The Never Ending Tales (of John)

or What a Week it Has Been!

Monday started out normal enough. I went to do an interview at one of the jails, then came home to drag Father to the dentist for his check-up. He loves going to the dentist. (not) Got there, they gave him some antibiotics because his gums are awful, and the cleaning went fairly quickly and easily.

Go home, he ate his dinner, everything seems normal. Then he went to bed. And started dreaming, I think. He was yelling at people, telling them not to do things, said someone was earning $9.15 an hour, and he didn’t sound happy about it. Heard him complaining he was cold. About 4:00 a.m., he starts calling me, saying someone is starting a fire. Explained to him there was no fire and told him to go back to sleep. Not sure if he did, but I kept hearing him fussing at someone.

Tuesday, I got up at 6:30 a.m., as usual, I’m in the shower and he starts yelling for me to “Come here right now!” Told him to hang on to his shorts and I would be there when I got clothes on. When I got dressed, he is mad as a hornet because those guys had that fire burning, but they just put it out. Asked where the fire was, he said under the porch. Then he tells me he tried to put the fire out with the garden hose, but couldn’t and then said “those three guys who came in put the fire out.” OK. Three guys. What three guys? Told him there was no fire, he got angrier. I decided it wasn’t worth it and shut up. He sort of got settled down.

I went to do another interview. Got home just in time to get his lunch from the Meal on Wheels guy. Go in the house, and he is all put out, wants to know who those three guys were. What three guys? He doesn’t know who they were, but said they came in while he was taking a shPOOPt, and were sitting in the living room when he came out of the bathroom. He said the men wouldn't talk to him, just sat there looking at him. Oh, good. Nothing is out of place in the house. Nothing missing. I’m thinking he is still crazy, and I was right. He ate dinner and took his customary afternoon nap. I decided I wasn’t going in to the office with him acting goofy. He is asleep a little while and starts talking again. Then he is arguing with someone, can’t quite figure out what’s going on, so I asked him who he was talking to. He said “That guy standing over there” and points at the piano. Now, unless there was an invisible man, there was no guy on the piano. I told him there was no man. He got really mad.

By now, I’ve decided something isn’t right (ain’t I smart!) and decided he was going to the doctor Wednesday (Wednesday is one of the regular days they have someone in the office near us.) Also got chicken and gave him another dose of the antibiotics they use before his cleaning.

Tuesday night, he was up about every 90 minutes to 2 hours. He would get up and start walking into the living room. I’d get up and ask him why he was getting up in the middle of the night. He would get disgusted and go back to bed. About 3:00 a.m., I hear him complaining his back and hips hurt. This is not a surprise to me, he went to bed before it even got dark, I would think he would ache from lying there that long! About 4:00 a.m., he got up, said he was going to sit in his chair ‘cause his hips hurt. And he did. I didn’t hear another peep out of him the rest of the night.

Wednesday I call the doctor’s office and discover the person we wanted to see wasn’t in that day, and the other guy was double booked. Told me to call the Broomfield office and get a message to the one we wanted to see. So I call, leave a message, and of course, the didn’t call back until after 5:00 p.m. By then I had already made an appointment for Thursday in Thornton. Jerks. I prepared for another fun night.

But the fun night didn’t materialize. He was quiet, slept through the night, no yelling and no wandering.

Thursday we go to the doctor. He is no longer talking crazy. She can’t find anything wrong with him. No urinary tract infection. No real answers. If is was a mini-stroke, there appears to be no loss of motion. That was the strangest thing. He was never unsteady (well, any more than usual) on his feet, was talking as well as ever, no physical signs of anything.

I was too chicken to leave him and go to work Friday. He was fine all night Thursday night and Friday. Anyone have a nice padded cell I could borrow? I think I need one.

The big question remains, what was that all about? Did getting his teeth cleaned shake his marbles loose temporarily? We have no idea, but I’d really not like to do a repeat of this week in the near future!

Greyhound "Adoption" Idiots

This is an old rant, many have heard it, but it feels good to vent. Again.

I’ve been involved in greyhound adoption since 1994. Adopted my first two greyhounds then. Got involved with Rocky Mountain Greyhound Adoption. Got conned into helping run the adoption group. Got conned into helping with the blood donor program.

Fifteen years and twelve of my own adopted greyhounds later, I still love the dogs, but some of the people give me a major case of gas.

I started out anti-greyhound racing. I was stupid, had no clue that a lot of the garbage people told me was a bunch of lies. I believed the greyhounds were abused, mistreated creatures. What I didn’t know in the beginning was that the bad impression I had of the greyhound racing industry was really a very bad greyhound adoption person.

See, the adoption kennel I first adopted from was disgusting. Filthy. The dogs were dirty. Didn’t wear muzzles during turnout. One of my first greyhounds, ShyFly, had a huge hole in her neck from being attacked by the other dogs in the kennel.

Made for a very bad first impression, to put it mildly. Yeah, I was very anti-racing, and very vocal about it.

Boy, was I stupid. Finally agreed to meet Torri, (our adoption coordinator and someone I consider an adopted little sister), and I cannot tell you how embarrassed I am that I was “drinking the koolaid.” Over time, I met many of the greyhound breeders in Colorado, and I am proud to call a number of them friends.

There was the old guy who cried when his adopted former racers would jump up and give him kisses.

There was the guy the dogs would knock their adopters over to get to.

There were the owners who cried when their dogs were injured.

There were the owners who begged us to take pups for adoption that had medical problems. Who offered to pay the vet bills.

I spent nights in the race kennel with Torri when she had sick dogs, giving them IV fluids, praying they would live.

I was there when race pups were born. Watched owners sit with the broods during difficult deliveries. I saw owners cry when newborn pups didn’t take that first breath. Watched them patiently bottle feed the weak pups.

Our adoption group operated out of Torri’s race kennel for several years. When she was forced to move from the farm she was renting, it was racing greyhound owners who offered her, and our adoption group, space in their kennel. Who offered to let us build an adoption kennel on their property.

It was largely racing greyhound owners who helped us fund that adoption kennel. It was a scary, and awesome, experience. Building that kennel with space for 18 dog runs, a kitchen, storage area and bathroom for our adoption operation.

Yet, despite the positive experiences we have had with the greyhound racing industry, there are those who believe anyone involved in greyhound racing is nothing short of a relative of the devil, himself.

There was a greyhound adoption person in New Mexico, Candy, who also started out very anti-racing. She and I had many nasty e-mail exchanges. Then the adoption group she worked with decided their primary mission would no longer be placing greyhounds. Candy and her husband started a new adoption group, and over time, she had a very similar experience to mine. She met a number of racing people who were good, kind folks who loved their dogs and wanted the best for their dogs. I now consider her to be a good friend, and I hope she feels the same about me.

Recently, her adoption group made arrangements to adopt two greyhounds to a university in New Mexico as mascots. The adoption plan is very comprehensive. It includes where the dogs will be housed, which veterinarian will be providing medical care, who will be exercising the dogs during the day, from the outline of the plan, I wouldn’t mind being the school mascot!

Yet those who are anti-racing, and therefore oppose Candy’s adoption group, have been on a campaign to torpedo these adoptions. The stupidity is pretty unbelievable.

Thankfully, the folks at the university are not being intimidated by the stupidity. I’d like to say kudos to Greyhound Pets of America-New Mexico Greyhound Connection and Eastern New Mexico University for sticking to their guns and doing what’s right for the greyhounds.

And shame on the anti-racing fanatics who cannot see beyond the tips of their noses and who cannot understand that the human beings involved in the greyhound racing industry are just that: human beings. Good people, bad people, smart people, not so smart people. But overall, they are people who care very much about their greyhounds and are willing to work hand in hand with greyhound adoption to insure they are all placed in good homes when they are finished with their careers as canine athletes.

If you have a minute, go to the GPA-NMGC website, http://www.gpa-nm.org/ and let them know you appreciate their efforts for the greyhounds!