Just when you thought you’d seen all she had to offer, The Princess adds a little tongue.

If only male dogs had money to spend, I could make a fortune with these calendar shots!

Shameless.  She’s absolutely shameless.

Unless you are a newcomer to this blog, you will know that I’m a big fan of retired racing greyhounds.  They are one of the gentlest breeds around, although some can be a little snippy with other breeds when they’re first adopted, until you educate them.  You see, they are born into racing, and up to the time they retire, it’s the only world they know.  Many of them have never even seen a different breed of dog.

Here in England, greyhounds are normally kept in racing kennels belonging to a trainer.  There are exceptions - there’s nothing to stop you racing your own dog from home, but in fact, relatively few people do, so the dogs are born into a environment where they are surrounded by other greyhounds, all day, every day. They don’t leave the kennel very often except to go racing,  and if they’re sold it’s usually to another racing owner, so their life continues much as before.

The lady who trained The Princess told me that greyhound pups are kept in family groups until they’re old enough to start work.  They’re weaned late, and then they live for a few months with their litter mates, where they learn dog etiquette by playing and rough-housing and testing the boundaries.  Incidentally, this is where many of those little scars come from that you see on racing greyhounds - their skin is so thin that a sharp puppy tooth or nail can easily make a hole.

Once they start training, they are separated to be kennelled in pairs, and their life continues in the noisy all-greyhound kennel with their noses constantly full of greyhound smells.

Imagine what a shock it is to be adopted!

Suddenly you’re not one of the gang anymore and you don’t have a job to do.

You no longer live in a huge dog ‘pack’, so there’s no comforting sound from your companions shuffling around in their deep shredded-paper beds, or barking when it’s feeding time, or romping in the paddock with their friends. Instead, there is silence.  There are unfamiliar and disturbing smells and there are horrible, hideous, frightening noises.  Washing machines, vacuum cleaners, television …  Sometimes there are tiny humans that scream and rush about and grab them.  Surely it’s no wonder if they sometimes come across as neurotic and difficult!

In fact, with sympathetic handling, they adapt extremely well, even to being an only dog, though I personally like to keep them in pairs.  And they very soon come to love their sofas and the new, lazy lifestyle, because - surprisingly - they are fundamentally lazy dogs.

But it’s a wonderful thing for the dogs that the Retired Greyhound Trust now holds a yearly ‘Greyhound Gathering’ where you can take your adopted dog to have a fun day out with hundreds of other greyhounds, and there are hundreds of other owners to chat to.  And that’s where we went yesterday.

The Princess, who usually does not choose to consort with other dogs, had a wonderful time sniffing greyhounds and being sniffed. This picture is interesting because both The Princess and Poppy are normally a bit slow to accept a strange dog’s company, yet there they are, happily sharing a water bowl within minutes of meeting, and even resting together on Poppy’s bed.

The fact that many other breeds come along with their greyhound friends is also a bonus.  Retirees can see their fellow greyhounds treating terriers, spaniels, mutts and poodles like buddies and that’s a big help in socialising a recently adopted dog.

And of course, there’s the shopping!  Stalls full of greyhound coats and boots and collars and tags, stalls full of dog biscuits and treats and supplements and off-prescription remedies.  Stalls full of beds and drinking bowls … and fudge and ice cream and hot-dogs and hamburgers.

And clean water bowls everywhere for the dogs, some up on stands because greyhounds are tall dogs and the oldies can’t always quite reach their feet - and a few of us will know that problem!

It was a lovely day, as you can see by the pictures.

And yes, both The Princess and The Pirate had a hot-dog all to themselves.  Of course they did!

Without onions, naturally.

As a footnote, if you go here, you will find an excellent article written by Kathleen Gilley who runs a show called The Dancing Greyhounds in America.  She knows greyhounds very well indeed and has some great advice about training and behaviour.  Non-Americans may not understand all the references, but pretty much all her knowledge is applicable to any greyhound, anywhere in the world.

Just catching up on my blog rounds and I noticed that Maria’s Space has a Friday photo challenge, with the subject ’spontaneous’.  It reminded me of this photo of my two dogs, The Princess and The Pirate, having a spontaneous roo-fest!

This happened shortly after we got The Pirate and he was playing with that squeaky hamburger toy.  Each time it squeaked, he grumbled at it, until he was barking, then rooing.  Then, of course, The Princess joined in, with a definite air of ‘I have no idea why I’m doing this, but … ‘

Now, I have to confess something.

The two dogs were on separate beds at the time.  Next to each other, for sure, but on separate beds.  I Photoshopped them together, to make a better picture.

Tee hee.

Last year our local church decided to hold a September Harvest Fair on the church green.   We strolled along with the dogs to add our support to this new venture and to see what was doing, and it was quite fun - there were second hand books, there were homegrown veggies, there were plants and bric-a-brac and hand-crafted cards … and there were a few trade stalls selling honey, home-made fudge, and hot food.

Now, one of the hot food vendors was a local butcher, who with great business sense, had set up a barbecue and was selling his own produce - including venison burgers.  Sadly, we’d just eaten our midday meal, but the dogs’ eyes were nearly popping out of their heads and I was afraid they might actually choke on their own drool, so we bought a burger without onions and fed it to them.  And, needless to say, they enjoyed the experience immensely.

Today was this year’s Harvest Fair and once again, we decided to go along and take the dogs with us.  Almost as soon as we left the house, the dogs’ noses tilted upward and their pace quickened.  For once, they didn’t complain about heading into the village instead of over the fields.  They followed their noses right along the road, round the corner and behind the church, hardly bothering to stop and pee.  Did they remember?  I don’t know, but they don’t smell venison cooking that often!

So the dogs got their burger, and I’m willing to bet that next year they will know for sure that ‘Harvest Fair’ means ‘venison’.

It was a good afternoon - there was a display of vintage farm machinery and classic cars, and there was live music with a collection for the local Sue Ryder home, and a lot of village people were out there spending money and enjoying the sunshine.

People began drifting away from the festivities.  Among them, there was a family group.  There was a little girl of about three years old, her mother, three men, and her grandmother, who looked to be somewhere in her seventies.  Suddenly, the little girl broke away and started running along the pavement.  Her mother called out for her to stop, and her grandmother - who happened to be nearest - began to run after her, looking precarious in her smart shoes.   Little girl’s face lit up and she picked up the pace.  Granny started to fall behind, but ran gamely on.  Mum yelled again, and Little Girl ran faster, beaming from ear to ear.  Little Girl disappeared round the bend and Granny tottered after her - and Mum decided perhaps she should start running too.  Oh, well … better late than never!

But the interesting thing was that the three men in the group - none of whom could have been much past thirty-five - didn’t even bother to stop chatting, let alone give chase! I’d guess that any one of those trainer-clad guys could have caught that Little Girl without breaking a sweat, but instead they let poor Granny get her first cardio work-out in years!

Ah, well.  We mustn’t be too hard on them.  They were probably just too full of venison burger.