The Ever Onward March of Time

Tiny is getting on a bit.

A few weeks ago - I don't remember if I mentioned it - she developed a swelling in a joint on one of her front legs. The doggy equivalent of a knee I suppose. A little embarrassingly it was actually spotted by a fellow dog-walker down at the creek who had some experience with greyhounds, and she said it was probably arthiritis.

And the vet, when I had my panic trip with suspected paralysis tickitis, which he thought was epilepsy, said she felt a little arthritic. In fact I'm leaning towards the theory that that particular episode was her just getting up too quickly.

On walks she can still get together a fair clip of speed for a while, if she has something to chase like a heron or me on a bike, but invariably it doesn't last very long and she's exhausted afterwards.

Sad really, but she is clocking on a bit... when we're asked how old she is we reckon eleven or twelve which in man-years is getting well into zimmer territory so she isn't doing too badly really.

When we go out now we're leaving the dogs outside at the mercy of the elements, not that they're very unkind. This is preparation for crossing the rubicon of leaving them behind in the care of neighbours should we decide to go away. To Sydney for instance. For the second weekend in December. For instance.