Wheelistically @ Claire.NU » Family

Photo Friday: Little

Claire — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 14:43:36 +0000

This week’s Photo Friday challenge is: Little.

These “little piggies” belong to the newest member of our family: our nephew, Jake.

Born (naturally) on the 7th September, 2011 — he weighed 7lbs 9ozs and has been growing like a weed ever since.

Little Piggies

Jake is gorgeous and meeting him for the first time was a profound and emotional experience: here was this new little person I had never before seen and yet, he was so familiar; I recognised him as being “one of us” straight away. He is the image of his mother, whilst traces of his father flicker occasionally across his face, depending upon his expression.

I couldn’t be more proud of my brave, baby sister; her and her partner have given the world such a beautiful new little boy for us all to look after.

And, I’m determined to rock this “Auntie” thing like it’s my job.

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Featured Photo: Checkmate?

Claire — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 18:43:00 +0000

We interrupt the scheduled silence with a rather overdue announcement:

K and I are getting married. Finally. After over a decade together, we have set the date, booked the venue and bought the dresses. I couldn’t be happier, or more excited.

I’m currently really enjoying planning the Big Day (although I’m sure that will change as the date draws nearer) and eight months from now, I will be Mrs M!

Checkmate?

[A Sneak-Peek of our wedding “theme” — taken at our venue.]

The Bit With Caïna…

Claire — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 21:20:18 +0000

Caïna: The First Ring in the Ninth Circle of Hell, according to Dante’s Inferno.

Caïna is reserved for traitors to their kin; the sinners stand in a frozen lake as clear as glass — Cocytus. Paralysed in grim terror with the ice up to their necks, their heads are downturned and their teeth chatter with the cold.

Dante encounters twins that are bound together, having killed eachother in life. One of the brothers is deaf having lost his ears to frostbite. When they cry, their tears turn to ice and freeze their eyes shut. Overcome with rage at their state, the only thing they can do is butt their heads together in anger and frustration; for all eternity.

…I hope that when he gets there, it’s cold.

“Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren.” — Canto XXXII (Painting by Gustave Dore)

Livid, as far down as where shame appears,
Were the disconsolate shades within the ice,
Setting their teeth unto the note of storks.

Each one his countenance held downward bent;
From mouth the cold, from eyes the doleful heart
Among them witness of itself procures.

When round about me somewhat I had looked,
I downward turned me, and saw two so close,
The hair upon their heads together mingled.

“Ye who so strain your breasts together, tell me,“
I said, “who are you;” and they bent their necks,
And when to me their faces they had lifted,

Their eyes, which first were only moist within,
Gushed o’er the eyelids, and the frost congealed
The tears between, and locked them up again.

Clamp never bound together wood with wood
So strongly; whereat they, like two he-goats,
Butted together, so much wrath o’ercame them.

And one, who had by reason of the cold
Lost both his ears, still with his visage downward,
Said: “Why dost thou so mirror thyself in us?

If thou desire to know who these two are,
The valley whence Bisenzio descends
Belonged to them and to their father Albert.

They from one body came, and all Caina
Thou shalt search through, and shalt not find a shade
More worthy to be fixed in gelatine;

Not he in whom were broken breast and shadow
At one and the same blow by Arthur’s hand;
Focaccia not; not he who me encumbers

So with his head I see no farther forward,
And bore the name of Sassol Mascheroni;
Well knowest thou who he was, if thou art Tuscan.

And that thou put me not to further speech,
Know that I Camicion de’ Pazzi was,
And wait Carlino to exonerate me.” ²

Gustave Dore, “Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren.” Private Collection. [http://wikigallery.org] [back]
Dante Alighieri (translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow), ‘Inferno: Canto XXXII’, The Divine Comedy. [http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/dante/dante_i_32.htm]. [back]

The Bit With The Puppy, [Part II]…

Claire — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 16:04:07 +0000

This is Part II, you can see Part I here.

Hector is now 16 weeks old.

His legs have suddenly sprouted from nowhere and he’s gone from a squeaky bundle of chewy sleepiness to a leaping, jumping bundle of mischief with boundless energy. He sprints down the garden as though he’s been shot from a cannon; cornering, twisting and twirling like a March Hare. In typical houndy-style, Hector is all legs. I’m convinced that every time he wakes up, his legs are another half an inch longer than they were before.

Hector @ 12 Weeks

In total contrast to Ziggy, Hector is a complete and utter cuddle monster. Ziggy loves to be around people, but is content to stretch out in the corner, or roach at your feet: comforted just to have you in his field of vision with one ear poised, bat-like, for any tell-tale signs that it might be time to relocate, should you leave the room or walk just-that-little-bit too far away. For Hector, being near you is simply not enough. He needs to lean against you, snuggle into you, curl around you. Be it leaping onto your lap, clawing his way up your leg or trying to climb up onto your shoulder, Hector’s interaction is much closer, much more physical than Ziggy’s.

Hector @ 13 Weeks

When Ziggy stands for you to stroke his ears or rolls over for you to rub his belly, you get the sense that he thinks he’s doing you a favour. He likes it because he can see how it pleases his people. Ziggy lives to please his people, nothing makes Ziggy happier than hearing the words: “Good Boy”. I’ve always found this quality endearing in Ziggy; this idea that he doesn’t really understand these “people” and their strange customs, but is willing to go along with it if it means he gets praise and a quiet life. We made such a big deal out of praising him/rewarding him when training him to give his paw, that now — come what may — if he’s ever in trouble, or in any kind of doubt that he might not be doing something right, he’ll give us his paw. After all, he knows we like that. It’s his peace offering, his way of seeking reassurance, his “if all else fails” course of action. If in doubt, get the paw out.

Hector & Ziggy

Hector doesn’t kindly receive attention, he demands it. Hector doesn’t just cause trouble, he actively goes seeking it out. Hector is mayhem on four paws. Sometimes, Ziggy looks at me and if I could caption his thoughts, they would read: “You said you were getting me a friend and all I got was this juvenile delinquent!”

Hector chews and gnaws and jumps and climbs. Hector bites Ziggy’s ears and nibbles on Ziggy’s tail. He means no harm, he just desperate to encite play and is relentless in his quest to get a rise out of Ziggy. And when he does, (which isn’t often as Ziggy is so ridiculously patient and non-confrontational) Hector is the first yelp and go running — his safe place is planted firmly underneath my wheelchair — where nothing can get him. Always the “fearless” antagonist, yet forever the coward when comes down to it.

Tentative Progress

What with Hector being the baby and taking up so much of my time and attention, many were concerned about Ziggy being pushed out or Hector becoming the “favourite”. The experience of owning Hector has made me love Ziggy in a whole new way: I love him for his quirks and his sensitive disposition. Over the last 4 weeks, he has made me such a proud Doggy-Mummy — the gentle, patient way he has handled the puppy’s antics is to his eternal credit. He has leaped over hurdles that I thought may take years to overcome, namely, sharing his bed.

As a result of being a (possibly mistreated) ex-kennel dog, Ziggy would exhibit varying degrees of “kennel space behaviour”: Signs of anxiety (yawning, tongue-poking, stress-panting, bolting) or aggression (growling, snarling) when someone was too close to him/touching him when he was in his bed. This behaviour had slowly but surely improved over time, particularly with K and I, but I had my concerns and made sure that Ziggy and Hector had separate sleeping arrangements.

Two’s Company

I had visions of the dogs sharing sleeping quarters within a year or two, after plenty of perseverance, training and an awful lot of adjustment. However, just two nights in, Ziggy tolerated Hector sleeping on the corner of his bed with him, for a short while. I have never been so proud of my Ziggy: this was such a huge step for him. Yes, it was strained and K and I were anxiously watching events unfold, getting ready to intervene should Ziggy forget himself, but once Ziggy had had enough, he simply stood up and settled somewhere else. VICTORY. Each day, that tolerance threshold has gotten longer and longer — last night they spent half the night in the same bed — and today, they were not only curled up against eachother, but Hector had his head rested on Ziggy’s back:

A massive step closer to the companion dogs that we’d hoped they’d be.

Hector @ 14 Weeks

The Bit With The Puppy [Part I]…

Claire — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 11:43:24 +0000

Two weeks ago, I was mindlessly procrastinating on the Internet; busy to doing nothing and simultaneously and rather cunningly avoiding the monstrous essay that I should have been writing, when I stumbled upon this photo:

Hector @ 12 weeks

The sheer force of the ridiculous level of cuteness forced my brain to melt and dribble from my ears; I promptly lost my mind. I sent the following message to K’s work email:

from Claire
to K
date 14 September 2010 12:12
subject urgent: me WANTEE this puppy

[Link to photo and post] ¹

What do you think?

xx

I couldn’t bear to wait for the reply and so called her office as I clicked “Send” — just as she opened the email. She answered the phone with “You. are. BAD”, she knows me too well. And then, “Yeah, get him.”

What followed was a series of frantic exchanges as I contacted the owners of the puppy, requested more information and arranged to meet, whilst fielding numerous panicked “What-ifs and I-don’t-knows and Are-we-sures?” from K.

There were no two-ways about it: I was certain. This was our dog.

Ever since we adopted Ziggy last year, we’d spoken about getting a second hound; a companion and playmate for him, especially whilst Ziggy was still young and with energy to burn. We’d agreed to wait — get Ziggy settled and well-trained in the basics, wait until K was in full-time employment again, wait until the weather was good. House-training a dog in the dead of winter, calf-deep in snow was no picnic, as we’d soon learned with Ziggy.

This Summer came and went, K’s job was new, I had deadlines, there was this and that and the other. Before we knew it, Summer was on its last ebb and August/September was looking thoroughly miserable. Maybe next year. Maybe. But Ziggy would so like a friend, wouldn’t he? And, look! Look at all of these gorgeous hounds that need homes — see? Here, here and here.

So we still looked. Not committing, nothing definite, but still looking, still planning, still searching for our dog.

We wanted to adopt another Sighthound, preferably one below 25 inches tall at the withers (Ziggy measures 28 inches). Greyhounds will always have a special place in my heart and were the Little Downstairs House bigger, I’d merrily have a entire pack of them. I adore the breed, their sweet nature and feel that sharing my home with a ‘hound has made my life a brighter place to be. However, the Little Downstairs House isn’t bigger, so that meant finding another sighthound that had traits as close to Ziggy’s as possible, but in a smaller body. The contenders were: A small lurcher, a whippet or at a push, a Greyhound bitch (that was on the small side).

11 week old Brindle Dog Pup

I called around Greyhound and Lurcher rescue organisations. One had a litter of Greyhound pups that had been dropped into a mixed-breed pound: the result of an “Ooops!” encounter at a large commercial Greyhound racing kennels. 5 black Bitches with white toes and blazes, just like Ziggy, and 2 brindle Dogs. I applied, was interviewed over the telephone and put on a waiting list for a Home-Check. Sadly, I think the fact that we already had a full-grown Dog (as opposed to a Bitch) went against us.

11 week old Black Bitch Pup

Ziggy failed to chase in training, never raced, is in no way “keen” and has never shown a prey-drive even when in sniffing distance of a rabbit. He’s cat-tolerant, well-socialised with many breeds of dog and one of his regular playmates includes the tiny Papillon next-door, who weighs little more than a bag of sugar. I’m aware that when it comes to his breed characteristics, this extreme indifference to “small fluffies” is unusual and if I’m truthful, I don’t think the lady who interviewed me quite believed me. But, it was this very knowledge of Ziggy encouraged us to even consider applying for a puppy: Ziggy is the ultimate Gentle Giant. We were disappointed, but not surprised. Many people, be they strangers on the street or newcomers to the house, react with extreme caution when confronted with Ziggy. They just see BIG BLACK DOG and fail to take on-board his unassuming quietness (Ziggy very seldom barks, if at all) and the slow, gentle way he slinks around. The most violent thing about Ziggy is his wildly wagging tail when K comes home from work.

Undeterred, I started scanning forums and websites for unwanted dogs in need of a good home, and that’s how I found Hector. When people ask how we got him, if we bought him, I always say it was more of a “Private Adoption”. I am against Kennel Club/Show breeding (for many reasons that could take up a whole other post, so I’ll spare you at this point) and refuse to pay a fortune from so-called “reputable” breeders that produce disease and defect-prone mutants in the name of “purity”. (Oops, sorry — I couldn’t help myself.)

Hector’s Parents: Pie & Lex

Hector was one of a litter of seven unwanted full-whippet puppies — the product of a mating between family pets, Pie and Lex. Hector was the last one left of the litter; the Husband of the family (that we adopted from) had become very attached to Hector. He had named him “Cash” and desperately wanted to be able to keep him, but the family already owned at least half a dozen other dogs of various breeds and they simply could provide a home for any more. This little hound needed a home. Now.

Hector @ 11–12 Weeks

We drove the 100 mile round trip to see him that night. I loved meeting Hector’s parents; the dam was small (about 19 inches) with a pale fawn coat and was very gentle with a sweet expression. The sire stood 2 to 3 inches taller, a thick and muscular racer with a red-fawn coat and smokey markings around both eyes. He was confident and friendly, greeting me with a big, sloppy houndy kiss on the face and a wagging tail. Both were beautiful dogs in stunning condition: lean and muscular with soft coats and bright eyes. Whatever circumstances brought about the unwanted litter, it was clear that the owners took very good care of the dogs that they did keep.

We were even introduced to the rest of the pack — a Motley Crew consisting of everything from a large “failed foster” ² Lurcher (that had come to them after having been hit by a car and they had nursed back to full health), to a wire-coated, Border Terrier-mongrel with a face full of “character” and a little Shih-Tzu that was clearly not the full ticket. Lovely little thing, but absolutely Crackers.

Hector @ 11–12 weeks

And then, there was Hector. Our sweet little puppy running excitedly amongst it all, confident, sweet and comfortable around all of these other dogs of all shapes, sizes and temperaments. He was even more adorable in person, scrambling up for a cuddle and a quick chew of my jumper. We chatted to the owners who were open and friendly and answered all of our questions, gave a small contribution towards the food and care Hector had received (incidentally, a similar amount to the ‘recommended donation’ requested by Rescue Organisations, when adopting) and carried our new baby out to the car.

The car ride home was happily uneventful, I sat in the back seat with a blanket and the puppy on my lap. He’d never been in a car before, but seemed happy to sit quietly and snuggle and doze into my jumper, without so much as a squeak — or an “accident”. I was completely besotted with him, speaking softly to him the whole journey, telling him he was “Hector” and that we had a very big “brother” waiting for him at home, who would be very excited to meet him.

To Be Continued…

Actual link no longer works as the post has been removed. [back]
Failed Foster: When a rescue dog is temporarily placed in a Foster Home before being re-homed, but then the Foster family get too attached and decide to keep the dog, permanently. [back]

The Bit With Our Hound [Part I]…

Claire — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 21:01:36 +0000

Why A Greyhound?
Before we adopted Ziggy, every time someone asked what kind of dog we’d like, our response was met with a WTF–face and a “You want a Greyhound?” in the same voice you might say “You want a 3ft, Plague-carrying rat?”

I’d like to explain.

I began seriously researching getting a dog a couple of years ago. Through my research, we came to realise that we wanted to adopt a kennel dog, as opposed to buying a pedigree-puppy from a Kennel Club breeder. But aside from knowing what “Battersea Dogs Home” was, I knew jack about adopting a dog — and so asked Google.

I typed in something like “adopting a dog” and was smacked around the back of the head with site after site offering Greyhounds. As well as knowing jack about dog adoption, it turns out I also knew jack about Greyhounds, apart from the fact that they raced at local tracks in my area and looked kind of funny. Less like a dog and more like a giraffe-like deer with a dog’s head photoshopped on at one end.

What followed was a journey that turned almost into an obsession as I absorbed more and more information about the breed: the racing and their retirement. I joined forums and Flickr groups, bought books and read blogs. The more I read about their temperament and looked at the photos, the more I fell completely and totally in love. The “45MPH Couch Potatoes” as they’re known were unique, gentle and beautiful, if a little quirky. They sounded the perfect dog for our family; serene and intelligent and (contrary to popular belief) they don’t need a 5 mile run everyday. And I wanted to give one a home. NOW.

K took months of persuading, she just couldn’t get past their extreme aesthetic — until I explained to her that (in this country) a racer’s career lasts 4–5 years maximum and then, the dog is (at best) sold on to live out its years rotting in a draughty kennel, or (at worst) terminated Gulp!, unless of course, someone chooses to adopt them as a pet.

Her little heart broke into pieces.

She just thought that all of the dogs that were raced were people’s family pets and that dogs homes/kennels were like on the Dogs’ Trust TV ads where little geriatric terriers perch on sofas and abandoned puppies play in a garden and pose for their monthly newsletter photo.

How did you get a Greyhound?

Since then, she’s followed me on my research journey and has become as smitten with the breed as I have; a sentiment that cemented when we went to visit a branch of The Retired Greyhound Trust kennels. The RGT rehomes Greyhounds that have retired from their racing career (due to age and/or injury) and hounds that never got to begin their career in the first place (pups and young dogs that fail to make the grade in training and on the test track).

Seven weeks ago today, we met our dog. Ours. The hound perfect for us. Credit for this goes completely to those that work at the RGT Kennels. That particular branch has almost FIFTY dogs and yet they know each as an individual; likes, dislikes, personality, temperament, history, who’s related to whom, where they raced, where they’re from, everything. Off of the top of their heads. They’re very honest and even tell you the not-so-good news, the things that would potentially put you off; the ones that have behavioural problems, the ones not good with children or other animals, the ones that are known to be boisterous, disobedient and a handful.

I telephoned to enquire first and it’s like a match-making service. They ask you about your life, your family, your work, your routine and your accommodation and also what you want from a dog: the type you’re after and the sort of things you’d like to do with a dog as part of your family. Then, when you visit in person, they’ve made a list of about three “matches” and introduce them to you, with the most “ideal dog for you”, first.

Ziggy was our “first match” and we fell in love there and then. He was just what we’d wanted: a very young, active Dog (we’d decided against getting a Bitch) with a gentle temperament and a black coat. For some reason, the black ones are always last to find homes as most people prefer the other colours. We actually preferred the look of the black dogs and it turns out that (according to the kennel keepers experience) the black ones tend to be calmer.

We were there for hours. One of the employees had brought her 8 week old pups into work with her (as they were not old enough yet to be left home alone). Chloe the JRT/Chihuahua-Cross (a “Jackhuahua”, a “Chi-Russell”?) and Daisy the Jack Russell Terrier snuggled their way on to my lap and melted my heart, which had frozen in the miserable November weather.

Daisy was a typical Jacky in every sense: full of beans and eager to be let down on the floor to play and explore. The Chihuahua in Chloe made her much more fluffy and partial to snuggles than her mate and so I had a warm little buddy that was content to chew my scarf and be cuddly company for most of the visit.

Aside from being absolutely adorable, the puppies confirmed to me what I’d suspected: Claires in Chairs aren’t cut out for iddy-biddy puppies. On the floor, the littl’uns barely rivalled the size of my front castors and I was completely petrified that I might accidentally squish a speedy little bundle of pup under my wheels. Also, being so far down, they were totally out of my reach and with them being so fast, I was totally out of my depth. Tiny, nippy little terriers were not made for the likes of me. I needed something much bigger that took life at a slower pace.

I needed a Greyhound.

To Be Continued…

This is Part I, you can see Part II here.

The Bit With Christmas Wishes…

Claire — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 16:43:21 +0000

Everyone at the Little Downstairs House, especially Ziggy, would like to wish everyone a fandangly Christmas full of squee.

This year has been full of extremes; good, bad, down-right bloody awful and yet in some ways, the best I’ve ever had.

I love my dog, my little downstairs house and the little hodge-podge family K and I have created more than I could possibly begin to describe, I can’t wait to share our adventures with you in 2010.

Much love. X

Ziggy the Greyhound in the Snow
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

The Bit Where There Was Ziggy…

Claire — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 20:18:58 +0000

If you’ve been following me on Twitter, you may have noticed that there’s been a lot of kerfuffle over a certain Greyhound. Yes, that’s right, we’re officially Greyhound-approved Doggy-Mummies. How Exciting!

I give you the latest addition to our family:

Ziggy The Greyhound
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

This is Ziggy.

We brought him home yesterday after adopting him from the Retired Greyhound Trust.

He is an Irish-bred Greyhound that was intended to race (both his ears are tattooed and he racing name was “Moss Ted”). However, he and his near-identical litter brother failed to chase and so never made the grade. He is 2 years old and the precise details of his bloodline can be seen on Ziggy’s Greyhound Data page.

Ziggy The Greyhound
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

He is a black dog with a white chest, white toes and a white tip to his tail. He loves Weetabix, following K like a shadow and his favourite toy is his “Boofle”.

Ziggy and Boofle
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

You can keep up to date with The Adventures of Ziggy over on Flickr — I’ll be adding photos with Ziggy’s commentary throughout the coming weeks.

And yes, he plays guitar.

The Bit With More Cake…

Claire — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 11:53:25 +0000

You know what we haven’t had around here in a while?

CAKE.

Behold our most recent project and the first project to grace our new digs:

Mum’s Ford Fiesta Car Cake
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

The cake was made to celebrate my Mum’s birthday and takes its inspiration from the fact that after an almost 25 year absence from the roads, my Mum has recently taken up driving again. As a result, she has a very new little Ford Fiesta (see example below, courtesy of the TopGear website).

We wanted something that would not only celebrate Mum’s birthday, but would give a nod to her big achievement of attempting to beat her driving phobia and getting back on Britain’s scary roads with all the nutters. She’s done and continues to do so very, very well and we’re very proud of her being such a brave bunny. Yay for my Mum.

As usual, K does her best to up the stakes with each creation; the goal with this one? Not only to get it to stand upright, but to elevate the main body of the car-cake so that only its wheels touched the cake board. Those who remember our last car-themed cake may recall it looking a little…erm, bogged down; not this one, oh no.

Having gorged herself on episode after episode of Ace of Cakes in recent months, K was inspired to create a foil-wrapped cardboard plinth for the body of the cake to rest on in order for it to be raised up off of the board. The plinth also served to stabilise the axle (made from cocktail sticks) that the marzipan wheels were fixed on to.

Again, the only part I can make claim to is the Madeira sponge that the cake was made out of. (Which incidentally, was my best recipe yet and apparently, was rather scrumptious). All creative genius and wonderousness radiates solely from my beloved.

K kicks car-cake ass, don’t you think?

Mum’s Ford Fiesta Car Cake
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

For the full picture story, including shots of the cake prior to being decorated, check out the entire photoset:

Click the mosaic to view the entire set

The Bit Where I Was No Longer Silent… (Private)

Claire — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 21:40:43 +0000

This post has been labelled Private and is only visible to “special” logged-in users. If you cannot see the post written below this message, then I am afraid you are either not registered/logged in, or your account has not been given “special” privileges. Please read this post to find out what being “special” means.

If the rest of the post is visible to you, then just ignore this notice and carry on reading…