Foster Boy

I brought my new foster boy home on Monday - an enormous 9-year-old greyhound. His name is Dice and he's a model of politeness and good behaviour. He doesn't go anywhere in the house or get on any furniture without being given permission first. If he were a person, he'd hold doors open for you and take his shoes off before coming inside.

9 is not especially elderly for a greyhound, but Dice has had a hard life, and seems much older. He has Irish racing tattoos, but I couldn't find any details of his races. He may have been bred for racing, and failed to make the grade. I think he must have been hit by a car (or something) at some point. Half of his tail is missing, his hips are all misaligned with bones sticking out where they shouldn't, and he's a bit unsteady on his legs. He's also quite alarmingly skinny, but we're fixing that.

The first couple of days were - forgive the pun - a bit dicey. Freya wasn't impressed with the enormous interloper, and growled and barked if he so much as moved in his sleep. On Tuesday there was an awful (but unrelated, I think) incident when Freya got carried away running in the fields, and went missing. After 45 minutes of frantic searching, calling and sobbing, I came home to grab my bike, and found her waiting on the front lawn. I think she must have run after a rabbit, and lost us. Clever girl, working out that if she navigated her way home, she would find me eventually.

Anyway. A week later, Freya is being much more tolerant, and Dice has really come out of his shell. He's gone from spending 99% of the time lying on his bed, to following me around the house, coming to me for cuddles and even playing with his toy a bit. I hope we can find him a nice home.