Born: "N Find Me" 4/20/97
Sire: Molotov
Dam: Dominatrix
Breeder: Seelke, Rt 1, Box 112B, Cleo Springs, OK 73729, 580-438-2470
Adopted from Sandy Davidson, 2015 Forrest Glen, 383-2500
January 17, 2008
I heard a cry of agony from his bed. He had tried to stand to follow me into another part of the house and his leg gave out - the femur simply ceased to stiffen his leg between hip and knee. He could not walk, would not lie down, and was in great stress. I phoned Kathy for help and our vet Dr Michelle to ask her to come to the car and examine him.
When Kathy got home we coaxed him, hobbling on three legs with the fourth dangling, to the car and lifted him in. I rode in back with him, supporting him as he still was afraid to lie down. He just panted and teetered on three legs, with me pressing him to the seat back so he wouldn't tumble. Dr M came to the car and the three of us managed to get him to lie down. It was his first moment of peace and calm in a couple of hours. He lay on his side with us holding and stroking him. We knew what was down the road, but tried not to show it to Clayton. For his part, trust was there, as it always had been. The vet could not really examine the leg, so she sedated him. He took the IV calmly, without fear, and drifted off to a sleep in one of his favorite places, the back of Kathy's CRV.
Once he was sound asleep Dr Michelle confirmed the broken femur. Given what we knew, there was no chance of a good heal of that bone, eaten away by cancer to the extent it had spontaneously failed. Clayton, awake with this broken leg, was unable to do anything without great stress and pain. To Kathy and me, it made no sense to wake him up to months of suffering toward an end that could not be good. Dr Michelle concurred. We asked her to put him deeper asleep, to the happy place beyond.
December 2007
In the months preceeding, Clayton had developed a worrying dry cough as well as a seemingly unrelated favoring and limping on his right rear leg. It was natural to think the latter was age-related hip issues, and the vet agreed. He was examined several times for the cough, with no findings. (No xrays were taken.)
During a Christmas visit to my Mom's in Athens, it became clear that Clayton's leg was getting worse. He could still run, like the wind (or rather a freight train - he weighed 92 lbs), but had a pronounced limp, a favoring of the leg when not "on". He also fell a couple of times getting in/out of Van Diesel. When we returned, his cough was also worse. On Jan 16, he had a very bad episode of coughing that resulted in a bloody discharge - the cough went from dry to bloody wet on that day.
We immediately went to Dr M who did a chest xray: a profusion of spots, believed to be secondary sites from metastatic bone cancer, was evident on the film. The leg was then xrayed, but the film was unreadable. We decided to let it go for the time being, since Clayton was under a lot of stress and we needed to get his coughing and lung distress under some control. We went home with a multiweek supply of steriods to ease the effects of cancer. He spent a relatively quiet night, but was uninterested in food. For Clayton, that was like Ray Baron refusing sex. The next day was Jan 17, 2008.
Blitz, Joey and Clayton
Our travel to England in the early 90s was the first step in raising our consciousness about greyhounds. Living a while in London, we decided to visit the Battersea Dog Home, a place that takes in dogs and commits to them - they are allowed to stay indefinitely, until on some lucky day they are adopted. We wanted to see this place, because we had no experience with that kind of humane treatment in the US. The home was an inspirational visit, and could be the subject of an entire essay.
We were struck by the greyhounds at Battersea. Firstly, there were so many. Perhaps more than half the dogs there were greyhounds. Secondly, their nature: without exception, they were quiet but expressive, staring at us with love and longing in the eyes, quite reminiscent of our beloved doberman Greta (who did not make the trip to England). I think we both made the decision, internalized, that when the time was right we would adopt a greyhound. It was heartbreaking to leave Battersea knowing the sadness and disappointment we left behind. But it was wonderful to know the commitment and dedication of the Dog Home for its residents.
The time did arrive, and we adopted our first greyhound, Blitz, from Katherine Crawford. Blitz had a good post-racing life with us, and he and I became inseparable friends. Blitz passed away at around 10 years of age, with bone cancer.
A few months after Blitz's passing, we visited Sitehound Rescue in Thomasville, GA, and found Josephine ("Joey"). Joey is a big girl, probably too big for racing, in any case she was diverted into the adoption track at a pre-race age where things didn't work too well for her. Perhaps she was initially adopted by someone who didn't understand the socialization process. In any case, she found herself back in the adoption system at SHR, and we found her there. Joey is quite shy and demure, but not fearful. A few weeks after adopting Joey, we were asked to take a look at a dog being foster-homed by Sandy Davidson. Sandy had Rotweilers and this greyhound didn't fit in all that well.
I took Joey with me to Sandy's place to see the big guy. Joey was large for a female greyhound, bigger than a lot of males, with fine bones and huge muscles. But Clayton towered over her! He was huge. He stood a full 8 inches taller than a typical Doberman, almost like a small great dane. He has large feet and fairly robust bones, which would have made him a step slow on the track. Joey was quite wary of the Rotweilers (although they showed no sign of aggression). Clayton immediately picked up on that and placed himself between her and the Rotties, where he remained for the entire visit. He did this without fanfare - a man holding a door for a lady.
We adopted Clayton from Sandy in November, 2001.
Life in Prison
Clayton came from a very deprived background (explained to me by Nancy). His race career did not last. He was competitive but a step slower than the winners, undoubtedly due to his higher bone mass. His adoption out of racing landed him with a veteranerian, who used him as a blood doner. For years, he was kept in a concrete floored chainlinked pen, without companionship of dog or human. This is exceptionally cruel for greyhounds, who are used to a very social environment. Clayton was used to provide blood transfusions for poodles and other clients of the vet. His only source of interaction and pleasure was meal time.
(Greyhound blood is 20% higher in red blood cells than other dog breeds, sort of naturally "doped". This has obvious benefits for a racing breed, and it makes their blood extra desirable for other dogs.)
That vet for whatever reason decided he/she no longer needed Clayton - so he dropped Clayton off anonymously in the Leon Co Animal Shelter after-hours drop box. Sandy noticed his arrival. He had horrible caloused growths on his elbows and knees from a life on concrete and was a bit looney from social deprivation. He craved food, likely because that is all he had to live for in the years of solitary confinement. Nancy fostered him out the day he was scheduled for euthanization. She cured his legs and started him back to socialization. What a wonderful thing to do.
Brothers
I have had the honor of sharing life with a number of dogs: Dachshunds (Waldi, Bruno, Figaro, Daisy, Ceasar), Fox Terrier, Beagle (Belle), Dobermans (Greta, Max, Porsche, Babe), Greyhounds (Blitz, Joey, Clayton), along with a few other creatures including cats, squirels, and birds. Clayton and I had a special bond, with some intangible extra consciousness between us that I can't adequately explain or describe. We were brothers in the sense of chosen, rather than born, to be so. That's Clayton and Babe on Mom's porch in Athens.
Hoo-Dah
During his life with us Clayton and I developed a special bond. We spoke to each other with body and facial language and tone of voice. He helped me invent a vehicle for my end of this communication. It began when I would arrive home and say "Who's 'da Dog" (or "who're 'da dogs" to them all). That evolved to "who 'da dogga" and further to just "hoo-dah", similar to the familiar "hoo-ahh" of army life. After a few weeks we had the term down. "Hoo-dah" became the word, and it meant almost everything important to say conversationally to loving dogs, the meaning conveyed by tone, volume, emphasis, and body language. A loud and exhuberant "hoo-dah" meant "Hello, I'm home and glad to see you!" and invariably resulted in a happy Clayton bounding to greet me. A quiet and contemplative "hoo-dah" meant "you are such a wonderful friend" and resulted in a tail wag and sometimes a loving tungue-touch on my hand. Until now, the one thing it has not meant was good by and farewell.
Hoo-dah, my friend.
Sire: Molotov
Dam: Dominatrix
Breeder: Seelke, Rt 1, Box 112B, Cleo Springs, OK 73729, 580-438-2470
Adopted from Sandy Davidson, 2015 Forrest Glen, 383-2500
January 17, 2008
I heard a cry of agony from his bed. He had tried to stand to follow me into another part of the house and his leg gave out - the femur simply ceased to stiffen his leg between hip and knee. He could not walk, would not lie down, and was in great stress. I phoned Kathy for help and our vet Dr Michelle to ask her to come to the car and examine him.
When Kathy got home we coaxed him, hobbling on three legs with the fourth dangling, to the car and lifted him in. I rode in back with him, supporting him as he still was afraid to lie down. He just panted and teetered on three legs, with me pressing him to the seat back so he wouldn't tumble. Dr M came to the car and the three of us managed to get him to lie down. It was his first moment of peace and calm in a couple of hours. He lay on his side with us holding and stroking him. We knew what was down the road, but tried not to show it to Clayton. For his part, trust was there, as it always had been. The vet could not really examine the leg, so she sedated him. He took the IV calmly, without fear, and drifted off to a sleep in one of his favorite places, the back of Kathy's CRV.
Once he was sound asleep Dr Michelle confirmed the broken femur. Given what we knew, there was no chance of a good heal of that bone, eaten away by cancer to the extent it had spontaneously failed. Clayton, awake with this broken leg, was unable to do anything without great stress and pain. To Kathy and me, it made no sense to wake him up to months of suffering toward an end that could not be good. Dr Michelle concurred. We asked her to put him deeper asleep, to the happy place beyond.
December 2007
In the months preceeding, Clayton had developed a worrying dry cough as well as a seemingly unrelated favoring and limping on his right rear leg. It was natural to think the latter was age-related hip issues, and the vet agreed. He was examined several times for the cough, with no findings. (No xrays were taken.)
During a Christmas visit to my Mom's in Athens, it became clear that Clayton's leg was getting worse. He could still run, like the wind (or rather a freight train - he weighed 92 lbs), but had a pronounced limp, a favoring of the leg when not "on". He also fell a couple of times getting in/out of Van Diesel. When we returned, his cough was also worse. On Jan 16, he had a very bad episode of coughing that resulted in a bloody discharge - the cough went from dry to bloody wet on that day.
We immediately went to Dr M who did a chest xray: a profusion of spots, believed to be secondary sites from metastatic bone cancer, was evident on the film. The leg was then xrayed, but the film was unreadable. We decided to let it go for the time being, since Clayton was under a lot of stress and we needed to get his coughing and lung distress under some control. We went home with a multiweek supply of steriods to ease the effects of cancer. He spent a relatively quiet night, but was uninterested in food. For Clayton, that was like Ray Baron refusing sex. The next day was Jan 17, 2008.
Blitz, Joey and Clayton
Our travel to England in the early 90s was the first step in raising our consciousness about greyhounds. Living a while in London, we decided to visit the Battersea Dog Home, a place that takes in dogs and commits to them - they are allowed to stay indefinitely, until on some lucky day they are adopted. We wanted to see this place, because we had no experience with that kind of humane treatment in the US. The home was an inspirational visit, and could be the subject of an entire essay.
We were struck by the greyhounds at Battersea. Firstly, there were so many. Perhaps more than half the dogs there were greyhounds. Secondly, their nature: without exception, they were quiet but expressive, staring at us with love and longing in the eyes, quite reminiscent of our beloved doberman Greta (who did not make the trip to England). I think we both made the decision, internalized, that when the time was right we would adopt a greyhound. It was heartbreaking to leave Battersea knowing the sadness and disappointment we left behind. But it was wonderful to know the commitment and dedication of the Dog Home for its residents.
The time did arrive, and we adopted our first greyhound, Blitz, from Katherine Crawford. Blitz had a good post-racing life with us, and he and I became inseparable friends. Blitz passed away at around 10 years of age, with bone cancer.
A few months after Blitz's passing, we visited Sitehound Rescue in Thomasville, GA, and found Josephine ("Joey"). Joey is a big girl, probably too big for racing, in any case she was diverted into the adoption track at a pre-race age where things didn't work too well for her. Perhaps she was initially adopted by someone who didn't understand the socialization process. In any case, she found herself back in the adoption system at SHR, and we found her there. Joey is quite shy and demure, but not fearful. A few weeks after adopting Joey, we were asked to take a look at a dog being foster-homed by Sandy Davidson. Sandy had Rotweilers and this greyhound didn't fit in all that well.
I took Joey with me to Sandy's place to see the big guy. Joey was large for a female greyhound, bigger than a lot of males, with fine bones and huge muscles. But Clayton towered over her! He was huge. He stood a full 8 inches taller than a typical Doberman, almost like a small great dane. He has large feet and fairly robust bones, which would have made him a step slow on the track. Joey was quite wary of the Rotweilers (although they showed no sign of aggression). Clayton immediately picked up on that and placed himself between her and the Rotties, where he remained for the entire visit. He did this without fanfare - a man holding a door for a lady.
We adopted Clayton from Sandy in November, 2001.
Life in Prison
Clayton came from a very deprived background (explained to me by Nancy). His race career did not last. He was competitive but a step slower than the winners, undoubtedly due to his higher bone mass. His adoption out of racing landed him with a veteranerian, who used him as a blood doner. For years, he was kept in a concrete floored chainlinked pen, without companionship of dog or human. This is exceptionally cruel for greyhounds, who are used to a very social environment. Clayton was used to provide blood transfusions for poodles and other clients of the vet. His only source of interaction and pleasure was meal time.
(Greyhound blood is 20% higher in red blood cells than other dog breeds, sort of naturally "doped". This has obvious benefits for a racing breed, and it makes their blood extra desirable for other dogs.)
That vet for whatever reason decided he/she no longer needed Clayton - so he dropped Clayton off anonymously in the Leon Co Animal Shelter after-hours drop box. Sandy noticed his arrival. He had horrible caloused growths on his elbows and knees from a life on concrete and was a bit looney from social deprivation. He craved food, likely because that is all he had to live for in the years of solitary confinement. Nancy fostered him out the day he was scheduled for euthanization. She cured his legs and started him back to socialization. What a wonderful thing to do.
Brothers
I have had the honor of sharing life with a number of dogs: Dachshunds (Waldi, Bruno, Figaro, Daisy, Ceasar), Fox Terrier, Beagle (Belle), Dobermans (Greta, Max, Porsche, Babe), Greyhounds (Blitz, Joey, Clayton), along with a few other creatures including cats, squirels, and birds. Clayton and I had a special bond, with some intangible extra consciousness between us that I can't adequately explain or describe. We were brothers in the sense of chosen, rather than born, to be so. That's Clayton and Babe on Mom's porch in Athens.
Hoo-Dah
During his life with us Clayton and I developed a special bond. We spoke to each other with body and facial language and tone of voice. He helped me invent a vehicle for my end of this communication. It began when I would arrive home and say "Who's 'da Dog" (or "who're 'da dogs" to them all). That evolved to "who 'da dogga" and further to just "hoo-dah", similar to the familiar "hoo-ahh" of army life. After a few weeks we had the term down. "Hoo-dah" became the word, and it meant almost everything important to say conversationally to loving dogs, the meaning conveyed by tone, volume, emphasis, and body language. A loud and exhuberant "hoo-dah" meant "Hello, I'm home and glad to see you!" and invariably resulted in a happy Clayton bounding to greet me. A quiet and contemplative "hoo-dah" meant "you are such a wonderful friend" and resulted in a tail wag and sometimes a loving tungue-touch on my hand. Until now, the one thing it has not meant was good by and farewell.
Hoo-dah, my friend.
