vet took a look and I mean a really good look.  The outsides looked dirty but the insides which we could not see were worse.  She warned us that they needed a clean and that some might have to come out. You could see where her gums had receded due to the gingivitis and plaque and in one spot the was a hole under her roots.  We were shocked and I was mortified that I had let her get into this state.  We consider ourselves to be good and knowledgeable dog owners but even we were caught out.  The toothpaste does not get to all corners of the mouth, dried kibble is not a miracle cleaner and dental chews can’t replace a proper clean.  Maybe I had also been in denial.

          Penny went in on Tuesday.  When I rang after lunch, she was on the operating table, and I was told she was worse than we thought – she would need many teeth taken out.  In fact, most teeth.  In fact nearly all her teeth.  When I rang an hour later, she was still on the table – for nearly three hours it eventually turned out.  Penny had all but her four canines and one molar removed.

       

greyhound, Penny, Dignam,

Penny recovering at home.

She was really groggy and sore when we collected her, and she dribbled and bled all night.  She is on two different painkillers, antibiotics and a mouth rinse, but is making a good recovery.  Like all greyhounds, she can be a bit of a wuss, and she also knows how to play people and milk the sympathy.  It has to be said though that having so many teeth out must be really painful so she is also in real discomfort.  She has been very brave I guess.

          The moral of this tale (tail?) is that you need to keep an eye on your dog’s teeth, brush them at least once a week and watch their diet.  Avoid sugary food and treats (as we would do ourselves).  Apparently there is a powder which can be added to food that helps keep plaque down as well – ask your vet about it.  Learn from our mistakes and Penny’s example.  Good luck, and to paraphrase Frasier Crane – Good Dental Health!

Greyt Expectations – Chris Dignam’s Rescued Greyhounds – Dealing with Bereavement

This week’s piece is about dealing with the loss of a pet, coping, and the question of having a replacement. It’s specifically about losing a dog, but it can be equally true of any pet, be it a cat, horse or goldfish. Anything that you have become very attached to.

You often hear someone say “It’s only a dog” when they hear that people are upset and grieving over the loss of a pet. This is the typical comment of someone who has never had a pet themselves and is unaware of the emotional chasm left by the loss of someone who had become a member of the family. They are not just members of the family; they are members of the pack, the same way that they also see you. Pets are dependent on you, and in that caring and nurturing you invest your time and energy and friendship which they give back in return. Being a dog owner is a two way thing. This is especially so when you have children, as they see the dog as another brother or sister and do not have some of the grown-up’s formal barriers. Every boy (or girl) should have a dog (or cat, or goldfish etc.), as it teaches them responsibility and the importance of the bonds of loyalty and affection.

Sally, greyhound, A Hound in the House,

Sally at 12

It’s inevitable then that as your pet grows old, or becomes ill, that you think of what will happen when they pass on. You know it will be hard emotionally but you have a degree of time to prepare. When they do die, you will still be upset but you have had time to order your thoughts and your future actions. Well, that’s the theory but it does not always work like that. When Sally, our first rescue greyhound grew old she did so gradually, and was still active so we never noticed. One evening she had gone for a walk and sat down for a rest half way round the cricket pitch, but been eager for her food when she got back. Early that evening she started crying, was a bit spaced and evidently in some distress, so we rang the out of hours vet and took her down. At the surgery she was examined and the vet suggested she might have a stomach upset, gave her some painkiller and sent her home with us. We could see her gums were very pale. When she got home she cried a bit, and sat in her bed. I sat up with her until she went to sleep and then sat in the chair to watch over her. Sally drifted away in her sleep that night some time about six o’clock in the morning. Looking back now, Armelle and I could see the signs that she was getting old – the fawn in her face had so much more white in it and she occasionally would stop for a rest on her walks. Even so, we were devastated – Sally was our first hound, and to all intents our child. I am sure that we got the “It’s only a dog” reaction but to us the pain was very real.

Sammy was a week short of her fifth birthday when she was attacked by another dog out walking on the same cricket pitch. She appeared to have come away unscathed, but the next evening she could not eat, the back of her tongue became swollen and we rushed her to the vets. When she tried to run from the dog, the collar had pulled on her throat and it was 24 hours later that the damage became apparent. They carried out a tracheotomy, which she survived, but the internal bleeding from the damage was so bad she bled out and passed away in the surgery. We were totally devastated. The emotions here were really mixed up – grief for Sammy’s death, anger about the cause of her death, and even guilt that I had taken her for a walk that night when I could have stayed at home.
No matter how your pet dies, it’s always distressing and you will be upset. If it’s an accident or sudden death, you too might feel guilty or regret that you took them out – these are natural emotions as you try to come to terms with the loss. You have to blame someone so you end up blaming yourself. What you have to realise is that it was just that – fate – you could not do anything to prevent it otherwise you surely would have.

In one respect an awful decision was already taken for us; we never had to make the call to have our pet put to sleep. When you have a pet that has a terminal illness, injury or even extreme age which means that you have to decide when their quality of life has reached such a critical point that they should be euthanised you will inevitable feel guilt along with your sorrow. You have to be a very special person if you are so certain that you have made the right decision at the right time. It is inevitable that you will question yourself over whether you left it too long, or whether if you had waited they would have been ok to last longer. Again, this is natural.

The next decision you will need to make is what to do with your pet. The option of burial was not feasible; she was a big dog, we had a small garden. If I’d dug a hole we had a choice of either her head or feet sticking out! We had decided to have Sally cremated so we had to get her to the vets from where the cremation company would collect her. The vets sorted everything for us, but we still had to get her down there. Sally weighed nearly 30 kilos and we had to carry her through the house to the car. Fortunately for us she had passed away in her bed so we could lift her in her duvet, holding two corners each and taking her through the living room. Unfortunately, as we passed the settee Sal’s head flopped out in a most undignified manner. We could imagine her looking down and tut-tutting at us. We carried Sal out to the car and at the vet, they helped me carry her in and so I said goodbye to her. Two weeks later I collected a lovely wooden box with her name on a brass plaque. We buried her in the garden near the spot where she liked to sit in the sun. When Sammy died, we decided that we would scatter her ashes in a wood where she loved to walk and we had some wonderful memories of. So instead of a box we had a lovely scatter tube – which when it came was covered in a picture of bluebells! Fate or what?

Penny, Greyhound,Bluubells

Sammy in the bluebell wood

Being without your pet can lead you to either one of two ways; you hurt so much you could never go through it again, or you really need to love another pet so want to get another one. Never think of a new dog as a replacement – they will never be the same, but will be fabulous and funny in their own ways. We always said Sam was Sally’s “understudy” who was filling in for her. Should you rush out and get another or should you waitt? I would always advise to leave a time to grieve, be it only a few days or maybe months – that would be down to you. It’s whatever feels best. Our greyhounds are rescued dogs, so to us it was always a case of “We gave Sally and Sam a great home, there are other dogs out there that deserve a lucky break too.”

Another option is to foster a dog for a time. When a rescue comes into kennels, especially where their background is not known, they are a blank card. They need to be assessed as to their temperament, how they are in a home setting, are they cat or child friendly, all the normal things they might never have seen in their lives. It’s a great way of having a dog to care for and occupy your mind, but you are also doing an unselfish thing by taking that dog out of kennels and allowing them to see what a real home can be like, and there’s no permanent commitment. We had a foster who hated kennels and needed a home where he would eat properly (the stress of kennels put him off eating).  And don’t forget that if you and the dog click, that the home is the right one for the dog, then the foster will never leave. Sam was a foster, as was our Penny, and neither of them ever went back to kennels.

So never be ashamed or embarrassed to cry or be upset when you lose your animal companion. It’s not you that’s at fault but the person who says “It’s only a dog” who is wrong for not understanding. Never blame yourself for anything untoward that happens, or for any decision on euthanasia where it’s the animal’s dignity that comes first. Finally, take as long as you feel its right before you have another pet.

How Rubbish the Rabbit Hound Saved Christmas: A Heartwarming Tale (or Tail?)

How Rubbish the Rabbit Hound Saved Christmas

The Whole Story!

Picture4We have had many requests to make the Christmas Story available to download – consider it a Christmas present from Crafty Dog Books!  It can be downloaded as a pdf file for you to read, already set out in book format.

 

Its free for you to download and share but not for publishing generally without our permission.  Click on the text below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Story How Rubbish Saved Xmas C Dignam

Greyt Expectations 8 – This Weeks South Wales Evening Post Blog – How the Largest Rabbit Escaped into Print!

Getting it Write – from a Rescued Greyhound to the Largest Rabbit

Last week I wrote about how we got our first book to the printers. We pick up the story after the first boxes arrived and we realised we had to sell them to make our money back.

We plugged the book on our Facebook pages which helped, and then we went round the bookshops with bundles of books. Bookshops these days are either massive conglomerates or small shops that are often living hand to mouth. One bookshop purchased some copies outright but most would only take them on a sale or return basis. The large conglomerates were not easy to approach as their local outlets all told us to contact their central office or go through their main buyers. The same applied to pet stores where small ones took copies but the large ones had to refer us to head office which proved to be a roadblock. Either way, being a small publisher is hard. We had no money to advertise the books yet we still needed to get our name out there.

Penny, Armelle and I - Copyright South Wales Evening Post.

Penny, Armelle and I – Copyright South Wales Evening Post.

Animal – especially Greyhound – charities were really helpful, especially Greyhound Rescue Wales, who all sell the book and get a donation themselves, so it benefits everyone. As before, the larger animal charities (whose catalogues are managed by external sales and marketing companies, usually the same one) were very polite but nothing panned out that way. As our name got out, more people approached us about the book and so the number of outlets grew. We offered copies as raffle/competition prize, which was again publicity which also helped charities. We were even approached by an Irish dog charity from Donegal for copies. All reasonable requests accepted!

The book sold at craft fairs, and at library readings too. Local libraries were keen to have a local author visit but neighbouring local authorities were a dead end. Swansea Libraries even purchased copies for their stock. Gradually the books began to sell as our name and reputation grew.

Collecting the money from some of the bookshops proved difficult; one sold them on e-bay then refused to pay us (and never did) and others require a fair bit of prompting. (I must say that Cover to Cover in Oystermouth have been brilliant and an example of how things should be done). Part of the problem is that your books are swallowed up in a sea of other books and without any publicity material or, better still, a book signing/meet and greet your books will be almost invisible.

On the way home from work one evening I had an idea for a character and a new book, this time for children. It had a few twists in the plot to keep it fresh, so within a few days I had sketched out the story and began writing it. The Largest Rabbit just flew off the page. I needed a specific character to fill a role and there was a fabulous deerhound called Finn owned by a friend of ours in Ireland who I thought would fit the bill. So, with Kate’s approval, the Mighty Finn went into the book. I also added a heroic comic character called Jeffrey, an ancient marmalade cat who was my favourite and the most fun to write. After discussions with my business manager, we stumped up the cash and decided to put the book out again ourselves, under the Crafty Dog Books Cymru label. Once more, Jackie did our illustrations, but extra this time as we needed drawings for inside the book.

How did we know that the children it was aimed at would like it? A friend of ours is a deputy head at a primary school so I asked her if some of the guys there would like to read it. Jill replied by asking whether I would like to go and read excerpts at the school. It was a great idea – take Penny, introduce the children to a rescue greyhound, and read some of the book to see what they thought of the characters and the story. We need not have worried, the kids thought it was fabulous and it went down a storm. They were really entranced and it was great to see the way in which they really enjoyed the story and loved the characters. That convinced us that it was worth printing the book, and we could even include some illustrations the children had drawn after the reading.

Brindle Greyhound, Largest Rabbit, Greyhound,

The Adventures of the Strangest Rabbit You Ever Did See!

We were even more excited when we collected the boxes of The Largest Rabbit from the printers in Pontypool. Honestly, the books really took off. Facebook interest was great, and many who had ordered the first book ordered the new one too. Kate Clarke did an article about us and The Largest Rabbit in the South Wales Evening Post and the next week someone shared the link with a greyhound rescue site in the U.S.. We suddenly had orders coming in from across the states! For a week things went nuts – we thought the Crafty-Dog-Cymru.Co UK website would melt – but eventually calmed down again.

Our Crafty Dog Cymru website and webshop have proved very successful; as have the greyhound charities again – Greyhound Rescue Wales even have Chris Dignam Books as a category on their shop! Within 4 months we have even had to begin planning a reprint and the Largest Rabbit has already paid for itself.

If anyone wants a book reading at a school or Library or other group, pop us an e-mail. The only stipulation is that you have to purchase a copy of the book and Penny usually comes along! She is very well behaved though I can’t comment about the rest of us Crafty Dogs…

Last Weeks South Wales Evening Post Blog – Getting It Write – How A Hound in the House Came About

Getting it write – how a Rescued Greyhound escaped into print.

Owning a rescued greyhound and being involved with greyhound rescue has been a wonderful experience over the years. We have had many strange adventures, such as trying to explain to a German couple in Bruges, in French, that Penny was not Spanish but Irish though now lived in Wales, or walking around a golf course in the middle of the night with a greyhound who wants to go to the loo but only in the right place – wherever she decides that is going to be.

I was asked ages ago to write a piece about tips and hints and lessons learned living with our hound – I think it was still our first greyhound, Sally, at that time. So, I wrote a short article in the Greyhound Rescue Wales magazine which went down very well. As time went by, I was asked whether I was going to write another piece and someone else suggested a short story. By now we had fostered some dogs and had gained even more insights into greyhound life, especially of slightly more broken ones. I scribbled a bit but nothing much as life was a bit hectic at that time.

It was Sammy’s accident that really galvanised me into writing, as I wanted people to know all about her and hopefully make people learn the lesson from her accident to prevent it happening to another dog. It was a bit cathartic too, helping the grieving process by running it through my mind and putting it on paper. Within a period of a few months I had a first draft of what was now much bigger than an article, or even a pamphlet; it was a book.

What to do next then? We decided that we needed to get it published but that was going to cost a chunk of money. Casting round for alternatives, someone suggested putting out an e-book – great idea, no print costs, and it was immediate. I did some research and decided on a format (there are so many out there, each having different outlets such as Apple, or Amazon, or Barnes & Noble). Formatting was fairly easy, starting with a word document and then adding in the paragraph settings, auto-numbering, table of contents etc. This took longer than envisaged but you have to remember that first impressions count – who’s going to want to buy a scruffy looking book with awful spelling and out of focus pictures. I even designed the cover. Pitfall number one – when I tried to get it uploaded the platform was decidedly not user friendly. I tried to contact the on-line help but they always e-mailed me back in the middle of the night which was a consequence of picking a host based in the USA. I grew increasingly frustrated and so switched to another host – this time Kindle. It was very easy as I had done the bulk of formatting for the other company, and it was up and running on-line in no time. A Hound in the House was available to buy.

Pitfall number two; how do you market a virtual book that does not exist. Facebook helped but it was very difficult to promote. There are not that many outlets/notice boards, and most are full of other people promoting their own e-books. Undeterred, I waited for the money to roll in. It did, a bit, slowly. The Evening Post came up and interviewed Armelle and I and took some pictures and it appeared in the paper, which generated more interest. I now had requests to give a talk about the book and life with rescued greyhounds.
Penny, Armelle and I went along to a Library where I spoke to the audience about the history of greyhounds, greyhound racing and what happened to them after their racing days. Penny enjoyed all of this as she was always given a fuss and usually some biscuits too. It was really great to speak to people who were interested (otherwise they would not have been there). However, when they asked to see a copy of the book it was a always a bit of an anti-climax to say it was only available as an e-book. There was such an interest in a printed copy that we decided it was time to bite the bullet and publish it.

At one of the libraries we met Chris Thomas, who had been a publisher himself. He came round to the house to give us advice on what we needed to do and, on hearing I had once worked in a print unit for a local authority, said, “You know about design, formatting and layouts, and about dealing with printers – why not publish it yourself? It had never crossed our minds. We reset the book to book size and sent off to printers and got some prices back – some quotes were very expensive, as for a small print run the cost of printing plates was frightening. Academic printers offered incredible quality, with lovely bound finishes but were not really what we wanted for a paperback. Instead we had a price from a digital printing company and, after seeing an example of their work we decided that was the route to go down.

We had met an artist at a craft fair and she agreed to do some illustrations for the front and back pages and I redesigned the cover accordingly. Feeling really pleased, we sent off the artwork and the text and sat back, waiting for the finished books to arrive; when would the Hound make it to the house?

Cover Picture

A Hound in the House

I remember rushing home from work in my lunch hour to rip open a box and see my hard work finally in print. It was a wonderful feeling, to hold that book, open the pages and see the photos. There I sat, surrounded by 500 copies of my very first book. Now what? A friend of mine had told me that writing is hard, printing is easy but the hardest part of all is marketing your book. Armelle and I had to figure out how we could distribute the book and how long it would be before we would make any money back!

Chris Dignam’s Latest Blog – Jammin’ With the Crafty Dog – How Greyhound Rescue led to Sweet (and Savoury) Success!

We have often been asked how we started making jams, chutneys and glassware and it’s something we have also often pondered, here at Crafty Dog Castle.  Like most good stories, it’s a rather convoluted one. 

Our involvement with rescued Greyhounds has led us in some strange directions over the years and we’ve learned lots of things along the way.  When we took Sally our first greyhound home we decided that any support we gave to the rescue charity Greyhound Rescue Wales would be financial and not physical.  The odd donation but that would be all; we were very quiet people and happy to remain in the background.

Dragon 1

Welsh Dragon Pint Glass

However, we somehow (can’t remember exactly how) got involved in helping out at a Greyhound Rescue street collection.  This meant taking Sally into the town centre to meet the public and talk to people about greyhounds and, hopefully, they would put money in the collection pot.  It was very informative both for us and for them.  People back then did not know that much about greyhounds, how gentle they were and how lazy; they did not know then as we do now, that they are 40mph couch potatoes!  People were both interested and generous, we found it enjoyable (though surprisingly hard work) and Sally really enjoyed it.  She was great with adults but especially loved children. She would have kids hanging round her neck, patting her and stroking her coat the wrong way but she just soaked it all up. 

Fundraising then led us to help out at jumble sales where even my Mum got involved making tea and selling Welsh cakes.  It was a real family affair with everyone from Sally to her Nana taking part.  After the jumble sales stopped we missed meeting people so we started attending a local Craft Market in Clydach selling painted glass items and donating some of the profits (when there were any!) to greyhounds rescue. 

Hot Chilli Jam

The Original!

We learned to glass paint and made suncatchers, lanterns and painted drinking glasses.  Looking back we can see how far we have actually come in terms of quality and finish.  One autumn our little greenhouse produced a bumper crop of chillies which Armelle decided we were not going to waste.  Looking round for recipes she found one for a hot chilli jam so that’s what she made; 12 jars which all sold within a week and we never even tasted any ourselves.  The feedback however was that it was fantastic!.  Needing a name for our newly fledged Craft and Jam business which was about Crafts and helping the dogs, the name Crafty Dog sprung to mind.  The logo was a greyhound in an artist’s beret, originally holding a brush but we dropped that.  Crafty Dog Designs Cymru was born!

We trotted the jam around local craft fairs, looked for new recipes – and even made some up. 

Hot Chilli Extra Hot Jam

Extra Hot Chilli Jam – Phew!

Scrumped apples meant we could make Apple Chutney, Damsons from the hedgerow made Plum and Damson jam.  It took a while before we plucked up the courage to go to a shop and ask whether they would be interested in selling Crafty Dog jam but shops were really keen.  Our local butcher was the first to stock our chutneys (thanks Andrew!), then the Tourist Information Centre in Swansea, and a farm shop in Herefordshire (after a chance encounter helping a charity bike ride).  Today we even supply the shop at Aberglasney Gardens. 

It’s amazing the skills you can discover you never knew you had; we both learned to glass paint and our work has grown in complexity over the years.  Where we used to sell glass lanterns at the craft fairs we now make individual bespoke hand painted pieces of glassware and have even exported a set of Welsh Dragon pint glasses to Toronto!  All this was helped by setting up a web-shop which is another thing we have to try and keep updated.  Look out for www.crafty-dog-cymru.co.uk.

Luxury Apple Chutney Calvados

Luxury Apple Chutney with Apple Brandy

If anyone would like us to attend their Craft or Country Fair, or wants to stock any Crafty Dog Jams, Chutneys or Glassware, pop us an e-mail via the website above. 

As someone asked us recently, how do you have time to fit this all in – the answer is, we haven’t a clue, we just do it.  And, on top of that, we have to walk Penny as well.  It’s a busy life being a two person industrial combo….

jams, crafty dog, preserves

Crafty Dog Jams

And then there are the books… but that, as they say, is another story!

 

New Blog – How Penny became the Crafty Dog!

Here’s Our Latest Posting in the South Wales Evening Post

greyhound, Penny, Crafty Dog

You can teach a greyhound to retrieve!

When the Crafty Dog wagon takes to the road with our jams, chutneys, glassware or books and people come to meet us at Craft Fairs, or at Book Readings they see Penny and see what a well-rounded hound she is, calm, gentle and polite. Some of this is down to our work with her in terms of training, both house-wise and obedience training. However, a large part is down to her breeding and some to her own nature.

Greyhounds are generally easy-going and gentle by nature. They are pack animals, and love being part of a family. They bond well and once you have a connection they will walk over hot coals for you! They are very independent minded, so to train them you really have to make them see the benefit of what you are asking them to do – they are very reward driven. You’ll never train them easily by force but with a bag full of chopped up frankfurters you can get a greyhound to tapdance!

Penny and Sam had neither of them been in a house before, so simple things like stairs were major hurdles. Sammy went up and down within a day or so and could find her way around the house. Penny ran up the stairs on the second day with us but was terrified about getting back down. We had to walk her down, me guiding her front legs and Armelle her back legs. The next day we started to teach her, building her confidence slowly. A piece of sausage on each step and she came down, tenderly, picking her way, treat by treat and step by step. The next time it was a treat every other step, then every third step, fourth step until only one treat on the bottom step. By the end of the week she was going up and down like a natural.

She had to learn a routine, starting with toilet first thing, breakfast, a walk, then me off to work. Penny soon got the hang of all of that, especially the breakfast bit. She had the same cornflakes and yoghurt that Sammy and Sally had. After breakfast it was walkies around the cricket pitch and then back home. I then went off to work leaving Penny in the kitchen until Armelle came downstairs for breakfast.

In the evening, I would come home from work, we would all have tea then afterwards go to visit my

Low flying greyhound!

Low flying greyhound!

Mum in the local nursing home. Within a few weeks Penny got set into the routine so much that at 6.45 in the evening Penny would get excited as she knew it was time to go to the Home and if we weren’t ready in time she would start to bark at us. Once home, Penny began by sleeping in the kitchen but after a few weeks she started to scratch the kitchen door, so she moved to sleeping on her bed in the living room. That was fine but after a few weeks more she wanted to sleep on the settee on her blanket; she was such a well-behaved girl we gave her a fair bit of leeway. She was no bother at all. However, after taking her to Belgium and sharing a double bed in the motorhome she decided that she did not want to sleep on her own anymore so we now share a double bed with a greyhound every night. Fine except for when she breaks wind, or decides to run in her sleep and you end up being pummelled by her feet or wagging tail.

Penny has set up other little routines as the months rolled past; if the weather was wet, she would run straight back to bed after breakfast. Tea time (originally 5p.m. like Sal’s) began to creep forward until it merged with Armelle’s crusts after lunch. Now she gets a small lunch dinner time and her main meal with us teatime.

Penny has her foibles too – many rescue dogs have some demons. When we first had her she would freeze when walking onto the cricket pitch, a result of being abandoned in a field I guessed. Two weeks after she arrived it was Guy Fawkes night and as we walked into the Nursing Home a rocket went off about twenty feet over our heads. Penny was terrified and has been scared of thunder and fireworks ever since (maybe even before). Loud noises send her to her cwtch, an area behind my chair where she feels secure.

Recently she has become frightened of rain on the roof of the motorhome, a result of being caught on a campsite in a terrible thunder storm. She now associates noise on the roof with rain, which to her then means a thunderstorm is coming. She gets herself really wound up, not aggressive at all, just panting and shaking and there’s no room for a “den” in a 20 foot motorhome! It was so bad on our last trip that she even went off her food – unheard of for Penny. So, we are now going to have to go back to basics to break her cycle of fear of the van. We will start by building up positives; short trips to the park with a nice walk at the end, feed her in the van, get her used to the van without any rain noises. Then, gradually, start introducing a recording of rain noise, quietly at first, and slowly increase the volume over time. Again, this is not a quick fix and it will take a while and though there will undoubtedly be some hiccoughs we’ll get there. In the meantime we have calmex, and Valium in case the calmex does not work. And this week its Guy Fawkes Night – oh joy of joys!

It’s like everything in life, if you want anything to be perfect you have to put the time and effort in. Penny can be fixed, like we got Sam used to travelling. Though the Vet has given us some medication as a backup there’s no substitute for work, patience and lots of cwtches along the way! At the end of the day, our little hound is worth every penny!.

PS – By the way, I forgot to mention that this week was Penny’s Second “Gotcha” Day, the second anniversary of us bringing her home.

greyhound, Penny, rescued hound

Penny cross-country