Goodbye, Dr. Schettino!

If a foxhound bays forlornly in Wellesley, can it be heard in  Springfield?

I'm diligent about checking my pmail, but not so my email, so it was with a shock that I opened a note from my very favorite vet in the world, Dr. Edward Schettino. We had kind of a Sunday visit thing going that I looked forward to.
In a way.

He writes:

Hi Tucker,
I didn't have the proper time today to say good-bye. [here, I sighed loudly, and Mom shrieked]  I will be leaving VCA Westboro, my last day is June 30th.  [egads! that's tomorrow--I will pout all day in protest] I will begin work in July at VCA Southwick (close to Springfield)  as Medical Director.  It is a very bitter:sweet move ... but I needed to push myself forward. [I do understand, but still...how can you leave me?]
It was a pleasure taking care of you for the last couple of years [of course] and I wish you a long healthy life. [ditto] I don't think I will ever meet a dog more stubborn  .... that is not a negative .... [indeed, I take it as a great compliment] it just makes you YOU! [true, unique I am]


I will keep following your tails on your blog! [please do, though I must grieve for a while before I set to writing again]
Best regards,
Edward

 [What an incredibly dear guy. I highly doubt I'll discover again the perfect combo of smart, professional, and fun vet. More crucially, who can I find who will consider my shenanigans humorous, perhaps even endearing? Given what I've tried to pull, anyone else would have run the other way when they saw me coming.] 

So fare thee well, dear doc, all the best, and happy trails to you. Many thanks for your patience, professionalism and expertise. I will miss you greatly.

Diet secrets revealed!

It's been a while since I've visited the esteemed Dr. Schettino at VCA Westboro, so on a spare Sunday I hopped into the car and made Mom drive me over. Thought it would be the typical weigh-in, followed by my also-typical reward at Especially for Pets—conveniently located next door.

Tip: Always stand sideways, right foot forward,
for optimal slimness in photos.

They really should put in some kind of massage place or something, because Mom's always exhausted after taking me. She's the one who needs to calm down.

All seemed to go according to plan, but I got tipped off in the waiting area that something more was happening. There was no way I was going in. I plopped. "That's right," said the vet tech, whom I had not met before. "I heard he was a lot like a donkey!"

As I was deciding whether this comment was critical or complimentary,  Dr. S. came out. "He has a waist!" he exclaimed, and everyone gathered 'round to admire my new silhouette. Unfortunately, everyone also had a certain uncomfortable procedure in mind. My focus point was on how quickly I could wrestle two people to the ground.

Now onto my diet secrets:
Tucker's Diet Secret #1: Destroy the temptation to eat more than you should. I unwittingly stumbled onto this gem after mistakenly annihilating the cup used to measure my food. It was replaced with a slightly smaller cup; therefore, I've been eating less.

Tucker's Diet Secret #2: Follow your nose and get some exercise. You know how when you're enjoying yourself, you don't even realize you're doing something healthy? In search of the source of some tantalizing scents, and in part to help poor Mom relax, I've traversed mile after mile.

Tucker's Diet Secret #3: Nap when you get tired. You actually burn calories when you sleep, so napping isn't lazy—it's work toward your goal of gaining and maintaining a svelte figure. After all, it's supposed to be bathing suit season, and I for one am ready.

Tucker the famous, indeed!

"Is this the famous Tucker?" a human asked this morning as we prepared for our morning walk at Lake Waban. "Infamous," muttered Mom under her breath, but I heard her anyway. After all, my ears are plenty big.

Taking a walk with my dedicated dad.

Turns out, the human belonged to my old pal, Moose! I first met Moose when he was a baby, and he's certainly grown. While of course not as large as moi, his head is big, and a bit out of proportion to his rather slender body.

Funny, what Moose's human remembered about me was that when we first met, I let out a hugely loud bay clear across Lilja field, then dashed over to meet the new pup. Apparently I made an indelible impression.

While I'm crazy about little dogs (played with a 2.5 lb-er—yep, just two and a half pounds!—just last week) I'm always amazed that their owners let them play with me.

But maybe that's because I am so famous.

Help for hounds, and treats, too

Today's an open house (12-5 p.m.—be there) and the dedication of the isolation unit at Greyhound Friends in Hopkinton, the venerable rescue and adoption shelter that has been finding homes for my fleeter relatives since 1983.

So, run, don't walk—the unit's important because pets from southern climes have been bringing in all sorts of diseases that vets don't ordinarily see here in Massachusetts. The open house is also a chance for greyhound owners to get together for a fun meetup. 

Fortunately, though I'm from South Carolina, I headed up here disease-free. Stubborn as all get-out, but healthy.

My nifty new treat jar from Second Chances in Natick.

If you can't get there, at least make it to Greyhound Friends' thrift shop, Second Chances, in downtown Natick, on West Central right near Main. We donated a bunch of dog-related goodies, and couldn't resist picking up a treat jar. It's fab. Also, we found a super feeder that puts all I need at just the right height. All I need, one must emphasize, not all I want.

In return for our donations, I was offered a bottle of glucosamine, but declined on account of my callow youth. More on age when you hear about my big Plop O'Doom yesterday. That's another story.

Senior Pet Day, hawk cam and horsing around

Mom is starry-eyed with the hawk cam outside the NYU president's office, exclaiming every time she catches a glimpse of the baby, which viewers have named Pip. He is kind of cute, but although I like the Dickens reference, for me it's only a virtual attraction: I prefer chasing the real goslings, eight of them, that have arrived at the pond.

I got close to another fowl last week: a rooster, brought to Senior Pet Day at Wellesley High School. Not senior-aged pets, but pets of senior-level teens. While not exactly the star of the show (that designation of course goes to moi) it was a rather unusual choice. Less unusual, perhaps, than the photo of the pet rock that was circulated as ambulatory pets and seniors paraded.

Just to make my presence known, I let out a spectacular bay at the sight of one of my neighbors, a scruffy black thing. Small, but vicious. Unfortunately, I have firsthand knowledge of its tiny sharp teeth. Fortunately, my height came in handy when it attempted to go for the jugular.

Speaking of tall, was that a horse at WHS last week, just outside the library doors? Despising being upstaged, I'm glad I wasn't present.

Wellesley's Wonderful Foxhound—I mean Weekend

Of course there's a dog contest this weekend, because Swellesley's just so swonderful! I plan to check it out, from 10-10:30 Saturday at the Warren Center. You should, too, but I'm pretty sure I've got first prize in the bag.

That's just one of the super events planned.  Count me in on Saturday's pancake breakfast, and definitely save a spot on the town forest walk: cake and refreshments will be served. Perhaps I'll follow that hectic morning with a free massage, or maybe just a nap. I'm a little worried, however, that the hourly cannon firing might disrupt my sleep schedule. XXL canine earplugs, anyone?

If anyone is wondering if it will rain—again—for the fireworks on Sunday, just check with me. If I'm shivering, that means a thunderstorm is coming. Of course, if the fireworks go off, I'll be shivering anyway. Either way, I'm bound to jiggle off quite a few calories.

Find more great Wellesley events on this schedule.

A foxhound speaks to birds

Being a bit behind of sorts, I dug around in my notebooks and found this nugget. 

Things are rather chirpy all of a sudden, and it was warm enough, once, for me to lay out in the sun and listen. Thus being in a position to ponder the wonders of avians, I dashed off a few verses.

A Foxhound Speaks to Birds

You are you
And I am I
And that is why
I cannot fly.

by Tucker

Actually, I can fly, and I would, except that some human always seems to be holding on to me. It's really very sad. So on to another bird poem:

Red Tail

Red tails' delight:
Rodent tails at night.
Red tails' warning:
Bright sails of morning.

by Tucker

And one more:

Words of Birds

The words of birds
Waver, dip, soar.
A flash of wing
As they sing, sing, sing.
by Tucker

All poems composed by Tucker in honor of National Canine Poetry Fortnight, which has segued nicely into National Poetry Month.