Dog Days of February: Arazi

 

Here's Arazi, all tucked in!

Arazi is owned by Char Anderson.

You can find more doggy posts at Rebecca's Dog Days of February! 

Guest Dog Blogger: Dorothy

 Today we have a very special guest blogger, my bff Dorothy.  Dorothy doesn't have a blog (yet!--I'm working on her. . .) but she does have a dog, Charlie. 

I love Charlie.  He is the sweetest little guy in the world.  I invited Dorothy to contribute some Charlie stories for Rebecca's February Dog theme.  Here is the first installment:

I didn't regularly read Rebecca Writes in January of 2007 (sorry, Rebecca) so I didn't discover until January of 2008 when she reviewed her past year that I could have contributed a coyote (ky-oat-tee) story and I was heartily disappointed.  Well, here is my chance because my coyote story is also a dog story!  

We moved into our present home in the spring three years ago and I took our dog, Charlie, out one evening right about dusk.  Imagine my surprise as we walked around the house to discover a coyote slinking around the other way right next to the screen porch!  I had never seen one so close before and I know Charlie hadn't either.  I was hoping he wouldn't see this one as I scooped him up and covered his eyes and walked across the street and down a few houses.  Charlie is a Maltese on the outside but inside he believes he is a Doberman. I know the truth.  

Back to the coyote.  Now  he was between us and the house and I was hoping he wasn't waiting for us in the backyard at the only unlocked door.  I put Charlie down and we casually strolled back and into the house as I prayed a desperate prayer.  That was the last time I took Charlie out in anything other than broad daylight without my trusty Mag-Lite flashlight of the twelve inch heavy duty variety!

 

Arazi

Arazi's Treat

 

Click to enlarge 

Arazi is owned by Char Anderson.  What a gorgeous V!

Introducing Emo

Here's Emo, the newest, cutest puppy in Bloglandia.    

 

She He co-owns Carol and her family with Tucker, who is adjusting nicely with this new merger, as you can see. 

 Ivy and Eve are wondering if this blog has really gone to the dogs; after all, it's been some time since I posted a picture of either one of them.  (And you know, according to them, they are not exactly dogs; they consider themselves humanoid canines.)

Mo

My friend, Jill, and her husband are owned by Mo, this beautiful greyhound.  Jill posted a whole gallery of Mo pictures today.  It was hard for me to choose which photos to include.

Here's a picture of Jill and Mo together. 

 

A nice profile. 

 

This is my favorite of all.  I can practically feel her excitement and joy as she romps in the snow. 

 

This photo belongs in a Pottery Barn catalog, don't you think?  A dog in her natural habitat. . . 

Sometimes when I am walking my dogs, I meet a lady who lives on a nearby street walking her two greyhounds.  They are such gentle and unassuming dogs, very regal and ladylike.  Mo looks like a lady, too. 

A New Friend

I'd like to introduce you to Amber.  Amber is one year old and owned by Joe and Antje Kantor of Whittier, California.  Antje is a reader of Vizslocity who took up my invitation to send in pictures of her vizsla.  After all, what's the only thing better than one vizsla?  MORE vizslas!

 Amber seems to have taken the doggy etiquette advice to heart!  Isn't she a good girl?

Here's a picture of Amber doing what vizslas do best--snuggle!  Don't you love the arm over the shoulder?

And here's a picture for you!

As a vizsla owner myself, I didn't need Antje to tell me that Amber was saying, "Mud, what mud?" 

For the love of Samantha

This morning I read a moving poem, written by a woman who had just lost her dear Vizsla friend, Samantha. Tears streamed down my face as I read her description of the white muzzle, soft fur, and soulful eyes. So many times my heart has skipped a beat and I've had to catch my breath when I have looked into Eve's precious graying face and realized that I will have to say good bye to her someday. The poem was especially moving to me when I learned about the circumstances of Samantha's adoption.

"My daughter Nikole suffered from an eating disorder when she took in Samantha at age 12. Sami needed to be re homed because her owners were in their 90's, ill and moving into an nursing home. But in turned out that Samantha rescued Nikole:"

    Poem for Samantha
    Skyway Chatterbox CD, NA
    November 2, 1991 - September 24, 2006

    "Samantha"

    I remember the very first day we met.
    I remember the hour.
    I remember the minute.
    I remember the moment.
    It was a warm, golden afternoon
    and a wonderful, hopeful day.
    Full of hope for me.
    Full of hope for you.
    I saw you across the room,
    a beautiful mix of white
    swilred with red.
    As soon as you noticed me,
    standing there for you,
    bounding across the floor you came.
    An old, beautiful white muzzle and soft fur,
    peppered with freckles and two soulful eyes.
    You leaped up and kissed me a thousand times over
    with the energy and pep
    of a pup half your age.
    I knew from that moment
    we were meant for one another.
    I would save you.
    You would save me.
    We needed each other.
    I needed you more than you could have possibly known.
    You became my reason
    for getting up in the morning.
    You were the reason,
    to go outside and play in the sun.
    Because of you I felt whole again
    and everything that kept me alive
    was in your kind spirit.
    I loved watching you doze off
    with your little, pink, wet tongue
    peeking out.
    The cute little snores you would make
    would soothe me to sleep.
    The way that you grunted and chattered
    when you were excited,
    I couldn't help but pat your head
    and smile from ear to ear.
    Your face was so soft and so snowy white
    and had I closed my eyes,
    I could have sworn it to be velvet.
    Long walks were something you loved;
    running in that park while I playfully chased after you,
    sniffing everything within your path.
    When you slept at the my feet at night
    I would bundle you up in blankets
    and I would feel so safe,
    so warm,
    so loved.
    I hope you did too.
    You enjoyed going to the windows to look outside
    and then walking through the curtains
    having the material itch your back for you
    as you walked on through.
    I would laugh with joy when you would do your running leap
    to get up on the sofa
    to snuggle up and take a nap.
    When you started getting thin,
    losing too much weight,
    refusing to eat,
    my heart started to break.
    I made you scrambled eggs, cream cheese bagels,
    veggie burgers, chicken nuggets,
    and your favourite, peanut butter sandwiches,
    anything you could have wanted,
    but still you would not eat.
    I needed you to eat.
    I would carry your fragile body up and down the stairs,
    so we could still sleep together
    bundled up in blankets and warmth.
    I took you outside every hour for fresh air
    and peace of mind
    until you became too tired,
    too weak,
    to go out that much.
    I watched as you withered away to nothing but skin and bones,
    but still, you had those gorgeous, soulful eyes.
    You started to sleep a lot, no energy to go for the long walks
    that you had loved so much.
    You became too delicate for me to carry up the stairs,
    so I slept downstairs with you everynight instead.
    When the hour was apon you,
    I felt it
    and it made my whole body ache with sorrow.
    Together we found a dark, quiet place for you to try and rest.
    You went to the window
    and walked through the curtains one last time,
    then you layed down.
    I layed there with you.
    You tried to get comfortable
    and I could see your chest struggle to fill with breath;
    your panting, short and shallow.
    I stroked your sweet face and kissed your damp, little, freckled nose.
    Still, you tried to be comfortable.
    You looked at me one last time
    and rested your head in the palm of my hand.
    I petted your head and shoulders,
    listening to your breath get less
    and less.
    I have never felt so helpless in my life,
    watching my baby struggle for for her own.
    I wanted so desperately to help you,
    breathe for you,
    but there was nothing I could do.
    I choked back my hot tears
    and told you "I love you",
    "Don't be scared",
    "I love you Sam".
    I must have said it a thousand times,
    but I still could have said it a thousand more.
    We layed there on the floor,
    your velvet soft head in my hand
    and I watched you try,
    try so hard to take air in your lungs.
    I watched as the last gasp came
    and then, no more.
    My love, my joy, my reason for living, my everything, my baby
    was gone.
    I held you,
    still soft, still warm
    and I couldn't believe it.
    I kept waiting,
    waiting for you to get up.
    I waited for you to wake
    so we could go outside and play.
    You never got up.
    I now know what a broken heart feels like,
    but I hope,
    someday she will kiss my face again
    and we will run through the grass.
    She will nuzzle her face in my chest
    and my heart will be together again.


9/24/2006
Nikole T. Zelneronok

Nikole, my heart goes out to you, as well as my thoughts and prayers. Those of us who have loved a Vizsla know the loss you are experiencing. Rest in peace Samantha.

Published by permission