Whippet Snippets

Top Dog Signs

While perusing the vault for his next Wordless Whippet Wednesday entry, Ribsy became distracted by this Flickr photo: 

From Flickr member thedamnmushroom

Ribsy can't believe it. Someone actually went through the trouble of crafting two signs (depicting each act of waste expulsion) for the express purpose of saving their precious lawn? In a way, aren't these graphic warnings just as unsightly as the offending feces themselves? Besides, can dogs (besides Ribsy, of course) even read? 

On the other hand, dogs are fluent in "the slash". This sign was spotted in Havelock, New Zealand:

When it comes to dog control, New Zealand is very active in slash language. For instance, in Dunedin they even go as far as to emblazon their downtown sidewalks with the following:

Over in beautiful Bonhinj, Slovenia, preservationists would prefer to just lump them into the rest of the offenders, like butterfly catchers, snail pickers, and car washers. To be fair, they do earn some cred from Ribsy for the whippet-like physique of the speeding pooch:

Really, do these signs have to be so negative all the time? Why not positive reinforcement? After all, dogs were designed that way. Consider this neat and tidy depository for dogs, stationed in Budapest, Hungary. No slash in sight!

An even more courteous gesture would be to provide signage in one's native tongue. The District of North Vancouver has got this down pat:

From Flickr member Joannabriggs

However, the top dog (sign) spotted on Boy's and Girl's travels goes to this friendly reminder posted in Okayama, Japan. Apparently dogs take their pooper scoopers with them wherever they go so they can neatly clean up after their own messes.

"Ha!" Girl exclaimed. "I wish."

So. Is Ribsy the only dog out there who is mildly fascinated by these dog signs? Is Girl the only girl out there that wastes megabytes taking photographs of these dog warnings? Please say it ain't so!

1,000 Reasons to Stop...or Continue?

 

Dear Readers,

Today is my 1,000th post. Granted, when it began five years ago, in 2004, I wasn't the one who was actually doing the blogging. After all, I was only 3 months old at the time. My Girl took care of the posts, and right to this day she still helps me compose my thoughts and upload my photos. It really is her blog as much as it is mine (and lately, my pesky sister's too, but that's another saga on its own).

So when my Girl confided that she didn't know if she wanted to continue the Snippets past its 1,000th post, I listened in concern. I can't do this on my own. I need her as much as she needs my life and antics to write about. Plus, I didn't know how much longer I wanted to keep going, either. I'm slowing down, getting surly, and enjoying sleep a lot more than I used to, and figure that regaling you with entries about my sleep positions, locations and dreams (usually chasing a squirrel) doesn't rank too high on the excitement scale.

But then I asked her, wouldn't you miss it if you stopped? I reminded her of the fine bloggers that she's met over the years, the helpful dog-raising information she has learned, and the amazing community of whippet lovers who have dropped in to say hello and give us virtual pats on our hands. 

She paused. Then sighed. And in a weary voice, said, "Ribsy, I think I need to write a guest post."

Here it is below.

Love,
Ribsy

****

Honestly, I never thought I'd still be here today, helping Ribsy with his blog. It all started out quite innocently, as a way to journal our adventures in our new house with our new puppy.

Since our first entry, Boy, Ribsy & I have moved to a new city, changed addresses three times, and picked up another whippet. Ribsy has endured his share of unsightly gashes, an airplane ride across the country, a maddening case of separation anxiety, and an even more maddening sister.

But more importantly, Ribsy has opened our eyes to a new way of seeing things. From the dog's point of view, I've learned to enjoy the outdoors, to revel in the simple pleasures of life, and to truly understand the meaning of unconditional love.

There were plenty of bad days to go along with the good ones. And no matter what the circumstances were, no matter how negatively poisoned the air seemed to be, Ribsy was consistent in his affection. The loyalty was unwavering, from the gentle nudge of his snout to his half-turn-to-flop by our side. He always knew what to do to soften the stillness and comfort the hurt.

Ribsy is my best friend.

I feel we've both grown to need each other more than ever, but that we've both outgrown the intentions of this blog. He's no longer a puppy, and me, I'm no longer an aspiring writer. Neither silly dog antics nor cleverly-crafted summaries of such antics happen around here anymore.

Sure Mirabel could step into Ribsy's paws and more than fulfill the 'silly dog antics' role, but the heart of the Snippets has been and always will be Ribsy. His heart and his devotion remains unquestioned, but his lifestyle and my desire to write, have changed enormously.

After 1,000 posts, what more could I possibly seek to accomplish through this blog? Occasionally, I do get excited about posting, but for the most part, I wonder who is even reading this, and what they are thinking if and when they do so. I don't want to let anyone down by shutting the blog down, but then again, I am even more afraid of disappointing the few readers that I do have, with continued poor-quality, mundane, and pointless posts. 

I am struggling. I am fatigued. And I am fearful of burdening the blogosphere. Or floating in it, listless and without purpose. There must be a reason for the Snippets. And until I find the right one that re-ignites the passion, I won't be back.

Off to hug my best friend. And his pesky sister. 

Thank you to everyone who has visited and commented over the years. We really, really couldn't have continued this blog without your support.

Sincerely,
Ribsy's Girl

Autumnal Absence

Here's a lazy autumnal post by Ribsy, just to let you know that he's still around. He just hasn't felt like blogging lately. Two reasons come to mind. 1) He really misses Boy; and 2) He doesn't have anything to talk about.

Thighnormous. Thighgantic.

Mirabel is slowly getting better. Turns out she has a seasonal allergy to something growing in the woods. So she's getting mild oatmeal baths, ointment, and a dosage of tiny pink pills to take away the rash.

During her trip to the vet, Mira checked in at a whopping 37 pounds. She now outweighs Ribsy by 3 pounds.

"She doesn't look fat!" Girl exclaimed in surprise to the vet. "Where does it all go?"

The vet gently squeezed her thighs and bum. "I think it's all in here."

Mirabel:

Ribsy:

Hmm. Girl thinks the vet is right. Here's Mirabel from another angle:

According to the American Kennel Club standard, the whippet hindquarters should be as follows:

Long and powerful. The thighs are broad and muscular, stifles well bent; muscles are long and flat and carry well down toward the hock. The hocks are well let down and close to the ground. Sickle or cow hocks should be strictly penalized.

Whatever, thought Mirabel. She likes her body just the way it is. Fast enough to catch a squirrel and powerful enough to knock over wimpy brothers.

Poison Mirabel

Poor, itchy Mirabel who likes to run and hunt in the woods. Lately she and Ribsy have enjoyed daily, blissful romps at woodsy Warren Park.

However, on Saturday morning, Girl noticed a series of red bumps on Mirabel's chest and front legs.

At that time, Mirabel didn't seem affected by them, so Girl didn't really think much of it.

When she mentioned the situation to Boy later that day, however, he suggested that perhaps Mira had a case of doggy poison ivy.

To be honest, Girl doesn't even know what poison ivy looks like.

 

This is poison ivy. Rather nondescript, but very common in Ontario. So much so that they're labeled a noxious weed, which means that it's the duty of any person who has property infected with the plant to destroy them. Poison ivy occurs under forests, in edges of woodland, meadows, waste areas, fence lines, and roadsides throughout most of southern Ontario. Yikes.

Poison ivy is characterized by a compound leaf structure, with three leaflets in each compound. The middle leaflet has a longer stalk than the other two side leaflets.

Leaves of three, let it be.

The leaves change color during the seasons - red and purple in the spring, bright green in the summer, and vivid orange-red to wine-red in the fall. It even flowers in June and July, with white berries in September that often remain during the winter. 

Berries in white, danger in sight.

So back to Mira. That evening, she began scratching and licking at her bumps, which had since developed into a red rash. Thankfully Girl had the BodyShirt handy - a perfect way to prevent Mira from getting access to the rash.

In the morning, Girl gave Mirabel a cold-lukewarm bath with oatmeal shampoo. Then she applied Dr. Maggie's skin care ointment to the affected area.

Then on went a different BodyShirt, to provide comfort and protection.

Today Mirabel appears to be doing better. The redness is reduced, as well as the bumps. 

Based on quick Internet research, the conclusion appears to be that it is possible for a dog to suffer from a mild reaction, but in general, it's nothing compared to the harm that the ivy can wield on humans. 

What's ultimately most annoying and troublesome is that the urushiol - the oil found in most parts of the plant and which is responsible for the itching - can contaminate pet fur, clothes, and footwear. And anything the fur has touched can pick up the oil too. 

So now, even as Mirabel recovers, Girl is worried about every itchy sensation she feels. Apparently, days and days can pass before a rash develops.

Sigh.

Itchy Whippy

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Poor Mirabel's feeling itchy. Updates to come.

Trickless whippets

Ribsy and Mirabel have a confession to make.

They don't know any tricks. They can't shake paws, they can't roll over, they can't play dead. They're reliant on their natural good looks and bulbous eyes to get them everything their chesty hearts desire, and hope that they'll never, ever have to resort to performing demeaning tricks in order to get what they want.

After all, who knows what could happen:

The waiting whippet

Why does Boy come and go? Did I do something to upset him? He does seem happy to see me, so why would he go away all the time? Aren't packs supposed to stick together? I don't get it.

It's been a long summer wait for Ribsy. And it has only just begun.

You have me, reminded Mirabel. She grinned a toothy grin.

Joy, thought Ribsy.

It don't matter if you're two- or four-legged

Rest in peace, Michael Jackson.

Driving Miss Mirabel

Whippet puparazzi catch a shot of Ribsy and Mirabel stuck in traffic on the 403 highway.

"We could get there faster by running," a frustrated Ribsy grumbled to Mirabel.

"I told you to just pay the damn toll fee and take the 407 instead," Mirabel spat back. "It's your fault, you cheapo."