|Why a greyhound is like no other dog...
||[Feb. 20th, 2008|11:24 am]
Sure, you CAN call it a certain kind of stupid. I prefer to think of it as an unshakeable faith in humankind. Sort of like religion, really, sort of sweet, but terribly misguided and bound to be disappointed. It is both an awesome and terrible responsibility. |
Backstory: both my dogs are officially geezers. Greyhounds live 12-14 years if bone cancer or something similar doesn't get them. Percy's now 12 and Willow's 11 and with her med history, she's older, really.
So that means, sigh, that I cater to their infirmities. I've put a rubber-backed carpet runner at the top of the stairs, so that Willow's shaky legs don't fly out from underneath her when she hits the hallway. And Percy, Percy gets cold at night. So he wears pajamas. (Stop sniggering. It's really just an abbreviated fleece jacket. Hey, he used to get up and down all night, fluffing up his blankets and waking me up -- now he and I sleep through. Well, he sleeps through and now the cats wake me up.)
This morning, I hear him clicking down the hallway, his feet hit the stairs and I expect to hear him clicking up behind me in the kitchen. But I finish the dishes and still no Percy. I look up at the stairs and I can just barely see him standing there with his feet on the top step, looking down into space.
Perce? No response, not even a twitch. Oh, no, this is how it happens. This is exactly the behavior you see in a greyhound right before they drop dead of a heart attack. They get all spacey.
I run over and he's just standing there, not budging. Then I notice. His "nightcoat" has come undone and the velcro part of the belly strap has attached itself to the rug runner. And his hind legs are standing on the runner. And the PJs are around his neck, keeping him trapped. So, no matter which way he tries to go, he can't move.
Now a lab or beagle would just go for it. Make a lunge, unfasten the velcro, pull the runner, wiggle their head backwards out of the PJs. Whine, bark, fall down the stairs.
But Percy, in true greyhound fashion, just stands there, waiting for his human to undo him. Because Percy believes that if he can't move, then there must be a reason why his human doesn't want him to, so he'll just stand there until I am pleased with his standing and finally release him.
See, it IS just like religion...