THE CHANGING OF THE TIME

Tonight we go back...no, forward-- to daylight savings time again. No  more getting up at 4:30 for ME! Nossir. I get up at 5:30, now. John, who gets up about 8 or 9 (he is up until 1 or 2 in the morning, reading) says "It won't be light out." What? Does he think it is now?
Lit by the ethereal glow of a half dozen night lights (to avoid tripping over dogs) our house is well lit during the night. The Bassets, except for Llewis, are crated, but the black dog, who is impossible to see at night no matter how many night lights we have, camps anywhere. Llewis, with his white tail tip, is spottable.

When I was the kennel manager at the Clinic, I would put signs up days in advance, hoping my Sunday Morning team would actually remember to change their clocks and come to work on time. Sundays were crucial because we had so little time in which to get everything done. Supposedly we did not open until 10 but we never turned anyone away and so if there was a Vet there and someone pounded on the door, we opened. (If there was no Vet and it was an emergency we opened and called the Vet in, meanwhile taking instructions over the phone.) We closed at Noon, which meant all dogs and cats had to be fed, cleaned, exercised, cleaned, watered and clean by noon. By the time I retired, there was room for 220 animals to  board, in runs or regular built-in kennels. I was no longer Kennel Manager and very happy that I wasn't.

They still open at ten (ha hah) (More like 9) and close at noon (more like 1pm)
I do not miss Sundays in the kennel.

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Today on the way to visit the taxman, I was in a line of cars that stopped for several deer that burst out of the bushes by the highway and danced across the road, followed by the relentless predator that had sent them fleeing for their lives--- someone's Beagle.

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It's been a tough day.

MY DOG

When we got our first dog, we got a Basset because my husband had always wanted a Basset and instead his parents bought him a Beagle thinking a kid would not notice the difference, I think. He did.
Always he wanted a Basset.
When I met him his girlfriend had a Basset. That's all I'm gonna say about that.

This is how we ended up with Bassets. We started with one and now have 3 and are down in numbers from 4 Bassets.
And then came the Belgians. Because I wanted a dog for memememe. One that could do obedience (Bwaahaahahahah) and other doggy things with me. One that was trainable.
So there have been Belgians. And the Belgians are MY dogs. The Bassets are too, make no mistake. But the Belgians, with their long legs and instant response time, they're MY dogs.

So now I have Cooper. And someplace a couple of years ago, after Mitchell and Zelda died, we got Conley. A Basset. Definitely a Basset. But Cooper was MY dog. He travels with me. He goes in the Van with me. He goes to the Gallery with me.

He's my boy. He's my sunshine. He's my protector, my companion, my soul.

Except that nobody told Conley.

And he decided that he was MY dog.
He slept next to my bed. He slept under my desk when I was working. He sits in the kitchen when I cook. He is the first to greet me, shoving all the others aside including Cooper, now that he only has three legs and isn't quite as agile as he used to be.
I never told Conley he was MY dog. Nigel loves John, loves to sit on his lap, loves his chair, is the first to say hello to him when he comes home. Llewis loves everyone sort of, in a strange, Llewis kind of way.

I make a lot of room for Cooper. I take him wherever I can. He loves the Gallery and goes with me there. Today I went to the Gallery without Cooper, just for a brief business huddle with Pat, and when I came home, John said Conley cried at the window the entire time I was gone. Uh Oh.
Conley cannot go to the Gallery until Cooper is gone. The Gallery is Cooper's place to be with me, without the others. Do not think for one moment that Cooper is unaware of Conley's efforts to usurp my affections. Raised hackles and nasty insults are commonplace from both. Eyeballing. Posturing.

Cooper will always be MY dog, until the day he dies. Conley may suspect this is true, Cooper knows it is. I am just not sure Conley knows who is watching.

NO WORDS

Blogging Along

There is not much going on here that I can write about. Some of it involves a person who may or may not read the blog and about whom I prefer not to write. You can always email me to find out these things, but I am not putting it out there publicly. I learned my lesson the hard way about that.

Never ever put anything in a blog you don't want the world to know about.

You would think someone as paranoid as I am who grew up with a lawyer for a Father would know that instinctively, just as I know to duck when someone throws a baseball in my direction. I mean, catch it? Are they crazy? (I was not a big athlete in school.)
My son-in-law is writing a blog for the Chicago Tribune online edition, called "The Cub's Den". It is, obviously, about the Cubs. His allegiance to the Cubs is something I suppose he cannot help. He is otherwise such an amazingly wonderful person that I guess I will forgive him this one vice.

http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/cubs-den/

If you are interested.


Nigel has crystals in his urine. He is on an acidifier but is still peeing in the house from time to time.
Conley is his usual irrepressible self. Llewis bounces all over and Cooper continues to supervise everyone, including the mailman, the UPS guy and FedEx.

I told you there was not much going on.

Don't Forget!!
March 25, 26 & 27 there will be an exhibit of handblown glass from
Marble City Glassworks. The exhibit will be in Park Forest, IL at 294 Main St.
Drop in-- it's free. There will be food. No booze, sorry -- we don't have a license for it.

ALL KINDS OF STOFF

We weathered the International Kennel Club without much success. Two red ribbons (please don't ask how many were in Open.) We saw some lovely dogs and some really awful ones. The first day Conley got lotsa belly rubs but by Sunday he had had enough, and I kept him crated most of the day.

Attendance was way down-- both in entries and spectators and even vendors. Getting in wasn't hard but leaving was the usual hassle. (If you have never tried to get a dog and your equipment out of McCormick Place along with probably 1000 other dog people, I cannot possibly explain it.)

I took my camera but largely ignored it. Sunday, I didn't even take it along. There was a new dog there, the Icelandic Sheepdog, with which I fell in love. I did not get a photo because I never found them. I would see them now and again and Saturday I looked all day and couldn't find them. (I could have used the catalog, but what fun is that?)

This Pyrenees was benched next to us and I have always liked them.

But I was not inspired this year, either by 99% of the dogs I saw or photographically. My first catalog from this show is dated 1966, the first year I was married and we came into town for the show. I probably have photos of relatives of many of the Bassets being shown today. My first set of photos was from a Polaroid!!

This is Katie and her Wheaten Terrier.  I never mastered the art of holding the dryer under my chin, aiming it accurately, and brushing all at the same time, muti-tasking training. Katie's last name escapes me but I have known her off and on for years. Once upon a time she worked with Jackie, my breeder and co-owner (of Conley) but now she is on her own and quite capable. She had a lovely Basset puppy there.

Around in back, on the other side of the bench, I found one of my favorite dogs, altho from what I gather from the Judges I have spoken with, the temperanent is "iffy", and that is a Skye Terrier.

I think they are stunning. However. I am not, really, at heart, A Terrier, but a herding breed first and a hound second.
second.  That said, here is Jackie's little dynamo, her wire-haired doxie. In the hound group but really have the personality of a Terrier.

And last. My favorite photo from the show. I do not know who she was and I certainly hope she had no expectations of privacy. I did not get a waiver. I think she must having something going with a Corgi. Just a wild guess.

Maybe next year.                                                                                                                                                                                                                   .

SPECIAL BLOG

My Son-In-Law, John Arguello is now writing a blog for the Chicago Tribune!!! here is the link:

chicagonow.com/cubsden

Please read and support him. He's such a cool guy! And a good writer to boot, and he likes our Bassets even if he's allergic to them. (Not sure if he is or not).

Also March 25 thru the 27 there will be an exhibition at the Salon Artists Gallery in Park Forest, IL of handblown glass from my son's studio in Tennessee. If you are in the Chicago area, please come. It's free. E-mail me for more info, like the Gallery hours and the time of the opening (free food!!)
Admission free.

TIME PASSES

It has been a little over 3 months since Cooper was diagnosed as having Osteosarcoma and that front leg came off.
All the tests came back positive.
There were barely visible little specks in his lungs.
I was told 3 month- 4 maybe.
The other day when I set up the grooming table to shear off Conley's whiskers, clean his pads and clip the twistie on his tail, Cooper, who hates tbe way I groom, fled. With no discernable effort he leaped over the 3 foot baby gate we put to up keep him from jumping on and off the very high DadBed.

Yesterday we went to the Gallery. He loves the Gallery. There are no short-legs in his face. He can stretch out anyplace and sleep. He can go from artist to artist and get loved up in horrible, soppy ways that he clearly adores. He is constantly being told what a pretty dog he is, what a good dog he is, how much we love him. He is on instant alert if a stranger comes in-maybe his only fault. Pat and Ann and Sylvia and Bob are his herd at the Gallery (and me) and we are to be watched and guarded. (I leash him when people come in, and keep him with me near the back.) He drags me, literally, down the street to the Gallery.

He still guards the house. He watches closely for the mailman, the brown truck, the white truck, kids walking too close to my Van parked on the street (anyplace on the block is too close). He bellows at the short-legs to STOP THAT PLAYING! He yells at them for looking in his direction DO NOT LOOK AT THE DIRECTOR!
He goes out in the worst weather and moseys about the yard accumulating ice in his thick, black coat. In another life he was something weatherproof.
Nevertheless he remains terrified of thunder, of my cooking (I might use the stove and the smoke alarm might go off) having me groom or cut his nails, and (we learned yesterday) sleet.(Too much like rain, which might have thunder with it.)

Nobody has told him he is dying. I certainly am not going to be the one. Talking to Doc the other day he listened patiently to all this and then said gently "You know he's going to crash one day." Yes. Yes, I know. Doc has never been one to make up stories to make you feel better. He is, above all else a dedicated realist. But here's the catch: he is also an optimist or he would not think he might help the animals. And he is also rooting for Cooper. Hoping he will be the exception to the rule. We shall see.