And Along Came Sunee

Last September, after the USAF half-marathon that I ran for Sugar with Team in Training and The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, I had decided we were going to be a one greyhound home. I still missed Sugar something awful and although we had attended several hauls, (which is the term we use for the hounds arriving to Cincinnati, the freedom ride destination) I felt no kinship with any of these otherwise sweet and beautiful hounds. I wasn't trying to rush anything, believe me, but I soon gave up on that love-at-first-sight thing I had with Luke and Sugar. So, I eventually decided it probably wasn't meant to happen again and we would be a happy, one hound household.

I started back to work the middle of December, so with my sabbatical coming to an end, the holidays approaching, plus starting to train for another half-marathon, life was pretty full. Another group of hounds were set to arrive mid-January and fosters were needed badly, so we decided to foster. Chris had said during our pre-fostering discussion that we were not keeping this hound, but just fostering. My reply:  "We'll see."  There were a couple hounds still in need of fosters, PALS Glamour Gal, who was one of the retired racers/blood donor hounds and Heaven Sent, a retired racer, fresh off the track. The hound we decided on was Heaven Sent and we chose her based on several reasons. One, she was cat safe where Glamour was cat-curious, number two was, Heaven was closer to Luke's age, which we felt might put her closer to his energy level of master retiree, and last but not least, she was white with red ticking spots and Glamour was light red/fawn like my Sugar was, which was hard for me.

I picked Heaven up and we had a great ride home and she did wonderfully. She and Luke greeted each other well and she began to investigate her new surroundings. She proved to be a very hungry girl, wolfing down the small meal I gave her, and then she zeroed in on my Jasmine. Jazzy is a fearless Siamese who will approach anything. For the next four hours, Heaven pursued my poor Jazz like a hound possessed and it became undeniably clear, she was not cat safe. Nothing we did could break this "trance" and soon we were on our way to meet Glamour's foster parents. They agreed to take Heaven since they didn't have cats and we would take Glamour Gal.

After a couple days, Jasmine was pretty much over her trauma and fortunately, no harm was done. I picked Glamour Gal up at the vet hospital about a week and a half later. Chris and I actually had a visit with her once a few months earlier during her stint as blood donor, so we did know she was beautiful and sweet. I swear she knew I was there to spring her out! It's like the jig was up! She had no idea how to get into the car, but soon, we were on our way! She walked into our house happy as can be and within just a few days, she knew our cats belonged here and were valued by us. She just gave chase to Jazz one time and a "No" stopped her right in her tracks.

As a few weeks went by, her loving personality and enthusiasm began to shine like a new penny. Even though she is more than three years younger than our boy, they share the same laid back, easy going demeanor. She watched Luke closely and did everything he did. I'm not sure she could have had a better instructor at Retirement 101 and she took to it like a pro. Chris never mentioned us taking her to a Meet and Greet and neither did I and neither did anyone in our Queen City Greyhounds group. Finally, one day Chris asked if I had sent in the adoption fee for her. We both knew she wasn't going anywhere, that she was home, exactly where she was supposed to be.

So, the winter, my most dreaded of seasons, was truly a wonderful time. I got used to training in all kinds of weather, from the bitter cold, to snow, to ice, to freezing rain and I really didn't mind the lung burn. Glamour Gal became Sunee, a name that means "good thing" which she is and then some. I guess I was wrong, we aren't meant to be a one greyhound home and I'll admit that for just once, I'm happy to be wrong.

Two weekends ago, I completed my second half marathon with Team in Training. That was just two days shy of my one year running anniversary. I know our darling Sugar was dancing around at the sight of her human mom running for her again, then she probably took a rest, roaching in front of God's couch. The gift of running, a blessing bestowed on me by God through a retired racing greyhound, is something I'll be forever grateful for and as long as I can move, I will keep my promise to Sugar.

There is one thing I know with complete certainty. We do not choose these hounds, they choose us, or rather, God places them were they are supposed to be. I've seen this happen again and again. I also have the belief these dogs are truly special and not just in the sense that everyone feels about his or her canine companion, but something much deeper. Their eyes reveal sensitive, thoughtful, almost old souls who if they could talk, could bring you wisdom of the ages. There are hundreds of breeds of dogs, yet only one is mentioned in the Holy Bible:  the greyhound.

You had me at "Hello"

It was one year this past weekend that we went to meet a brand new group of hounds who had made the trip from the track in Birmingham to Cincinnati. During that freedom ride, those dogs had no clue that they were about to become beloved family members who would soon lead the charmed life of retirement. Among that precious cargo was our girl, Sugar.

Chris, my boyfriend, and I had made the trip to Birmingham, just weeks prior, to bring a group of hounds back to Ohio. During our trip, we met a lovely, fawn-colored girl named Dawn. I was smitten with her and gave instructions to the kennel master that she would simply have to be mine when her racing career was complete. I said a long goodbye to Dawn with lots of kisses and belly rubs. That's the last time I saw her.

After we arrived back home from our weekend at the track and Luke, our big, brindle boy, realized we hadn't left him for good, things were back to normal. I still thought about Dawn and the future day she would be a part of our family. The one thing I had yet to realize about all this was, sometimes our plans are not Gods plans. It wasn't long until I received an email that Luke's sister was coming to Ohio and the question was, "Would we give her a home?"  That question posed the issue; what about Dawn? I already had my heart set on Dawn, so now what? After much debate, we rationalized that Dawn was very young and potentially would not be leaving racing for some time, so since Sugar was Luke's sister out of the very same litter of puppies, how could we refuse her?

It was already dark and the night was bitterly cold. The van was sitting full of anxious hounds who were ready to see where this long trip had lead them. One at a time, they jumped out. When the feet of the second dog hit the ground, I stood there....I stood and I stared at her. Finally, Chris nudged me on the arm and said, "That's her Steph, there she is!" I knew who it was, her name was plainly written on her muzzle, it's just I couldn't believe she was to be ours, so I stood there like someone who had been slapped. Up until then, we had no clue what she looked like, in fact, it was only during their freedom ride home that one of the phone calls revealed what color she was. We had agreed to take Sugar knowing nothing about her except that we had her brother. But as soon as I saw her, I knew all I needed to know. I loved her. I had always taken pride in being a self-proclaimed, unbeliever in love-at-first-sight, yet this was now the second time it had happened to me, first with Luke, now with his sister.

Sugar came home with us that night and it was like she had always been with us. There was no "getting to know us" period because it was as if she already did. The bond she and I had was instant and constant. We spent every single day and night together, along with Luke, until she had to leave us. The cancer that was killing her did not stop us from living. It's something that, to this day, I really cannot explain. She was meant to be my hound, she was meant to change my life and she most certainly did what she came to do.

In the days following Sugar's arrival to Ohio, I received news that Dawn, during one of her maiden races, had broken one of her hind legs quite severely. She was taken by the kennel master to Nashville where a greyhound group there saw her through surgery, rehabilitation, and finally to a forever home. I still think about her sometimes and I know she's happy with her forever people. She wasn't destined to be my dog. God had a different plan for all of us.

It's ok to be just a little wabi sabi

Wabi sabi represents a Japanese view that in art books is typically defined as "flawed beauty." Personally, I spent the first twenty years of my life with quite the opposite view. A quality that is both a blessing and a curse:  I like to keep things perfect. My grandpa was adamant about taking good care of things and knowing the value of what you have. To him, taking the best possible care of what your hard earned money had bought, was showing appreciation for it, plus, it kept you from being wasteful since things would not need to be replaced unnecessarily. I remember how his dump truck, which he used daily for work, was cleaner on the inside than most other peoples new cars. This sickness, as we've grown to call it, was passed on to my Mom and to us kids. We always took care of things, yet often took this to the extreme. I remember playing for hours and hours with my huge collection of Barbie's. However, the Dream House was always in order, her clothing was always organized with not so much as a shoe misplaced and everyone was always impeccably dressed with their hairdo's perfect. I had Barbie's Afghan hound and he was always groomed to the nines. I liked my bedroom neat and I could find everything I needed and everything had it's place.

As I got older, I was even more determined to keep things showroom new. If you've seen one of those people who could paint a house and not get one drop of paint on them, that's me. Plus, the least little scratch, mark, or blemish on anything could send me into either a fit of repair or I would toss whatever it was and replace the whole thing with a new, unmarked version. See why we call this a sickness?

Then, one sunny day in June of 1993, I brought a stray kitten home from work. Tiger howled at the back door of our office wanting in that day. I fed him a can of tuna at lunchtime and brought him home that evening. I had never had a cat or dog in the house, ever. I loved him already and was afraid if I didn't keep him inside, he would run away or get hurt and maybe even killed. That began a big lesson for me. I learned about wabi sabi. When you decide to share your home with a pet, especially a dog or cat, no matter how well behaved they are, some of your stuff is going to get the brunt of it.

The foot of my bed has ever since been the favorite rest area for cats. The back of my couch has been a scratching post. The whole house has been one big race track. The bathroom sink doubles as a cool, summertime cat bed. I've seen the paw prints all over my coffee table. Most of my black clothes have cat hair on them. There's a long legged Siamese who can jump nearly five feet straight up and she does. Then came the greyhounds. There are big dog beds scattered through the house. Our warmest blankets became dog blankets. Squeaky toys litter the living room and our front room. The glass storm door always has nose prints. I paid the library $27 for Cesar Milan's Be The Pack Leader because Luke ruined the cover carrying the book around and finally hiding it in his bed. I had to put my cute collection of Boyd's Bears up on a shelf after I found several bears, soaking wet with doggie drool after they had taken lots of abuse in the search for a squeaker. These things may not sound like big deals to most people, and they're not to me now, but to me, about fifteen years ago, the most minor of things could have caused a full blown, perfectionist, five alarm emergency to get things back in order and the damage assessment performed. 

After I spent the first few year with Tiger, I was semi-reformed. I would still love to keep things in good repair, looking new, and I do try. But, the scratches, the dings, and blemishes make my stuff mine. I guess I've learned to embrace the wabi sabi. My hounds and cats have brought more to my life than anything money can buy and if things get a little beat up, no big deal. I can replace or repair any of this stuff, but I cannot replace them.

Right now, Tiger sleeps in one cat bed, Jasmine sleeps in another, and Paisley is snug as a bug on the foot of my side of the bed. Luke is stretched out in his living room doggie bed, covered in what used to be my favorite warm blanket. I need to clean the litter boxes and pick up the toys. Plus, I'm pretty sure Jasmine has been playing in the Christmas tree again. The house will never be perfect and I'm just fine with that. But, just between us, in a chest at the foot of the bed, sleep all of my childhood Barbie's, wrapped in tissue, and wearing their original clothes.

Nothing To Fear But Fear Itself or Maybe A Bottle Of Cough Syrup

I've pretty much always been afraid of anything I didn't have control over, but went ahead and did whatever I wanted anyway. I saw fear as a challenge and wore my game face. As a child, there was only one thing I hated worse than foul tasting medicine and that was the place it came from, the doctors office. I was never a good patient and putting a little Vick's on my chest was like trying to put a cat in a five gallon bucket of water. I could be burning up with fever yet insist that I was feeling fine because I was terrified of that potential car ride. Who knew what was going to happen after we got there! Nurses and doctors had access to needles, nasty tasting medicines, and wooden gagging sticks all stored neatly in a funny smelling office with trees and birds painted on the walls. Who were those trees fooling, anyway?!

I was sick each and every Christmas as a young child and dreaded it actually, because I knew what would happen. The big problem was, not one of those needle-toting doctors could figure out why. They just wanted to stick my finger with a thumb tack or take blood out of my arm or send home more delicious medicine. It wasn't until Mom took me to a doctor, an older fellow with the office that looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, that my Christmas time plague was cured. He told Mom to go home and throw our real Christmas tree outside and buy a fake one next year and I would be fine. To me, it was like a Christmas miracle! That Norman Rockwell doctor had figured out that I was very allergic to those real trees! The holidays were awesome for me from then on, but the thing that didn't change was, I still was afraid of doctors.

Who knows how I ended up working for doctors during nearly fifteen years of my life! I saw what these talented physicians did for people in getting them well, but I was still terrified to be the patient. I nearly always had to have my blood pressure checked multiple times because even though my face didn't tell the story, my heart beating out of my chest did. The first time I went to the chiropractor for my neck, I just knew he was going to break it. After my x-rays, he took my blood pressure, then my pulse all the while looking at me strangely. Finally he asks if I was nervous. I laughed. Nervous he says. I let him know that if I was more familiar with which doors led to the outside of his office, I would have sneaked out before he came back in to exam me. He was the one laughing when I told him that a few nights before, I had watched Arnold Schwarzenegger very easily and gingerly break a guys neck on an airplane and I didn't want my neck broken. Instead of treating me like a bonafide nut job, this doc had his chuckle and proceeded to explain why breaking a neck barehanded would be really hard to do and how he would tend to go after the knee if he wanted to hurt someone. We then had an understanding. He could have a go at my neck, but stay away from my kneecaps.

Naturally, this fear always reared its ugly head every time I had to take one of my fur-kids to the vet as well. Even for a run-of-the-mill yearly vet check and shots, I was sweaty handed and half sick myself. Dread filled me the day I asked Chris if Sugar's neck glands looked puffy to him too. I just cried once the day Doc Jenny called and told me it was lymphoma. I was terrified, but God gave me something that day I did not expect. He gave someone who had spent a lifetime in fear of everyone wearing a white coat, a spirit of confidence that we would use to fight this with all we had in us. I sat in Docs office that evening with my Mom deciding how this battle would begin. Sugar woke each morning with the spirit of ten hounds and then some. I was there for every needle stick, for every chemo treatment, for every poison-pill-laced dog treat, for every good day and for every bad one. She showed no fear, therefore neither could I. That little hound put her faith and trust in me and for the first time in my life, I fully put my faith and trust in God. Even though my darling girl had to leave me that rainy morning in June, she lives today in what she did to my life. I believe God knows just how to speak to us and He spoke volumes to me through a dog. I clearly remember the night that lovely hound stole my heart and I remember that same heart being broken the day she left. I'm grateful for every minute I spent with her and I've come to realize it's no accident that dog spelled backwards is God.  

To Lead a Dog's Life

I've always loved dogs and suppose you could say I was born with the gene if there is such a thing. My dad never met a dog he didn't like and I don't remember a dog that didn't love my dad. I mean no offense in admitting this, but if I visit your home, chances are I will be more taken by your dog than your children or grandchildren. A previous co-worker of mine who enjoyed astrology, handed me a paper one day that she had printed about the Chinese zodiac. It was no big surprise to find that I'm not a rooster, rabbit, or any of those other animals. I am the dog, not the bounty hunter guy, but a loyal, honest, trustworthy, yet temperamental, narrow-minded, and stubborn dog according to this zodiac. Whether you put any confidence in that kind of thing or not, I don't mind being the dog at all. In fact, the life of leisure our hound leads proves that often "being treated like a dog" is pretty darn sweet!

It's very ironic that although I had no previous interest in becoming a runner, the only dogs I've shared my adult life with, were born to run. We raised two dalmatian puppies, Duchess and Lady, who were sisters out of the same litter. If you've ever had a Dal, you should very well know they aren't "porch dogs" but tireless runners. Historically, these dogs worked as "coach" dogs running along with the stagecoaches, clearing the paths for and protecting the horses. Young dalmatians will run themselves to detriment if you're not careful. They are not sprinters, but marathoners or ultras. I was just as easily fascinated with our greyhounds, Luke and Sugar, also siblings out of the same litter. An ancient breed of sight hound with a fascinating history, greyhounds are natural born sprinters who can take off in explosive bursts. There is no "building up" to top speed for a greyhound, it's literally BOOM and they're gone! If you've ever had a retired-racing greyhound in your family, you've seen the happy face of a hound running at full speed and it's obvious they are doing what they love.

If we were only as smart as our dogs, the world would be in order. They plainly and simply do what they were born to do and couldn't be happier. Now, you're going to balk at this statement, but I really think we humans were born to run too. Maybe some of us were meant to be sprinters like the greyhound, marathoners like the dalmatian or possibly some of us are like a pug and were made just to take a spin around the block, buggy-eyed, with our tongue hanging out. Where ever I fit in with my running, I'm going to take a lesson from my dogs and enjoy it. God did not put dogs here to be chained to a tree and I don't believe He put us here to be chained to a desk in front of a computer, so by all means, act like a dog and get out and run!

The best bill I've ever paid

I always like to weigh my options and sometimes this is more just to justify what I really want to do than it is to actually help make a decision. When I viewed running from a financial standpoint, I figured it was just about one of the most fiscally reasonable activities a person could do. I mean, after all, if I wanted to try swimming, I would have to learn how and probably join the Y or if I wanted to bicycle, I'd need a new bike and helmet. With running, I calculated the cost of shoes and I'd be good to go! Right? Well, almost!

What I really didn't expect to happen was our grocery bill was going to get the brunt of it! I have became an eating machine not unlike throwing wood into a chipper. In order for me to have the fuel I need to run 12, 13, 14, miles or more a week, plus cross train, I have to eat and I don't mean junk either. I crave real food!! The kind of food God intended for us to eat, not Tuna Helper. Plus, add Gatorade, nutrition bars, and gels to the list and you will spend more.

I also discovered that running shoes don't last for a year when you actually run in them. My trusty "Haines Her Way" socks couldn't cut the mustard either and were dropping off like flies. And this is for the ladies, I don't care if you look like a ten year old boy or Dolly Parton, the sports bra is your friend, but she's not cheap and will not live to see a birthday. The first time I slapped on a regular cotton t-shirt and returned with it ten pounds heavier from sweat, how quickly I realized the "tech" shirt is worth it's ever so light weight in gold.

So many things in life come with a price and possibly a sacrifice. I've came to look at my exercise expenses as an investment. I'm investing in the me I want to be. The me I've wanted to be all along and didn't realize it. I know way too many people who take far better care of their homes and cars than they do their bodies. I'm all for cleaning the gutters and waxing the ride, but I can trade my car or sell my house. However, I'm pretty much stuck with this body. When I spent ten weeks watching what lymphoma was doing to my darling hound, seeing day in and day out how awful this disease is and realizing how many people are facing that everyday, something happened to me. I started loving this ol' body God gave me, broken veins, stretch marks, scars and all. I only have the one and I asked God to forgive me for all the years I treated it like an afterthought and not taking care of it the way it deserved to be taken care of.

When I head out the door in my running shoes I couldn't care less that they were $100 or that my running socks were $10 and so on. Sadly, I've wasted far more money than that on nonsense. But, taking care of myself and treating what God gave me with respect is certainly not nonsense, so the pocketbook will get over it. Heading up the road, with one foot in front of the other, I enjoy what God has given me and that little bit of cash never crosses my mind.  

Thanksgiving and dirty running shoes

I almost don't recognize myself from the beginning of spring. Running has done a lot for me physically, I've gotten smaller and stronger, but probably the most marked improvement is mental. I used to hate the song that talked about "seeing clearly now, the rain has gone," I mean, who wants to see your obstacles anyway? But, that's exactly what running does for your mind. The only difference is, you feel like the obstacles, although in plain view, aren't that big of a deal anymore. Somehow, the more your body sweats, the less your mind does.

Over the summer as I trained with my Team in Training family, I learned every crumbly sidewalk, every hill that made my legs scream, and every water stop on our normal paths. I learned that God will bless your feet, ankles, knees, hips and He'll hold them all together on your nearly 40 year old body if you just ask. I learned that when you're grieving, running is a very productive way to get those feelings out and the tears mix right in with the sweat, so no one really notices. I learned there are too many things that go on everyday that we should be thankful for instead of taking for granted.

I heard Joel Osteen say that God sends us all kind of blessings, all kinds of opportunity in our lifetimes. In doing so, He often sends what we never expected and if we don't stay open and pay attention, we could miss out on something big He's trying to do in our lives. I never expected one of my biggest blessings so far, to be a little greyhound from Birmingham. Because of her, and I hate to say this, but also because of the cancer that took her, I realized a gift I didn't even know I had. She wasn't alone in bringing out the best in me. I have another blessing, her brother, asleep right now, on his featherbed, right beside a dirty pair of running shoes.