Inhuman.

Two hundred dogs a day are abandoned in Victoria.

No, wait, it's way more than two hundred.

That's only the number that is taken in by the RSPCA.

Take a look into the eyes of one abandoned dog and how could anyone ever subject any dog to the pain of being separated from what it believes to be its pack, its lifeline to ... life?

Bye, Clyde!

He went off to his forever home today. I hope he gets a good family.

I found something oout about Clyde the very day before he went.

The last six or so dogs had shown no interest in Fetch! so I guess I gradually forgot. Yesterday, I was in the yard - with Clyde following me around, of course, when I accidentally kicked a tennis ball across the yard. He leapt upon it, picked it up and brought it back to me. Clyde fetches! We played fetch for quite a while.

Now I feel guilty. I could have been playing Fetch! with Clyde for four weeks.

Goldie shorn.

It's been hot in Melbourne and when it's hot, 12 year old Goldie pants and pants. She doesn't enjoy the heat at all, but she has the presence of mind to sleep in the hallway between the back and front door, catching a nice night breeze. Dogs are clever. That's where I wanted to sleep.

Time for her annual haircut.

She came home looking like a shorn sheep with the head of a brittany spaniel. I can't stop laughing. Clyde (the greyhound, who goes to his forever home this week) didn't recognise her and chased her around the back yard until he could get a good sniff of her butt and realised who she was.

$60. I only pay $12 for a trim, but then I guess I only have my head shorn.

And they bathed her and clipped her nails.

I want to be a dog.

What dogs do when you're not there.

There are these things called 'hides' that bird-watchers use to observe birds, secretly.

If there was such a thing to watch dogs, here's what you'd see, using Goldie, my Brittany, as an example:

Wake. (The dog bed - an old couch - is in the double garage. The dog's bedroom is bigger than my own.)

Stretch. Walk out of garage door. Sniff the air. Decide to go back in again. Jump on couch. Do three turns. Flop down hard. Decide to come out again. Sniff the air.

Walk to the lawn in that will-I-or-won't-I manner. Flop down hard. Start panting in the morning sunshine. Close eyes half-shut, enjoying the sun. Roll onto side. Fall asleep.

Wake. Stand up jerkily. Trot around to back door to see if it will open. It won't.

Trot back to lawn. Sniff about for yesterday's bone. Find it and chew busily for a few minutes. Pick it up and carry it to a new part of the lawn. Chew it some more.

Drop it suddenly as if it is the most boring thing she has ever tasted. Walk to water bowl. Drink, slurping it everywhere. Turn around to look at clothes line. Go to bed.

(Later)

Bark furiously at bone, still on lawn where she dropped it this morning, until blowflies buzz off. Pick up bone. Carry it to new part of lawn. Drop it. Walk away.

Flop down heavily on lawn in south east facing position providing best view of next door's fence, on which next door's cat often appears. Pant while regarding fence, head moving slightly back and forward. Eyes half shut again. Get up, walk behind apricot tree, pee while awkwardly moving herself forward with front legs as if trying to water as much lawn as possible.

Back to cat observation point. Cat appears. Gallop furiously to fence. Set up such a barking as you've never heard before, with plenty of deep throaty notes. A kind of elongated growl bark. RRRRRRRR-OW! RROW! RROW-RROW! RROW-RROW-RROW! RROW-RROW-RROW-RROW! RROW-RROW-RROW-RROW-RROW! RROW-RROW-RROW-RROW-RROW-RROW!

You get the picture. She starts with one and adds on one extra RROW until she reaches about maybe twelve, then she goes back to one again.

I didn't know dogs could count.

Then she goes back to bed. Three turns. Flops down hard.

Bonding.

Sometimes, it just happens.

I've had him for two weeks. He is always pushing his face into me, everywhere.

OK, so he likes me. That's OK. Most of them do. Many don't show it.

Today, Clyde walked over to me. I was lying in the backyard, on the grass, in the beautiful sunshine, reading a book. (The High Window, Raymond Chandler, 1943.) He sat down next to me and he laid his head across my legs, like, ninety degrees.

Later, he did the same thing. His affection has taken a massive upturn in the last couple days and that's when you know they are bonding with you. Like, really bonding. Like, they have decided: 'at last here is is someone who loves me unconditionally and whom I can trust and who looks like having my company for the rest of my life. Cool! I'm glad I'm such a lucky dog!'

And then they have to go after three weeks. It's damn hard to give them up, sister.

It's damn hard.

Clyde.

We've had him two weeks and he still is showing his entire backbone and six or seven ribs.

I am known as the foster-carer who can fatten up those hounds, but Clyde is taking his time. He eats, but not as ravenously as Davy, Eric or Blue. He'll get there, but just not as quickly.

Clyde has very endearing traits. He pushes his face into you. Everywhere you go.

The regime:

Breakfast:
Chicken mince cooked with garlic, carrot, celery, rice and stock.

Mid-morning (if you're home, if not, make it a bigger breakfast):
Peanut butter and cheese sandwich with a LOT of butter.

Lunch:
More mince and maybe a chicken frame.

Afternoon tea:
A piece of cheese. You can buy no-name brand cheese from the supermarket for under six dollars a kilo. A slice or two a day goes a long way.

Dinner:
More mince.

Three times a week:
A big bone.

More snacks:
Biscuits.
Cheese.
Buttered bread.
Peanut butter.
Sardines (Good for their coat.)
Chips left over from your Friday night fish & chips. Or even the fish.

Running notes.

Taking summer off means I can do a little more running. Especially with friends, it beats running on your own.

Summer track season has started and I've run a 5000 metres and a 1500 metres and also done three walks - 2 x 2000 metres and one 3000. Crazy event but someone has to do it.

Numbers competing have dropped off a little, some find it a bit daunting running on the track, compared to running cross country. Understandable I guess. Especially in the heat.

Early yesterday morning, I had a beach run with a couple of guys from the running group. They're training for some Special Operations Group trial which involves army-style running in difficult conditions. So we're running down the beach - but not on the hard sand, on the soft sand. Man that is difficult.

The regular group's Thursday night session was hills - eight sprints up a medium hill of about 300 metres. I was dead beat last night but I certainly enjoyed my dinner.

The Christmas Party.

Seymour on a deceptively hot day.

Blue went back to the kennels awaiting his new owner. Melanie said she had been unable to contact her in the last few days. I hope she hasn't had a change of heart. I'd be worried about Blue. Bit worried about him anyway. Couldn't get him near shops and he still shied at just about everything. He'll need the right kind of home and the right kind of owners.

Blue went into the kennel and out bounced Clyde. Melanie told me Clyde already had an adoptive family but still needs to go through the program. He's a bouncy blue-fawn boy, very big, too big to be a champion as they can't get round the turns. Good in a straight line though.

We ate our picnic under the gumtrees, there was a parade of greyhounds in fancy dress, a prize draw in which we won a silvery grey greyhound coat - very nice - and in the off-leash paddock, the 'hounds all tore around like mad.

Clyde enjoyed the trip home. With his new friend Goldie. She's thinking 'What's with all these greyhounds?' no doubt.

Blue's new home.

Melanie called to tell me that they (Greyhound Adoption Program) have found a forever home for Blueboy. Great news.

We'll be handing him over at the premier greyhound adoption event for the year - the Greyhound Christmas Party at Seymour on Sunday. We'll pack a picnic and hope for fine weather.

Ever wondered what it is like to be among a hundred or so greyhounds and assorted other dogs, all tearing around off leash? Come to the Greyhound Christmas Party and you'll find out.

I think it was the highlight of my year last year. Our Billy enjoyed it immensely, even though we think he was already starting to suffer, as he just didn't want to run, God rest his doggie soul.

Blueboy stops in his tracks.

I've been fostering Blue, the greyhound, for two weeks and he was extremely timid to start with.

He would stop dead if he saw someone ahead, even walking away from us.

Gradually he got better, but today he seems to have regressed. Yesterday he saw some people crossing the road ahead of us, then someone flashed by on a bike and then the garbage truck came around the corner.

He dug his heels in and wouldn't move. I had to pat him and reassure him everything was OK and that garbage trucks don't hurt you, they just stink a bit!

Coaxed him home like that (Goldie the Brittany was with me as well, nothing fazes her). Then he forgot how to climb steps. I had to place his feet on them in turn, slowly up the five steps, just like the first day I had him.

He was actually at his best last weekend at the beach, where we went for a six kilometre walk - six humans and four dogs. He loved it and didn't shy at anything. Must be safety in numbers or something.

He's a good dog. Just a bit frightened. He'll improve.

Tragedy at Merri Creek.

I regularly run along Merri Creek, a pleasant meandering waterway through country-like surroundings to the north of Melbourne. I also walk the dogs, they go crazy with all the rabbits. We took a walk on Thursday in between the incessant showers.

By Friday the rain was even heavier, the creek had risen, and an elderly woman from my parish was tragically drowned trying to cross it. There is a low footbridge - which has no handrail - connecting Fawkner on one side of the creek to Reservoir on the other. There's no way she would have drowned had there been a handrail. The water wasn't deep enough to sweep her away if she'd been holding onto something, she probably just took off her shoes in order not to get them wet and then lost her balance on the slippery wood.

Here's to you, Charlie Brown.

Australia's top dog is Charlie Brown, a beagle who was once an unruly family dog. Now he's a quarantine specialist who sniffs out prohibited imports.

Now there's a job I'd like (the handler, not the dog). I might call the quarantine service and see if they need any handlers. Time for a career change!

Dog saves owner.

Great story.

Rottweilers are wonderful dogs in the right hands. The Responsible Pet Ownership people (I think it's a state government body) have a Rottweiler that they take to schools to teach kids about dogs. I saw it at the Royal Melbourne Show, you can do anything to the dog and he just sits there smiling. I was cuddling him and petting him, he was like a big baby.

Shame some of them get into the wrong hands. The dog gets the blame.

The wee doggie walked eight miles to go to the ball park.

And a feisty thing it is too, to be sure.

And now he's world famous.

Via Tim Blair.

Guessing the age of a dog.

Maybe there's a way, but I don't know. Blue is brindle, medium to small for a greyhound, and well-behaved. We don't have any papers, so we don't know his background or anything about him.

(We will find out more from Melanie, the lady from the Greyhound Adoption Program. There is a photograph of Melanie at the Seymour kennels in this article, essential reading for anyone interested in greyhounds or animal welfare. Registration is required and easy.)

When walking, Blue stops dead if he sees people, dogs, cars - anything - approaching. He is very timid. So far I have taught him to take food - gently - from my hand (initially he was hand-shy, he would move away if a hand came near him) and to walk up and down steps. Table-surfing we are working on. Last night he stole a pat of garlic-and-parsley butter I'd set aside to go onto a piece of steak. Up he came behind me - I didn't hear him because of the sizzling steak - paws on the kitchen bench and swipe! before I could say No! He loved it.

He's a lovely boy. In the next week or two he will start to be more affectionate and less diffident. I wonder what happened to him in his earlier - racing - life.

Hmm.

Blue.

On the way back from northern Victoria, called into the Greyhound Adoption Program's kennels at Seymour to pick up a new foster dog - Blue, a brindle boy with a bluish sheen to his coat.

We were greeted by assorted dogs running about - the kennel doubles as accommodation for any dogs (Goldie had stayed overnight) - and over by the main kennel was a small run with two greyhound pups, totally adorable black and white females. One had already been taken but the last one was still available. She was hard to resist, all legs like a baby foal.

The Greyhound Adoption lady told us that Eric's new owner had been in contact and Eric was doing fine.)

Then Blue came out, we packed him into the car and set off home. It is his first foster home and he couldn't get up the steps, shied at the shiny tiles in the laundry and then spent the next twenty minutes walking around the house sniffing every corner.

He was very hungry - despite his huge meal - and we had to use the water-bottle squirt technique to dissuade him from table-surfing. He got up to the kitchen sink at one stage and starting slurping the water, it wasn't too sudsy fortunately. Squirt, squirt. He's a quick learner.

He was very good overnight, settling onto the mattress we allocated to him and only getting up a few times. Perfectly house-trained, of course - despite never having lived in a house - greyhounds are extremely clean dogs and will not soil their surroundings.

Next morning, we fed them and left them outside to amuse themselves. Blue started barking at the fence so I stood at the bathroom window and aimed a few squirts of water his way. Goldie was watching me wondering what on earth I was doing. Blue couldn't see me. I felt like a sniper.

Soon he settled down and they both went and snoozed on the lawn, listening to the birds chirping in the early morning sunshine.

Running notes.

Haven't posted anything about running lately.

We ran the 21.1 kilometre half-marathon and I posted about it but Blogger lost it. And then I lost it.

Anyway, the half marathon was a little over four weeks ago. T., a little over six months into her running career and having never run more than about 14 kilometres, completed the half in just over two hours.

Since then, we've had a few training sessions with the group, I strained a hamstring and took a week or two off but now I'm running again.

Last night we had a time trial of 1000 metres, 600 metres and 200 metres on the university track. It was the first hot night for the season.

After the 1000, I've never heard so much coughing. The heat, the pollen and the nature of the 1000 metres really got to everyone. When you run that kind of distance it really hits your lungs. New runners think they're having an asthma attack or their lungs are about to explode or something, but it's simply the demand for oxygen for a period of time when you are working extremely hard. A longer, slower run or even a shorter one doesn't have the same effect because the oxygen uptake isn't the same. There was a ten minute rest in between each trial and afterwards we went for a twenty minute warmdown jog. Added to the stretching and warm-up at the start, the whole session took almost ninety minutes.

At the vet's.

Well, what a line-up.

Late afternoon sun streamed into the vet's waiting room as a bunch of scratching dogs waited patiently with their owners.

It's the spring itching season.

Goldie has been biting herself due to an allergy triggered by spring pollens. As have lots of other dogs.

We had seen a pair of beautiful greyhounds being taken from a van in the carpark. One had the most beautiful dark colouring around her Cleopatra-like eyes, almost like accentuated eyeliner. Just magnificent, beautiful dogs. Soon they came in with their owner and were taken through reception to a room in the back. They were hesitant, pulling back.

When we went in to see the vet, T. asked him what was wrong with the greyhounds. His expression confirmed her worst fears.

She turned pale. The vet was sympathetic - he's a greyhound specialist and sees a lot of this - but he's also pragmatic. Better that than to go to a bad home or be mistreated.

Goldie had her injection to counterract the allergy and we came away with a bunch of pills to help that and her arthritis.

The saddest thing was that Goldie, fondly recognising greyhounds, had run over to the doomed pair and they had given her a friendly lick. It was their last action in a too-short life.

Goldie's appetite back to normal.

Every time we have a foster greyhound, Goldie rushes to her food and starts gobbling it down. Must be a dog competition thing.

It was worse when we had Eric, as he was the most voracious eater we have had. We couldn't fill him, the poor thing. He would eat all his food, eye off Goldie's and then look for more. He was particularly thin (the Greyhound Adoption Program lady was pleasantly surprised at how he had put on weight when she came to pick him up - we didn't really notice the gradual change) and ate absolutley everything including cheese, peanut butter sandwiches, vegemite toast, salami, lebanese bread (once he stole a whole round and filling from the benchtop!).

So Goldie had plenty of competition for her food and ate accordingly. Now that Eric has been gone for a week, she's back to being picky.

She's also scratching herself to bits, but that's another story - spring. We'll try the special shampoo, then the antihistamines if that doesn't work and then the steroid thing if that doesn't work. Off to the vet, I guess. We have the best vet, he's a greyhound specialist but will stoop to treating other dogs!

Arkie.

Had lunch with friends Yvie and Tim at Ray in Brunswick.

Yvie brought along Arkie, her 14-week-old wire-haired foxie. You've never seen a cuter dog. But naughty! Oh my, Arkie was bouncing around all over the place.

Goldie, 12 years old and 'over' puppies put up with her for a while and then finally gave a deep throaty growl when Arkie jumped on her back as she was reclining on the footpath (we sat outside in the sun). I put Goldie back in the car (directly across the road, in the shade) after a while, wound down the windows and poured her a drink of water in her 'travelling' bowl.

We had our lunch and Arkie, now skitting around under the table, started chewing my shoelaces.

Yvie picked her up and gave her a drink from her water glass.

Naughty puppy.

*

We were hoping to have a call from Eric's new home to see how he's going. Apparently the new owner had had a small dog killed by dogs next door and progressed to another dog which apparently bit her. The Greyhound Adoption Program lady assured us she would be a good 'owner' for Eric, and that another neighbour was a vet nurse and vouched for her suitability. Still I couldm't help wondering whether she wanted Eric, a big brindle, as protection of some kind. Greyhounds are so not like that.

Eric's new home.

Half-tailed Eric the greyhound went off to his new home and Goldie is lonely again.

We visited the Greyhound Adoption Program display at the Royal Melbourne Show. Several foster carers had volunteered to have their dogs on show. It was a very popular display and I hope more greyhounds will be rehoused as a result.

The children in particular loved patting the soft furry necks of these gentle, regal, misunderstood creatures.

Eric.

A new foster greyhound, Eric, arrived.

Eric has lost part of his tail, god knows how.

When he's excited, it looks like he is waving a baton instead of swishing a nice long tail. Shame.

Eric is brindle and is a bit of an alpha male, jumping on the furniture and snatching his food. But he's a good learner and within 24 hours he has learned not to jump on the furniture.

On Sunday we took Goldie and Eric to Princes Park where all the dogs and their owners socialise their dogs.

There was a mastiff Irish Wolfhound cross, fierce-looking thing, name of Holly. There was also an extremely athletic Dobermann tearing around in circles. There were several small fluffy dogs and Eric didn't react to them so he looks like he will be fine with smaller dogs.

Goldie got a bit cross when the Doberman chased her and a few others entered her space. She had a bit of a bark at them. Poor Goldie, she's getting old. We took them home and fed them.

test

testing, what's happening with blogger

Running notes.

Two weeks later, I'm still recovering from the 16 kilometre cross country so I've been taking it easy. Last Tuesday, I went for an easy run with Andrew H. and Belinda instead of doing 6 x 1200s - no way was I going to do that. Then Thursday, the program was 6 x 600s around Princes Park. I stopped after four. I said to Tony, 'I'm old and I'm tired and I'm over it.' He laughed.

This last Sunday, T. ran a 12k benefit race for the Mercy Hospital - a great course, started at the Coburg Athletics track and up the Merri Creek bike path to Fawkner and back. Her time was around 64 minutes, excellent time, she's improving. I minded the girls so I didn't race, we explored the creek and parkland around the track and then I ran in the afternoon instead - three laps of Princes Park in the late winter afternoon.

Tonight it's 8 x 1000. It's all a bit punishing at the moment. We'll see how we go.

Davey's forever house - a correction.

When Davey went off to his forever house about a few weeks ago, I posted that he was going to a house with two children and two dogs.

We visited him on Sunday and there were more in the household than I realised: two children, two dogs, two rats and seven fish.

He's doing well. He gave me a lick of recognition.

Training notes. Dog notes. What else is there? (Apart from food, of course.)

Sunday: In the morning, it was sunny so we took Goldie on a big walk around yesterday's sodden cross country course. It was still wet. In the far corner there was a bunch of hunters training their gun-dogs to retrieve and return. GSPs and the like. Wonderful to see working dogs respond to commands and clearly having such a good time. Afternoon: ran a couple of very dodgy laps of Princes Park - feeling the effects of yesterday's race. Met afterwards at the dog off-leash section of Princes Park where dog owners socialise their dogs. Always good for a laugh. All kinds of dogs including an English Mastiff, huge great dog.

Monday: pool and spa to soothe aching legs.

Tuesday: running session around Royal Park, meant to be easy but Tony the coach pushed it out a little. At least we went somewhere different.

Wednesday: rashly promised to run with Theo and the crew. They ran way too fast.

Thursday: one of last night's crew pulled out after one warm-up lap because he ran too fast last night! The rest ran 4 x 11 minutes hard - close to 3ks each. I only managed three.

Friday: nothing. And I'm planning an easy weekend. We're going to the beach and we're going to visit Davy the foster greyhound at his new forever home!

Saturday afternoon mudbath.

The forecast was 13 celsius.

It got to like, 8. And the wind was blowing off Antarctica (I used to joke about that, but the weather guy said it really WAS blowing off Antarctica!).

Not a good day for the Victorian 16 kilometre cross country championship. (Why 16? It used to be the Ten Mile in pre-metric days.)

We arrived at Coburg at around 1pm. It was FREEZING! The rain was coming down in sheets. We put raincoats over our several layers and tried a half-hearted warm-up, leaving Goldie the Brittany toasty and warm on her rug in the back of the car.

There were several under-age races on first and due to the severe weather, the open events were delayed. Finally the starters got the women's 4k race away after leaving them on the starting line for nearly ten minutes. The poor girls were just about suffering hypothermia. Off they went, splishing and sploshing through the mud. T. had a great race and ran her best time despite the conditions. She was soaking wet and muddy but postively glowing with relief after she finished.

The men's race got away at 2.45 - four laps of the sodden course. By this time, there was the real possibility that the course would be flooded if the Merri Creek were to break its banks. By the second lap, the rain had eased slightly. The track was a complete bog by this stage - having been pounded by several hundred runners all the rain run-off was pooling in it.

I'd had the foresight to wear spikes so I managed to stay upright. Others, wearing normal running shoes, were slipping everywhere, especially on the downhill turns where the camber of the track turned out instead of in, completely the opposite necessary for balance. There were several injuries. Someone broke an ankle - one of our runners saw the guy go down and heard the ominous crack. The poor guy was carried off on a stretcher.

Amidst all of this, it was darkly amusing to hear the official course announcer talking up the event and getting excited about the inclement weather - he was saying stuff like: "Ladies and gentlemen, today we have the worst conditions in living memory for an official Victorian cross country race! None of us can remember such low temperatures! And such steady rain! It is only 8 degrees and they are half way through the open 16 kilometres as we speak - they have another two whole laps to go!"

And I'm out there slogging through the mud, thinking Great ... just another two laps! Thanks for the reminder!

Soon it was all over and we went to Nellie's for afternoon tea. She had an open fire! and hot food! We ate and talked about the race, staring out the picture window onto Nellie's garden, the rain pouring down once again.

Running with the 'roos.

The running group had a Sunday morning run at Oaklands Park, about twenty kilometres from Melbourne.

It's a great spot for running, a public open space that was Melbourne's last volcano about six thousand years ago resulting in much of the north west of Melbourne having a rocky surface - apparently that's why growth spread south and east instead of north and west where getting to the 'bush' now is consequently much quicker.

We set off at 8:15 with late winter sun just up and shining. It was undulating and damp, with patches of old forest remaining here and there, old gnarled gum trees that looked thousands of years old.

There were kangaroos everywhere, small bunches of them standing about in the weak early-morning sunlight, some bouncing along and some even reclining on their huge haunches. Several had joeys in their pouches. You've never seen anything cuter than a kangaroo with her baby tucked into her front 'pocket'. We also saw a pair of kangaroos 'boxing' each other playfully.

With all this entertainment, we were done sooner than we realised.

Some parts of the trail had been solid rock, evidence of the original lava flows.

Wonder if the 'roos were around in those days?

Meet 'our' donkey.

We visited the Donkey Shelter last year and sponsored a donkey, Katie. She is beautiful. You can read about her and the other donkeys by clicking on them at the website.

They're amazing creatures - and extremely long-lived, which is why many of them are in the refuge, some of them outlive their elderly owners.

This particular refuge receives no funding at all from government (yet they'll hand out 'grants' to all kinds of dubious lobbies that shout loudest) and is completely funded by contributions and the selflessness of its director, Dr May Dodd, who has given her life to run the refuge.

That's priceless.

The race at Bendigo and a phone call from Davey's forever home.

We had two women's teams and three men's teams competing in the Harcourt to Bendigo relay. I ran the third leg in Division 5 (plodders), a relatively flat 7.5 kilometre section from the end of the water race to Sedgwick.

The water race segment goes through a restricted area, normally open only to the local water authority. It is hilly and rocky. I climbed one of the hills to see if I could see the runners approaching. From high up I could see them snaking through the valley like ants. I scampered down again to wait for them to come through.

Soon the first runner came into sight down a rocky path through a kind of gorge. It was S., our leading female runner, ahead by over two minutes from the next runner (the women started first). S.'s effort turned out to be a course record for that leg. Soon, my runner came through, we slapped hands and I was away. We had to beat the Coburg team which was just ahead of us on the ladder. Their runner edged past me half way through our leg, got out to about fifty metres. Close to the next changeover he was just twenty metres ahead and then shock! he took a wrong turn. I sprinted past him to the changeover, slapped D's hand and urged him on.

Once again, we were passed by the Coburg runner and then, horrors - at the second last checkpoint, our runner wasn't ready. He was still dragging off his tracksuit and lost a few precious seconds. In the confusion, D. fell badly, grazing himself in several places.

But we had M. as last runner, and he has a kick like no other. He 'sat' on the Coburg guy for most of the way and then turned on the gas and sped away for a win by 100 metres at the finish which was a lap of the Bendigo Athletics track.

Our division seven team also had an easy win, while our top team lay in fourth place until the athletics track when our runner out-sprinted the Geelong runner to pick up bronze. The women's team silvered in division 1 after leading for most of the 48 kilometres.

Then it was time to eat.

*

When we arrived home we had a phone call from Davey the foster greyhound's new home - he has settled in well and is getting along famously with their other dogs. That's great news. I'm looking forward to the next foster.

Racing at Bendigo.

The annual 48 kilometre relay from Harcourt to Bendigo is on tomorrow. Looks like I'm doing the 'Hogan's Road' leg of 8.6 kilometres. Never run that before, but some of the others are horrendous.

Two years ago I ran the third leg which was five kilometres on a flat road then five kilometres uphill, all the way. Last year I had the water-race leg which was a fascinating experience. It runs along an open concrete 'water race' which is basically a sluice - they used to call them aqueducts in roman days - to carry water from a catchment area to Bendigo, the only city in Australia NOT TO HAVE BEEN BUILT ON A WATER SOURCE! Isn't that amazing? They built a city with no source of water! The reason is that Bendigo grew up around the gold diggings in the Gold Rush of the nineteenth century. It was a 'dig for gold' area rather than a 'pan for gold' area like Ballarat.

Right. History out of the way. So last year I ran along this acqueduct thing that they open up occasionally to send thousands of gigalitres of water into Bendigo. T. is running this leg tomorrow.

The relays end at the Bendgo Athletics Centre and then afterwards we are having a giant afternoon tea at L's house in Bendigo.

Lookin' forward to it.

Here's a picture of T. in the last race two weeks ago at Bundoora. The threatening rain clouds did not eventuate, the sun came out and it was quite a nice day despite the cold southerly.

Davey's off to his forever home tomorrow.

They usually go through at least two or three foster home experiences, but Davey the foster Greyhound is off to his forever home tomorrow after having just one foster home.

Going to be hard to let him go.

He's going to a house with (a) two cocker spaniels, (b) a poodle and (c) a nine year old boy.

Yep. Davey's going to be just fine.

Goldie's going to be lonely again. Until the next foster 'hound comes along.

Soon.

A long walk on a Saturday afternoon.

We have kept Davey the foster Greyhound for a further week and spent this past weekend at the beach.

Saturday was bitterly cold yet again. The dogs were up for a big walk and we set off at around one 0'clock after an early lunch. We made our way through the streets of Rye and found ourselves at the beach after probably 30 minutes or so.

All the while Goldie the Brittany was pulling hard on the leash while trying to sniff every tree, bush, shrub, fence post, you name it, stopping suddenly one minute, then tearing off at a hundred miles an hour the next, just about pulling our arms out of their sockets. (She is truly a terror to walk. It's not her fault, Brittanies were bred to flush, retrieve, point etc. They love nothing better than to tear about the fields searching out smells. Walking down the street on a leash is not in the Brittany list of favourite instincts.) However, Davey was happy to lope along happily beside us.

So we arrived at the beach and of course I immediately released Goldie to tear off in sheer doggie joy, a ginger and white flash against the white sand and grey winter sky.

(The beach here is still dog-friendly. When the last beach is banned from having dogs run free, I'm moving to Mars.)

We walked several kilometres along the beach and the sun came out. It actually got quite warm. Goldie ran in and out of the water and even Davey splashed along in the shallows.  I guess we'd been going for about an hour, so we stopped for a rest on the sand. Several other dogs and their owners happened by and all the dogs had a good sniff.

Soon we walked up the beach to the Blairgowrie shops. There were a few late lunchers at the cafe, but no sign of Frank the Fat Dog. Probably home in front of the fire.

We walked back home through the hilly streets of Blairgowrie. Davey was tiring but Goldie was still pulling like mad.

They each got a nice bone to chew in the weak winter late afternoon sunshine.

 

 

Davy's assessment.

We have to do a dog assessment on our foster greyhound, Davy. We're his first foster home and the assessment, along with those from two further foster homes, will help place Davy in his 'forever' home. Of course, we want him to go to the right home.
 
But we don't want to 'oversell' him, if you know what I mean, so that he ends up in just any old home. He will need care and attention and the right treatment. A well-fenced house, lots of company and affection, and quality food. Most of all, company. There is nothing sadder than a lonely dog. They are pack animals and without the pack, they are miserable. I personally regard leaving any dog (that been brought up in a pack situation) on its own as borderline cruelty.
 
He's really a perfect dog. Doesn't need a lot of exercise, just a couple of walks morning and night (will cope with more of course). In fact, our Brittany needs fare more exercise than most greyhounds do. It's a complete misconception that they need heaps of exercise.
 
He is fine with children (we had a house full of them the other night) and is sociable with other dogs (except for the tiny chihuahua in a knitted vest he saw the other day, it seriously looked like a rat wearing a coat).
 
He walks well on the lead, travels happily in the car, and is happy to lie around the house when he's not doing anything else.
 
He learned well - his first day with us, he couldn't even climb stairs and he 'shied' at the television. Now he strolls around the house as if he owns it.
 
He is clean, doesn't smell and doesn't shed a great deal at all. He eats everything he is given. We totally should keep him ourselves. Like we did with Billy.  (We'd have a hundred and one  greyhounds if we did that. Although I can think of worse things!)
 
I hope he finds a wonderful home.

Race day and the weather is not looking good.

Here's the forecast.
 
'Strong and chilly southerly winds, squally during showers.' Melbourne's chilly wind is notorious.
 
Not looking forward to the Victorian 12 k cross country championship. It's going to be like running through the Scottish highlands with a glowering sky and a chill wind cutting through us. Might have to wear gloves.
 
It's on in three hours.
 
We just decided to leave the dogs at home, they have a warm shed complete with a sofa and blankets. The lap of luxury, really. They've just had their chicken frames and their cooked mince. They'll go and sleep it  off while we're gone. Then we'll walk them when we get home.
 
If it's not raining.

Sandown road relays.

Back to Sandown Raceway for the road relay championships last Saturday.

We've had some wild weather conditions at Sandown over the years but the wind blowing into your teeth down the back straight was the strongest I can remember. Added to that, the back straight is an uphill stretch for five hundred metres. At least the sun was shining.

We had to run two laps of 3.1 kms each. The guys running earlier legs were saying don't worry about the rest of the course, just try and stick with someone up the back straight into the wind.

Tom started our division, handed over to Theo who passed onto to Tony and then me. Sure enough, it was a cruise until the wind hit as you turned left at the base of the hill climb. When I reached the hill on the second lap, I glanced around and there were several runners running single file directly behind me for protection from the wind.

Our first three runners had built a lead of over two minutes giving me the luxury of anchoring the team to an easy victory. It was only division seven but a win's a win, right? We also had teams in divisions one and three and two women's teams as well. Tracy ran her best time ever in her second relay for the team.

Afternoon tea followed the warmdown - Seth from SF brought along a bunch of US candy - 'Watchamacallits' - and there were cakes, fruit and other yummy things. That's the best part of a race meeting.

Davey tried some parmigiano reggiano.

He loved it.

OK, it was just a small sliver. And usually we buy the local product, but occasionally, the imported stuff comes home in the shopping bag. Just occasionally.

And occasionally, the dogs get a little taste. They love cheese.

Davey the foster greyhound has been with almost two weeks and has visited:
(a) the beach
(b) a coffee shop
(c) Sunday lunch at relatives
(d) the running shoe shop where the man who works there owns a greyhound and thoroughly enjoyed Davey visiting.

So his socialisation is coming along just fine. And he gets along fine with Goldie, the 12 year old Brittany.

He is a table surfer, however. Not aggressively so, but if he happens to be passing by the kitchen (as you do when you're a dog) and if a plateful of buttered bread happens to be the counter (as it frequently is); well, you just help yourself to a slice, don't you?

(They are so gentle in their actions, they just kind of glide by - and in one seamless movement, they pick up the item of food and keep walking.)

Then he came back the other way and took the next piece. Yum!

We tried him with a piece of apple. He kind of crunched it a bit, with a thoughtful expression, then ever so gently, spat it out!

Deadly surf complete with battering rams. Scary.

I couldn't run with shoes on at the weekend because of a massive blister on my heel, due to stupidly wearing a new pair of running shoes without socks.

I thought, some salt water will help it and I can enjoy a barefoot run on the beach.

So I went to Portsea 'back' beach (Portsea is on a very narrow peninsula with a gentle north-facing bay beach, ideal for swimming, on one side and one of the most dangerous ocean beaches in the world on the other).

Man, was it wild! The tide was in and the waves were washing right up to the top of the sand. The beach has quite a severe rake and so that when the tide is in and you on are the beach, the waves appear to build up several storeys high - they tower over you, it is quite frightening. (This is the area where Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt was drowned on a solo swim in 1967.)

There were not many people on the beach, just a few rugged up in coats, scarves, hats, boots, gloves etc. Fails me how you could actually walk along whilst in that get-up. It wasn't that cold, maybe 10 or 11 degrees - Celsius. Plus there were a couple of kids scampering about with some dogs.

It was late afternoon and the heavy black clouds were occasionally broken by flashes of sun which reflected off the water to create a kind of blinding light diffused by the spray. You know, like the apocalyse.

So I'm running up the beach imagining the apocalypse, with giant waves breaking and threatening to wash me out to sea. I ran to one end of the beach, then to the other end - the stretch is bookmarked by rocky caves which jut out into the water.

While I was running, I saw three or four huge timber posts being washed in further along the beach. You totally would not want to be in the way when those babies came barrelling through the surf like battering rams. They were about ten feet long. (Actually, there is a mention in one of the links above about the possibility of PM Holt having been hit by flotsam and jetsam. Or one of the two, I can never remember which is which!) By the time I reached the logs, they were sitting there motionless on the sand and I nimbly leapt over them.

The run was probably only about six kilometres all up, but hard work sinking into the sand and dodging tidal waves. Then I stripped off my T-shirt and ran into the foaming water. But not too far!

And then home to a hot bath.

How do you socialise a greyhound? Take him out for coffee.

Took the dogs to the beach for the weekend. We don't have steps at home, but there are steps at the beach house.

Davey managed to walk up into the house, but later, wouldn't walk down again. Tried gentle coaxing, but no deal. After a while, I bent down to his level, physically lifted his forelegs with my hands and placed them alternately on each lower step. And so we made it to the ground, (the back legs followed naturally if a little awkwardly. Effusive praise followed. They are fast learners, so no trouble with steps after that.

First, we went to the beach. It is always exciting to take a dog to the beach when you are not sure of whether they have seen water and waves before. Some of the foster dogs we have had in the past have been terribly frightened of waves (at first).

Davey was fine, but he's very curious and spends more time glancing around than looking straight ahead. Goldie tore on ahead, wearing her best Tartan coat.

Then it was time for some socialisation. Where better than the Blairgowrie cafe? It was a bright, sunny morning so there were lots of people out. We found a table and immediately some children came over and started petting Davey, while a couple of fifty-something English ladies, clearly dog-lovers, admired him and asked how long he had been out of 'captivity'!

Meanwhile, Frank the Fat Local Dog walked around looking for tidbits and various other dogs sat by their owners' tables. Goldie sat, watching.

Davey enjoyed the attention. And lots of people got to see how gentle and well-accepted the greyhound was. It is not always the way. After all, a very large brindle dog wearing a muzzle (legally required until the fostering process is finished) can sometimes give a different impression to that conveyed by, for example, a cute ball of fluff Shih-Tzu wearing a pink ribbon and sitting on its owner's lap.

Of course, Davey's Burberry coat helped. You should have seen him. What a sight.

Then it was enough socialisation and back to the beach house for a Very Large Bone each, enjoyed in the sun in the backyard.

Davey the Greyhound's first night.

Davey arrived yesterday. He is a big, friendly Greyhound, fawn brindle. Davey is only three and his racing career recently ended.

We had a look at his papers. Davey's winnings were $75. For some reason, I don't know why, reading that makes me sad.

$75.

The poor dog. A princely, aristocratic, noble, elegant masterpiece of nature, and he's tossed out because he only earned $75.

Anyhow. Last night was the first time he spent in a house in his life (as far as we know). It certainly appears that way. He is unfamiliar with everything in a house. He jumped when the TV was turned on. He was fascinated with the curtains.

Goldie the Brittany was all over him, jumping around like a pup.

Apart from being unfamiliar with domestic surroundings, Davey was quite calm and serene, as most Greyhounds are, and slept on his allotted soft mattress most of the night.

A couple of times, he woke, walked into the bedroom, went to the window, poked his head behind the curtains, had a look out, then went back to bed.

In the morning, we took him for a walk to the shop to get the paper. He bounced along enthusiastically, wearing his greyhound coat in the cold morning air.

Davey will stay for three weeks. Then he will go to two further foster homes and, after he is assessed, will be put up for adoption.

The running week.

After the Victorian 15k road race last Sunday morning (how I hate running on Sunday mornings!) spent a pleasant afternoon at Thomastown indoor pool, with plenty of time in the spa and steam room.

Still a bit sore on Monday, so jogged around Princes park in biting cold conditions, then backed up on Tuesday with the group for a session of three ten-minute hard runs with a three minute rest break in between each.

Wednesday in the gym, then back to Princes Park on Thursday - with my new ASICS DS trainers (man, those shoes are light, I felt like I was flying!) - for a session of six 600 metre surges. Right heel started feeling a bit hot towards the end. Jogged back to the university track, took off the shoe and, oh my, a giant blister - the inner of my clean new shoe was soaked in blood. I hate that.

I'm taking the weekend off. Maybe get into some salt water.

A greyhound is coming to our house on Thursday.

We will be fostering Davy, a brindle male, three years old, for three weeks. He has failed his racing career and would be a candidate for death or Asia were it not for the Greyhound Adoption Program.

It will be his very first experience in an actual house, having lived in kennels. That's correct, three years in kennels. He will be fostered in three different households by volunteers to help him get used to living with people (and other pets) in houses.

When they first go to a house, they shy at stairs, do not see glass (be careful with glass doors) and are generally unfamiliar with many other aspects of being a domesticated animal.

I will let you know how Davy gets along.

Running through winter.

What's colder, a south-westerly off Bass Straight (one of the roughest stretches of water in the world) or a northeasterly off the Victorian Alps?

Last night it was the wind off the snow. I could feel it 'burning' my cheeks as I ran north along Sydney Road as part of an 8k run including a lap of Princes Park. Brr.

The problem with Melbourne's weather (if it is a problem, which it probably isn't) is its unpredictability. Most really cold places have a predictability that allows you to accurately know what to wear or pack. Melbourne's weather can turn from one extreme to the other. One summer we were running in 42 degrees celsius (100-plus in Fahrenheit) when a cool change reduced the temperature by 24 degrees to just 18 celsius in thirty minutes.

Equally, in winter, a bitterly cold wind can spring up, making the wearing of several layers necessary. So it's possible to be caught out without hat, gloves or rainproof jacket.

Well, we have passed the winter solstice and the days get longer from now on.

When I got home, Goldie was bouncing around like a new pup, ready for a walk. She walks rain or shine. Not like poor Billy, who would dig his heels in at the sight of a wet footpath. We miss him very much.

Goldie fails to execute perfect left turn at full speed.

Goldie the Brittany is losing control of her rear legs when doing something like a full-stretch run along the hallway with a hard left leading towards the back door.

Mid-turn, her rear legs flop, failing to achieve traction on the polished floorboards, and she falls over before scrambling into position for a straight-ahead surge at the door.

Of course, if she walked delicately, this wouldn't happen. But Brittanies don't walk delicately, so this is an unachievable hypothetical.

The only solution so far is to move the persian rug from the bedroom to the hallway. It doesn't really 'go' there but it gives Goldie adequate traction, even if she does move it slightly each time she tears past. I'm forever now straightening it up.

Oh well. Can't have a dog falling over all the time. Off to the vet this week to check it out. Hope it's not serious. Already lost one pooch this year.

I'm sure it's just a touch of arthritis. She is 12, you wouldn't think so to look at her.

The dreaded 'double pyramid' .

Sounds like some weird instrument of torture.

It is.

It was a cold and windy night at the university track.
Goldie the Brittany watched from her warm position amongst the tracksuit tops under the judges' stand as we 'warmed' up.

The 'pyramid' is a training session where you run intervals of increasing distance, and then go 'down the other side' - like a pyramid. In this case - after a long warmup and stretching exercises - we ran a 200, 400, 800, 1600 (the metric mile), 800, 400 and 200 with two minutes rest in between each repeat.

Then we did it over.

Then it started raining. Then we packed Goldie into the car and drove home to a warm bath and a warm house. And a hot dinner.

Down the coast.

Three day weekend at the coast. As if we didn't walk around all day, we had a run on Sunday night as well.

Started at Rye pier about 4.30, running up the coast along the foreshore to Rosebud. About 13k round trip. Back at the start in the darkness, I peeled off my running gear and plunged into the bay at the end.

My, that water was cold! Makes you wonder how anyone survived those shipwrecks all those years ago. It's not as if they'd run 13ks to build up a sweat.

Cold, dark, muddy.

We met at the track and jogged over to Princes Park near Optus Oval. A long warm up and lots of stretching then the session: 6 x 1600 metres, around the top of Princes Park, along the muddy inner track, finishing at the opposite side of the park, with a 300 metre jog back to the start in between each.

It's a killer session, one you don't want to do too often. Times from 5:55 to 6:05, with the last one in about 5:50.

Just had two fairly easy runs at the weekend, about 8k on Saturday and about 12k on Sunday. Still a bit sore from the killer session and trying to run the soreness out. It's hard in winter. Need some sunshine.

This is, like, impossible.

The guy, Bekele, has run 60 second quarters for an entire five kilometres.

Well, a couple seconds over. 12:37.35. That's 7.35 seconds.

That is flying. As Craig Mottram said, the guy is off the planet.

How ironic - Bekele is not even running that distance at Athens, he's running the 10,000.

Bring it on.

Racing to afternoon tea.

In the cold winter sunshine on Saturday afternoon T. lined up for the Victorian 10k Road Racing Championship - her first race as a fully-fledged registered club runner.

Sure, she's done the odd fun run and she jogs around Princes Park. But competitive running is something else. It doesn't have to mean coming first or even fiftieth, it's enough to take part in an organised race.

The nerves beforehand were something to see! Butterflies verging on upset tummy, worried about coming last, worried about sore ankles, wanting to pull out just before the race. I'm so cruel, I just laughed.

The venue was the motor racing circuit at Sandown racecourse. Three and one third laps. Bang! The gun went off and they were away, a field of about two hundred. As they ran anti-clockwise down the main straight past the grandstand I walked a lap of the circuit clockwise - with Goldie the brittany rugged up in her tartan coat - and watched the field coming towards me after one lap, then two, the three.

T. stopped the clock at just over 53 minutes, an excellent first-up effort.

Then it was the mens' race and T. took over minding Goldie while I ran, our team of fifteen being the best turn-out in some years. The total field was three hundred or so. It's a great course, the curves all meld into one and the laps are over before you know it. The sun shone weakly, reflecting off the asphalt surface and creating quite a glare.

Then the finish line was in sight and I sprinted to the line, remembering the club mantra we had recited before the start: 'The faster you run, the faster you get to eat Boston Bun!'

And after a quick warm-down and stretch, we set into our afternoon tea spread with gusto.

Goldie getting used to the single life.

I wish I knew how they really feel.

We had our first weekend at the beach without Billy. Goldie ran around the backyard looking for ... what? Billy? I wish I knew.

We had some visitors, the sister-in-law and her partner. And their two dogs, a Shih-Tzu Pomeranian cross (Lucky) and a cross between that dog and a Cocker Spaniel (Sooty). Literally. Lucky is Sooty's father (sire?). Lucky got lucky!

And how cute is Sooty. A small dog, but with spaniel paws, spaniel ears and those beautiful spaniel eyes!

In they came at the front door, or should I say in they flew like two flying doormats. A growl from Goldie was the initial greeting, then we let them all out into the back yard to sort things out for themselves.

They tore around like rabbits on steroids.

After a while we opened the back door and in they flew at a hundred miles an hour. They spent the next five minutes investigating the house, then they found themselves a comfortable spot in the lounge room and settled down.

Except Sooty kept jumping up onto the couch. Her 'owners' kept telling her to get down, and we kept telling them she was fine. (If you have dogs you are training to keep off the furniture, it would not be a good idea to visit us, as your training will go right off the rails!)

I ended up with Sooty in my lap, stroking her beautiful black curls and whispering sweet nothings into her spaniel ears. She loved it. Goldie wasn't too fussed, she's over being jealous.

Went for a late afternoon walk to the beach. Go crazy, dogs! What a sight. Bittersweet, of course, as we were missing Billy's familiar lope along the sand.

At the end of the weekend, back home to the suburbs. Goldie went outside to an empty back yard, looking for ... what?

Eight is more than enough.

Moving into winter has its advantages.

One of them isn't running a hill session at Royal Park. For one thing, it's dark and you tend to trip over dead branches. For another thing, the pathway we use is getting old and cracking up, making it hazardous.

Last night it had also been raining, and there's nothing worse than doing stretches on cold, wet ground.

On the bright side, it wasn't cold, in fact I probably overdressed, expecting it to be colder.

I jumped off the tram from work at Royal Park station, drove to the University, changed in the car, ran in to pick up any stragglers, found Theo and Andrew and jogged with them back to Royal Park, about a mile.

The group was halfway through its warmup routine and soon we were steaming and ready to start. It's a great group, with runners of all abilities from really fast to really slow and everyone encourages each other.

The course is a 550 metre pathway starting at Flemington Road by the tennis court and ending where it crosses the West Coburg tramline which snakes through the park. (The course can be seen as the top lateral of the triangular shape appearing above the Figure 8 in the map.) It is a gradual rise to begin with the gradient increasing 150 metres from the end.

The session was eight of these, jogging back down after each. This is a regular training session, once every month or so, but the most repeats I had done for probably a few years was six, so this was going to be testing.

I completed the eight by running more conservatively than I have done in the past and then blasting the last one in about 1:43.

Jogged back to the University track then home for dinner.

Running around the zoo in the cold and dark.

While we were warming up, or trying to warm up, someone remarked he had been colder once - in Canada.

Thanks dude. This is Australia. It's meant to be a Mediterannean climate.

We started at the south-east corner of Princes Park, after doing run-throughs (fast warm-up semi-sprints over eighty metres) on the darkest and wettest section of the entire Princes Park circuit. Like, can we do it somewhere I can actually see? Guess not. The coach is such a creature of habit.

So the session goes like this: run hard for eleven minutes, jog gently for three. Repeat four times.

Heading north we turned into Princes Park at the old railway line, followed it through to Royal Park, hard right at Royal Park station, left at Park Street by which time the first eleven minutes had elapsed. Three minutes jogging found us on Oak Street where we launched into the second repeat, up through Royal Park to the Hockey Centre (Melbourne is basically filled with parks, gardens and sports centres!) finishing outside the Zoo entrance. The third repeat ran clockwise around the zoo ending back in Princes Park with the final repeat a circuit of Princes Park ending up back at the track (which can be seen at the bottom right of the Royal Park link above - look for the red track encircling a white pitch).

Not so cold now. We were steaming. It was a long hard session, so into the showers after warm-down stretches and off to a well-earned dinner.

Vale, Billy.

Billy died yesterday after the very fast onset of a suspected brain tumour.

We adopted Billy from the Greyhound Adoption Program at age eighteen months.

He apparently would not run and we suspect he was treated cruelly, as he was afraid of most men.

Billy was white and fawn, the most beautiful colour, with a fawn love-heart shape on his side. He joined our twelve-year-old Brittany, Goldie, as part of the family. We had also adopted Goldie, aged nine, when her elderly owner had died. Goldie was the alpha dog and they got on fine. They would sleep with their heads on each other, or occasionally, sitting on each other!

Gradually Billy overcame his fears and was extremely well-adjusted and happy. When he became excited, usually at the mention of the three key words in his life - walk, beach and chicken - he would pick up the nearest soft object, such as a soft toy or a shoe, and throw it in the air or maybe just go and place it on the lounge room floor.

We spent much time at the beach where Billy would break out into a kind of half-hearted gallop - you could tell he was never going to be a racer. And why should he? They were originally court dogs in the days of the Pharaohs, not money-making machines for cruel people with dollar signs in their eyes looking for a quick buck.

After visits to the beach, we would always go sit in the sun outside the Blairgowrie cafe, where dogs frequently outnumber people.

Billy's fifteen minutes of fame occurred when he was photographed at the launch of the University of Melbourne Canine Blood Bank, (that's not him in the picture) an important new veterinary facility. His photo appeared in the Melbourne Herald Sun, Australia's largest selling daily newspaper.

He also appeared at several Greyhound Adoption Program promotions in shopping malls, where these docile and beautiful dogs go on display for children to pat - a PR exercise necessary because so many still believe they are aggressive or vicious dogs.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

So, vale Billy.

It's hard coming home and having to clear out their bedding, put away their harness, look at their empty kennel.

And then, with tears welling in your eyes, you think, oh my, it's only a dog.

Thank God.

I think you know what I mean.

Dog news.

Billy the Greyhound is seriously ill, has been sick for quite a few weeks but has taken a sharp downturn. Been back and forth to the vet who is a greyhound specialist, he's very good so Billy is in the best of hands.

Could be a brain tumour, off to a specialist tomorrow. It's not looking good for Billy.

Goldie the Brittany continues to astound with her robustness and energy. If you want a hardy dog, get a Brittany. But only if you can exercise it a couple of hours a day.

If not, a greyhound may be perfect. Despite a reputation for needing exercise, they are happy with going out a couple of brief times a day and the rest of the time they lay around. And they are extremely clean dogs and shed very little hair.

Fifty years since the four minute mile.

To the day.

So it was an appropriate moment to do a track session consistently of 1000m repeats at the old university track surrounded by sandstone buildings and playing fields.

It was a cold evening but we soon warmed up. We had brought Goldie the Brittany spaniel along - she was tied up just off the track near the finishing post watching everyone with great interest and getting plenty of attention and pats.

It was to be a tough session with just sixty seconds 'rest' between repeats.

After an extensive warm-up, we started.

Went through the first 1000 in 3.29. Then a 3.32. At this point, Hamish's session was over due to a slight hamstring twinge. I was alternating in the lead with Theo. A 3.33 brought us up to half way. The fourth repeat clocked in at 3.36 and then a 3.38. I dashed out the sixth repeat in 3.18 with a fast last lap. Finished! Two kilometre warm-down, twenty minutes of stretching, then home to a warm house and dinner.

Won't be breakin' any four minute miles soon. At least I'm still getting around the track.

Cross country race meeting.

Well it wasn't so muddy. Two loops of a three kilometre course around the equestrian centre, with a sand obstacle, a couple of low jumps and one splashy section. No hills, so it was a fast course.

Lots of people brought their dogs - wire-haired terriers, labradors, cockers and more all furiously sniffing the ground curiously and wondering what all the horsey smells were about.

It was a cold day and we all needed several layers before and after our relay legs.

It was a mad scramble to get everyone's names onto team sheets and aware of what leg they were running. You always have someone who gets lost on the way or arrives late ar doesn't turn up at all.

This year all went to plan. Men's Division One led after the first runner, but faded to ninth place. Division Five led all the way to record an easy victory as did Division Seven. (These teams may be talented beyond their divisions - it is hard to 'seed' teams as personnel may change from winter to winter - looks like we have more depth in the lower divisions this year.) The women's team numbers were depleted with illness and injury this time round.

Following the last runner hitting the line, afternoon tea ensued with copious amounts of muffins and orange cake being consumed.

After the awarding of pennants, the wind got stronger and we all eventually drifted off home in the fading light to warm baths and steaming hot dinners.

Tomorrow, we run in the mud.

Winter racing season starts tomorrow. After drought conditions for months, the heavens opened last night and it hasn't stopped raining.

The cross-country course will be rivers of mud by 1.30pm tomorrow afternoon.

This will be fun. Everyone is bringing something for afternoon tea which we will eat, steaming from our run and covered in mud.

Off to the vet.

Billy has a sore head and shies away when we go to pet him. The vet says he has a cold. He may also have a kidney problem as he is drinking to excess. The blood test result comes back tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Goldie has a little ... incontinence problem. It's back on the little blue pills for her.

She is also going deaf.

Running on the plateau. And the dog goes wild.

There's a particular kind of joy running through green fields that appear to be at sea level, but then you round a curve or breast a hill and see before you, spread out like a photographic tableau from National Geographic, a vista so amazing you draw an involuntary breath.

Unless you're running so hard, you're already breathing at full capacity.

Which is what I was doing. I was actually chasing a dog. Goldie, Brittany Spaniel and instinctive flusher of game, pointer to rabbits and retriever of ducks, was going totally ape. (Can a dog go 'ape'?)

Running madly across the fields, sniffing a wombat warren here, a rabbit trail there, evidence of kangaroos, wallabies, echidnas and a hundred other creatures. Then there were the grazing cows in the field across the valley, looking like little plastic toys.

At the top of the hill, the view stretched over Wilson's Promontory and the surrounding bay. seemigly hundreds of kilometres of stark, stunning land and seascape. You just gaze at it and wonder at the madness going on in the rest of the world.

Meanwhile, Billy the greyhound just trotted along, hardly looking up. They're supposed to chase rabbits. Yeah, right.

Next day after breakfast, I set off on a nine kilometre run as described by Lisa. Simply follow the road, taking each left-hand turn. You could partially see the route on the perimeter of the valley. First kilometre, slight downhill to the river. Left turn. A rise. Another kilometre to another left turn. Another gradual rise, two kilometres, not too hard. A cheery wave to a passing farmer in his ute, dog on the back tray.

Then another left turn and suddenly, a sharp gradient came into view. This time it kept going. Four kilometres of relentless hill. Just when I thought it couldn't keep rising, another left turn. This was the home stretch, a steep downhill sloughing off all the altitude gained over the course.

I could see the house nestling in the valley and ran towards it, glad the hard part was over.

Four 1500s in the dark.

That's murder on the legs. Run 1500 metres, take a jogged 300 metre break, repeat four times.

This stuff seems a lot harder since daylight saving ended. It's cooler and we're running in the dark.

I got home to be greeted by two wet noses. OK, dogs, a walk around the block will help get the lactic acid out of my legs I guess.

Mud bath.

A Brittany and a Greyhound make a comic sight when you're out walking them.

Saturday was hot so we took Goldie and Billy to the Merri Creek, a shady watercourse that is a tributary of the Yarra River. After a few kilometres we came to an enclosed football pitch where we let the dogs run off-leash.

Goldie needed no encouragement to tear around, typical Brittany she is; however Billy is a lazy greyhound and I usually have to run around like crazy in order to get him to do the same. Eventually he broke into a full gallop and did so for at least, oh, ten seconds.

The grass on the pitch was lush and green. In the middle was a round hole, a couple of feet across, for watering access. Above the pipe outlet, the hole was full of mud. Billy pawed at it, and then rolled himself in the mud. He stood up, chocolate brown from his nose to his tail. back home, I had to hose him down to return him to his pristine white-and-fawn state.

More dogs than people eating breakfast at the Blairgowrie cafe.

It's true. I counted twenty-seven dogs and only twenty-five people at the outdoor cafe.

Majority: Golden Retrievers. Then Yellow Labradors, Black Labradors, Cavaliers, Beagles, Poodles, standard and miniature, those little grey terriers with mustaches, a Spoodle, a couple of German Shepherds and a bunch of friendly mutts. One woman had a Shih-Tzu sitting up on its own chair.

And of course, Goldie the elderly Brittany who tears around like a pup and Billy the Greyhound who is so shy and retiring and has such beautifully 'mascaraed' Cleopatra-like eyes people think he's a girl.

It was a beautiful still Autumn morning, the sky meeting the sea in a gleaming seamless silver haze. We walked the three kilometres to the cafe and took up a table in the sun. (We had intended going for a 10 kilometre run, but decided a lazy amble to the food store in the autumn sunshine to eat bacon and eggs and drink coffee would be a grand alternative. That's dedication to training!)

Basically, if you have a dog and you like coffee, you eat at the Blairgowrie cafe. And if you don't, you don't. Dogless people are quite welcome though. As are smokers, they can sit outside.

Billy lay on the concrete (taking about five seconds to get down, he's like a camel when it comes to lowering himself) while Goldie peremptorily bumped down onto her haunches and regarded the scene with the haughty magisterial air only a senior female alpha dog (is this possible, I don't know) can muster, issuing the odd truncated bark at one or another dog.

There was a fierce-looking Doberman as well, tied up to the railing. A girl of about four came out from the cafe and started hugging his neck.

We get a lot of interest in Billy. A man with a beagle asked me how energetic he is. That's ironic, coming from a Beagle owner, thinking the Greyhound's going to be hard work.

People are surprised when they find out Greyhounds are couch potatoes. Literally in Billy's case - he has a double 'fold-out' sofa that converts to a bed. Goldie has a regular dog-pad, she's happy with that, although she does occasionally climb up onto Billy's bed. They look hilarious, sitting there like bookends.

Back on track. And more dog news.

Cranked out a nice hill training session with the group last night after yet another hiatus with back and hamstring troubles. Five times up a long hill of about 500 metres with a sharp increase in gradient over the last 100 metres.

The cross country season is coming up soon and we're all looking forward to running over hill and dale, jumping fences and leaping muddy creeks on cold Saturday afternoons followed by a steaming hot bath (not all together)!

Missed the track & field finals due to the injury.

Kept fit just by walking the dogs. Oh yes - the dogs. Goldie's been a naughty girl, barking at the cat next door and jumping into the pot plants along the fence. Billy's been OK. Bit lazy, though. You'd think a greyhound would want more exercise than a Brittany. Not Billy.

We took them to Merri Creek - where there are wide open fields near Fawkner - and let Goldie go, she was off out of sight immediately, flushing rabbits out and chasing them crazily all over the place. Billy had a good look too.

It was a hot day and the dogs enjoyed getting down into the creek and lying in the rapids after their exertions. The water is quite clean that far north.

Press release from the White House.

Spot the English Springer has died, at the very good age of 15. She was a second generation White House dog.

The White House is now run solely by Barney, the Scottish Terrier.

You can tell how civilised a society is by how it treats its dogs.

No arguments. It's true.

It just is.

Farewell, Spot. Good girl.

More boring medical stuff.

No running or race walking for a few weeks, back and hamstring are arguing with each other. I'd be running along and the hamstring would 'grab' suddenly without actually tearing, but then remain rockhard for days on end. Then it would ease, but the back would go into spasm.

I had a 3k walk race at Aberfeldie - last round of interclub - and was leading with two laps to go when the hammy locked up. Thought I'd have to pull out, but as I had never before pulled out of a race decided I wasn't going to start now. Did a quick hammy stretch and resumed - must have looked like pegleg Pete - the racewalking action is strange enough at the best of times. Held on for second in about 14:30. No real further damage to the hammy, just extremely tight for several days.

I finally went to my osteopath who always fixes this particular problem - he'd been on holidays so I was unable to see him earlier. Sure enough, he identified the condition and several manipulations later I was as good as new. I hope. Apparently the pelvis locks forward and holds the hamstring in a permanently stretched position which also pulls on the back. He ordered rest for two days then resume training. We'll see.

Meantime, on the bike at the gym, bit of swimming, exercises, etc. How. Very. Boring.

Get a life: get a dog.

Had a clean-up the other day. Packed up a large bag of blankets and towels and dropped them into the Lost Dogs' Home.

Checked out the dogs while I was there. I swear some of the dogs were talking to me - with their eyes, their expressions and their whines; desperate to have a home. Some of them have given up on humans and just lie in the corner and ignore you.

Beagles, Pomeranians, German Shepherds, a Brittany, lots of Kelpies and mixed breeds, a few scary looking pit bulls and two beautiful Collies among others.

Want a dog? Go fetch. The Lost Dogs' Home. 2 Gracie Street, North Melbourne.

Another interruption.

Came out of Thursday's training session not so well. After the 10km race Monday and the 3k Tuesday, I had followed up with a light run of a couple of laps of Princes Park Wednesday and felt OK if a little tight in the hamstrings and back.

Thursday was 600, 400, 200 times three. Left hamstring tightened up in the second 600 so that was it. I've had this before and it's usually the pelvis out and pulling the back and leg muscles with it.

Nothing Friday or Saturady and a gym and pool session Sunday with water running, swimming, a burst on the bike and some light weights. Monday, a light run to test it - not too bad but not quite right yet either. I have a 2k walk race tomorrow night so we'll see how it goes then.

How to take dogs camping.

It's not that difficult. They curl up really small in the tent. And they sleep all night! Amazing! Except for once when they got wind of some wild animals. Here's what we've been up to the last couple of weeks.

Saturday January 10

To Rye for some running and dog walking. Fine and warm, ideal for the 6.75km Portsea Twilight Fun Run. A great run in perfect conditions with the sun setting on one of the great vistas where Port Philip Bay meets Bass Strait at the 'heads'. Harder than the distance might suggest - all hills for the first 5kms, followed by a 2km slog along the sand with a 600m sprint to the finish through the ti-tree. The sand on the beach section was hard-packed and easier to run on than last year so time was faster. Tracy ran the full distance and passed a couple of runners at the end.

Sunday 11 January

Goldie the Brittany still has her plastic anti-scratch collar on - she tries to run up the steps into the house and collides with them. But she's a determined little thing and is not put off. She just tries again. But we're not taking her out for coffee in that stupid collar. Just a light run to the beach and back today.

Wednesday 14 January

More back stuff - a visit to a natural medicine practitioner who specialises in back and spinal ailments. She's a wizard and knows just what to do. She's also a dog-lover with a big black Doberman whose photo sits on the desk in her waiting room. Cute. Email me for her number.

Thursday 15 January

Goldie to the vet. Stitches out and headguard off. Thank god for that. Aberfeldie for 3km walk - about 13:30 after Tuesday's 24:30 in the State League 5k walk at Doncaster.

Friday 16 January

Racing over for the week, so we took off on a camping trip around Victoria with the dogs on board. They love travelling - anywhere. We aimed to camp somewhere along the East Gippland coast.
Afternoon stop in Sale for cool drinks in a beer garden. Later, nearing Loch Sport, grey clouds gathered. Another twenty minutes - thunder and heavy rain. The weather can change in minutes in this part of Victoria. We headed back towards Sale, a distance of about 45kms, frantically twiddling the radio to find a forecast. As we moved away from the coast, the weather improved and in 30 minutes we were pitching our tent in glorious sunshine in a camping ground in Sale.

Saturday 17 January

Leaving Sale after taking an hour's walk around - and buying some bones for the dogs at one of the butchers - we headed inland as the weather looked like moving in off the coast. Lunch in Bruthen, an afternoon stop in Omeo and then we were into the mountains. A fairly easy drive into Hotham, and then the road down the other side was a serpentine nightmare. Finally arrived in Myrtleford, where we pitched our tent next to a river. A walk for the dogs around town finished the day.

Sunday 18 January
Beechworth, via what is surely one of the most picturesque routes in Victoria through Stanley. Lunch by the lake then on to Wangaratta and another camping ground, this time equipped with a swimming pool. Luxury! A dip then a big walk for the dogs.

Tuesday 20 January

Back to Rye, taking seven-year-old Canisha, now with two front teeth missing, with us for a couple of days. Went shopping for clothes in the surf shops, lunch at Blairgowrie cafe, lazed around, built sand castles on the beach and ran up and down through the shallows with the dogs.

Thursday 22 January

Took Canisha back to Melbourne then joined the group for a training session, first time for a couple weeks. Three 600s, two 400s and two 200s. Good, hard, refreshing session with a jog around Princes Park to finish.

Friday 23 January

The weather's great again, so a couple more days camping. This time, headed to middle Gippsland and arrived at Leongatha around five after leaving Rye mid-afternoon. The usual routine of a stroll around town with the dogs after setting up camp, then back for dinner.

Saturday 24 January

Stunning countryside through South Gippsland via Toora, a town overlooking Wilson's Promontory. Stopped there and walked around the town hoping to bump into Lisa but no sign - I didn't have her address. Tracy saw a cute old-fashioned hotel with accommodation and has made me promise to take her there for our anniversary. Stayed overnight at the Best Friend Holiday Retreat, a dog-friendly camping ground that sounds way too cutesy but was actually magnificent, nestled in the Tarra Valley and complete with five or six very large enclosed off-leash areas for the dogs to run free, a fully appointed kitchen and barbecues and a chattering river with waterfall two minutes walk away. Truly magnificent. An odd thing - while there must have been at least thirty dogs in residence, it was the quietest night I have ever spent in a camping ground. Ever. All we could hear was the river gently trickling over the waterfall. Figure?

Monday 26 January

Australia Day fun run at Rosebud. 10kms from Safety Beach along the coast to Rosebud. Is there a more scenic 10km run in existence? I doubt it. Finished 26 seconds slower than last year in 36.40 for eleventh place. Tracy ran 54 minutes in only her second ever 10km race.

Operation dog.

Eleven-year-old Goldie the Brittany went off for her operation to remove two lumps, a large one in her chest area and another on her right foreleg. Neither cancerous but potentially so.

Unfortunately it came at the peak scratching season - she'd be scratching like mad at the wounds so we have one of those dreadful flared plastic things around her neck so she can't tear herself to bits. She's going to have to go on the steroid anti-scratch drug but can't at the moment as it stops wounds healing.

She keeps bumping into things with the plastic thing, it's sad but funny, poor thing.

Billy the Greyhound can't understand why she's wearing it, probably imagines she's got her head accidentally stuck inside something after some doggy investigating.

Despite the eight inch stitched scar on her chest and the three inch one on her leg, she's still full of energy. And the appetite! My god, people don't eat like this when they come out of a general anaesthetic.

More new year training.

Tracy rode her new bike while I ran. Canterbury Jetty Road to Tasman Road, then back along Browns Road to Rye and back up Melbourne Road to finish.

A tough but rewarding session, gently downhill on the way out, mainly up on the way back. It really tests you.

On Saturday, a gentle run to the beach at Flinders Street and back up Canterbury Jetty Road before Sunday's 1200 metre Pole to Pier swim at Rye.

After a 30 degree start to the day, the weather worsened towards the start of the race and the course was ultimately abandoned as the lifeguards would not have been able to see all the swimmers due to the very choppy sea.

Instead, they re-routed the course from the breakwater to the pier, and then a further 'lap' of the pier to finish (swimming underneath it close to the shore to achieve the lap).

It ended up being further than the 1200. It was a crazy race. I was slapping around like a fish out of water, excuse the inappropriate metaphor. If you can imagine swimming diagonally across a huge chop with your forward arm stroking fresh air as the wave passes by and then having your head smacked by the next swell as you stick your face up to breathe.

Anyway, I got there. A bit of cross training never goes astray, does it?

Catching up.

Posting resumes after a week or two of mourning and other business to attend to.

A couple of races prior to Christmas. Readers may know I compete in walking events as well as running. Why? Good question. They may as well have walking-on-your-hands events. And the 'judges' would still disqualify you.

Anyway, on a 36 degree Tuesday evening a 2000 metre walk had been scheduled. Due to the heat, it was reduced to 1500. The relief this provided sparked me to speed around in 6:14.29 and get it over with quickly.

On the Thursday, the training group program called for a lap of Princes park followed by 4 x 150 metre sprints progressively getting faster (through each 150). A great session, different to the usual 6 x 1200 or 10 x 400 or Princes park reps.

Another race on the Saturday - the last race before Christmas - saw a 13:33 3000 metre walk.

The following weekend found us staying in town as arrangements and preparations had to be made for my grandfather's funeral on the Monday.

We took the dogs to Studley Park for a six kilometre walk from the boathouse across to Clifton Hill and back on an extremely pleasant and mild Saturday afternoon. There are miles of walking tracks and the river winds through magnificent parkland.

The dogs loved it of course, and Billy met another greyhound. Greyhounds seem to recognise each other as being similar in kind.

The following day, we ventured to the Tan (the track around the Botanic Gardens) where I ran three laps with reasonably strong surges up Anderson Street. Tracy ran two. It was a great session and very busy, people and dogs everywhere. After, we walked through the Botanic Gardens which is one of the world's great gardens, truly astounding.

Then it was time to eat, so Lygon Street on the way home for lunch, coffee and a giant walk around all the old streets of Carlton.

Farewell Poppy.

A few days before Christmas, at age 98, a month before his 99th year, my grandfather left this earth. A tower of strength and a tower of wisdom and wit, the patriarch of the family.

He always asked me about running and then always said he hadn't run a step in his life. Yet he was healthy up until recently.

He wasn't a dog person, but loved his cats dearly.

So Christmas was subdued but a time for memories, all good. None bad.

Farewell Poppy. You went to God accompanied by a hundred million beautiful Christmas hymns sung by the world's children.