Ick to Michael Vick

I’ll tell you what really bothers me about sports in general and this whole Michael Vick thing, aside from the obvious dog fighting debacle.  The guy trains dogs to fight, uses other dogs as bait to train them, kills them if they don’t perform, kills them if they do perform, kills them, kills them, kills them, in the most disgusting, heinous ways he can think of, and because he served his time in prison, can play football again.  Now I’m all for rehabilitation, but why does it only apply in certain cases?  For instance Pete Rose, one of the greatest baseball players I ever had the pleasure to watch, gambled.  And what happens to him?  He’s banished from baseball and can never be in the Hall of Fame.  Granted, he didn't do jail time, but he is still banished from the sport for life. 

What’s the message we’re sending to our youth here?  Sports at large have taught us that it’s OK for athletes to do drugs and steroids and still get chance after chance to continue to play the game.  They can even kill defenseless animals if they want to and as long as they serve their time, all is forgiven.  But don’t gamble.  That’s a no-no. 

Oh, yes, I remember, it was because Pete gambled on his own team; oh and he lied about it too.  Well that makes it so much worse than electrocuting dogs doesn’t it?   I believe that gambling is a sickness, just like any other addiction, like drugs or sex.  But instead of offering the guy a six week program to get well and then re-instate him, he’s vilified for all time. 

I don’t know about you, but if there was a gun to my head and I had to tell someone what the worst thing in life was that my daughter had to do; drugs, gamble or kill dogs, I’d rather she gambled.   But that’s me.

The Career that Never Was

I worked briefly at a major do-it-yourself store as a cashier.  We couldn’t punch out and go home until all of the customers in the store were gone and all cashiers had "cashed out."  One night, well after the store had made several “closing” announcements, there was still one inconsiderate nut in the back of an aisle cutting wood. 

Twenty minutes after closing time he approached the register and attempted to pay by check.  The only problem was he didn’t have his driver’s license on him.  This of course begged the question, how the heck did he get to the store? 

Anyway, policy being what it is, the store refused to sell him the wood.  So he asked if he could drive home, get his license and come back to the store. The store manager told him that, unfortunately, they could not accommodate him, policy being what it was.  Then he wanted to know if he could call his wife and have her fax his license to the store.  He was told that again, that was against policy.  So they put his wood aside for him and told him he could come back the next day and pay for it providing, of course, he had his driver’s license.

It was probably 35 minutes after normal quitting time that we were all finally allowed to leave.  Believe me, no one was happy.

Here’s what I would have done if I were the store manager.  I would have told the offending customer that it was perfectly OK for him to go home and get his driver’s license.  Then as soon as he left the store, I would have sent the cart boy to follow him and get his license plate number.  Then I would have called the cops, given them the make, model and plates on the car and told them some weirdo was exposing himself on the highway.

Funny how I never made it to head cashier. 

It's Tough Getting Old

My daughter and I recently went to Walmart to buy dog food.  Since I have 5 greyhounds I’m not looking to purchase a 10 pound bag.  I’m getting industrial sized 55 pound bags; and several of them.  The problem is I can’t lift them into the cart by myself; which is where my daughter comes in.  Not that she can lift them either, but together we can usually look pathetic enough that some poor schnook will help us out. 

Of course neither one of us remembered to get a cart to haul the dog food around until after we got into the store.  We should have thought of that in the parking lot.  Of course, once we remembered that we needed a cart, we realized that neither one of us had a quarter to get one.  We should have thought of that before we left the house. 

In my own defense, I don’t carry money since my best shopping is done with plastic.  I knew it was foolish to think that my 28 year old daughter might have a plug nickel on her since, in her own defense, her best shopping is done with plastic too, mine.  So we got in the Customer Service line to see if they dispensed fake quarters or if they would perhaps give us a cart for free, or at least offer us some advice since certainly we couldn’t be the first idiots to do something like this. 

While we were in line, I spotted a young employee of the male persuasion pushing a stack of carts into the store.  I gently encouraged my daughter to see if she could use her feminine wiles to persuade the young man to give her a cart for free.  I have no idea what she said to him, or offered him, God knows, because not only did he agree to give her a cart, but he came with us to the dog food aisle, loaded the bags into the cart, walked around the store with us while we continued to shop, waited while we paid and then came out to the car and loaded it in for us. 

Knowing I had nothing in the form of a tip to give him, I offered to buy him something while we were shopping; like maybe cigarettes or a dirty magazine or condoms, but he declined.  He was a nice young man.    

Now, on the other hand...

Here’s how the story would have read if I had asked the young man for a cart as opposed to my daughter. 

I recently went to Walmart to buy dog food.  I asked a young employee of the male persuasion if I could have a cart since I didn’t have a quarter.  I vaguely remember hearing the words “bug off grandma” as I slipped into unconsciousness after being run over by 50 shopping carts...

My Family - Such As They Are

A lot of times we're guilty by association.

I remember years ago when I was 17 I worked at K-Mart.  One time my mother came in the store and she was wearing two different high healed shoes.  My boss looked at my mother, looked back at me and said "that explains a lot."

 

My father told me a story another time about how my mother walked out to her car early in the morning, in the pouring rain to get her umbrella, which was in the back seat of the car, so that 15 minutes later when she had to leave for work she wouldn’t have to walk out to her car in the pouring rain without her umbrella. 

I wish I were making that up.

The Dreaded Holiday Newsletter

And while I'm on the subject of Holiday cards, have you ever received a “Holiday Newsletter?” You know, I had always heard about them, but since I had never actually received one, I thought for sure they were a fake.  I mean who is out there really writing about their lives (oh hold on, I'm not on Facebook either).  Get a load of this. 

The newsletter I received was from a friend who I had known for upwards of 35 years.  Believe me there wasn’t much I didn’t know about her life, which was far from perfect, but after reading about how charmed her existence was, my immediate reaction was ‘why in hell did she put me on the distribution list?’  I could see how she could fool her relatives in the great mid-west, but me? 

I used to listen to her rant on and on at least 3 times a week about her boob of a husband and his errant spending, speeding tickets and unpaid bills and how her mother didn’t help her out enough with her 4 kids and how her mom made lasagna for the kids when she SPECIFICALLY ASKED FOR SPAGHETTI and on and on it went.  So imagine my surprise when I got the Holiday Newsletter and learned that her husband and mother had recently been canonized.  Honest to God, the darn thing said that her husband was, and I quote, ‘the greatest dad and husband EVER!  After work he would dive right in changing diapers, helping with homework or starting dinner without a complaint.’ 

Let me give you a little insight into the husband; the guy was a neurotic Dallas Cowboy fan who showered before each game and put on his Cowboy underpants and sweats.  Practically everything he owned had the Cowboy logo sticking on it somewhere.  They had Dallas Cowboy dinner plates and cups, Cowboy socks hanging on the wall, a Dallas Cowboy credit card, fleece blanket, and as you walked into their basement the sign overhead let you know that you were on ‘Troy Aikman Way’.  This was a grown man with Troy Aikman and Emmet Smith action figurines on his table.   I think it was First and 20. 

Now I don’t care who exaggerates about what, but I draw the line when someone blatantly lies about their kid’s accomplishments.  The newsletter prattled on about my friend’s 6 year old son and what a tremendous Pee Wee football player he was and how his father never missed a practice or a game.  In fact, because of the kid’s blazing speed, the team had bestowed upon him a nickname worthy only of a top notch running back.  Now as someone who had frequented their house and was witness to one of the husband’s more amazing talents:  the ability to consume massive amounts of Coors in short spans of time, my immediate reaction was to tell her that I didn’t think they called the kid the “Silver Bullet” because he ‘ran really, really fast.’  But I kept my mouth shut.

Little Dogs

I have 5 greyhounds.  For anyone not familiar with a greyhound let me tell you, they're big dogs.  But here's what I want to know.  Does the questionnaire that people fill out when they want to adopt a dog under 20 pounds contain the following questions:

Do you promise to buy a retractable leash and give your dog 30 feet of lead while you stare blankly the other way?

Do you promise to laugh hysterically when your little dog charges a big dog and then exclaim through peals of laughter “He’s not afraid!  He thinks he’s a big dog!!!”

Do you promise to let your dog run loose and pee on your neighbors landscaping?

Do you promise to dress your dog in ridiculous outfits like cheerleaders and pumpkins?

If you answered yes to any or all of these questions, congratulations, you are the perfect candidate to be an owner of a little dog.

 

Now if I ruled the world, anyone found guilty of any of the above infractions would be chained in their yard without water, in the blazing sun for an indeterminate amount of time and your dog turned over to a cat person. 

As a big dog owner, one who has had to deal with countless encounters between my dogs and your little ones let me tell you this.  You may think it’s hysterical that your dog isn’t afraid, but guess what, he should be, because realistically he's not a big dog, he's just a small dog with lots of fur and a big yapping mouth.  And I’m not implying it’s my dogs he should be afraid of.  It’s me. 

2011 Christmas Card

Every year I create my own Christmas cards with the help of Vistaprint.  It's usually just some pictures of my greyhounds with my husband Jack's and my name printed on it under the obligatory Merry Christmas banner.  In 2011 I decided to get a little more creative, if one describes ripping off the "Twas the Night Before Christmas" poem, creative.  But that's what I did.  I had a good time writing it, so I figured I'd post it here:

Twas the year of our dogs, two thousand eleven

When Ben and Miranda were both called to heaven

Though sad from our loss, it required no force,

We adopted two more, why, Greyhounds, of course!

Five dogs again, laying snug on our beds

While visions of Woofies danced in their heads

Jack sleeping between two and more on the floor

Trying to get settled amongst racers galore.

Now Cooper!  Now Kira! Now Tiger and Gun!

How much chaos they cause, but we think “What fun!”

Sabrina Fair is the savior, she packs quite a punch

At just two years old, she’s the babe of the bunch.

We spring to their needs for water and food

Thinking above all, that we just love this brood

So this time of year we thank heaven above

For giving us doggies who fill us with love

We know in our hearts that if given a choice

We’ll keep saving these dogs, who are given no voice

They love without reason, they love without bounds

So our Christmas is Merry.  Guess why:  Our Greyhounds!

Fostering a greyhound

I had 4 recue greyhounds when I decided I would try my hand at fostering one.  I failed miserably and ended up keeping him.  I learned a few things along the way so I compiled some do's and don'ts for those of you out there considering fostering an animal so you can avoid the pitfalls I succumbed to: 

1)      Do not get laid off from your job 2 days after you pick up your foster.  This will lead to bonding, which we know is bad and eventual ownership.  Try to impress upon your company that letting you go will lead to your submitting an unemployment claim for the animal, which in turn, costs them money.

2)      Do not consider the animal a family member.  The IRS frowns on listing pets as dependants.

3)      Keep cuddle time to a minimum.  Excessive pampering and hugging will lead to no good so remain aloof.  Impress upon your foster that he stay on his own side of the bed with his head on HIS pillow.  If necessary and I know this is harsh, allow your spouse back in the bed and insist the foster sleep on the floor.

4)      When writing his bio for the foster group’s website, avoid phrases such as “explosive diarrhea” and “virtuoso chewer.”

5)      Get maximum exposure for your foster.  But beware, when someone expresses an interest in him, avoid sobbing, clutching the animal by the neck and screaming, “Mine, mine, mine.”

6)      Do not feed your foster.  This will only increase his dependency on you.  Instead, encourage him to open the pantry door, dial for takeout or introduce him to the stove.

7)      Train your foster to be ready to leave your nest.  Praising him for sobbing when you leave the room is sending the wrong message.  He must be strong.

8)      And last but not least, avoid staring at your foster while he is sleeping, especially in dim light.  You will begin to see the round ring around his head.

My life - my dogs

My name is Lisa Holthaus and I live in Brick NJ with my husband and 5 greyhounds.  I've been published several times in Celebrating Greyhounds, a magazine for people who love their greys as much as I do.  I'm here to rant about everything and anything.  If you like what I've written, please let me know.