run on sentences

My sister Barb and my mama Siggie have always had special dogs - and cats too for that matter.  Poo was definitely one of the best (of many "bests") and lovable (as they all are in their own way) dogs.  She was a Pomeranian who they rescued after she had been starved on a farm - tied up and only able to go around in circles.  She was found with some starving horses - some of them dead - with her sibling.  They had maybe even had to eat some of the dead horses to stay alive.  My sister and Siggie, after they heard about this, and being the kind people that they are, took both of the poms - but later one of their friends took one of them. Poo's original name was Chance.  She was pretty timid at first which is why Siggie wanted to keep her as opposed to her sister Trixie - Siggie could relate because she was a shy kid and rumor has it that she had to repeat kindergarten cause she wouldn't talk!  She got over her shyness pretty much I think.   I am not sure where the na

These three dogs lived about a mile from my house. Wishbone, on the left, is the Rottweiler , Zazou is the springer spaniel and I never did know the little guy's name. Ron, my running buddy is trying to get them to sit so he can give them a treat. The little dog wasn't often around because he could slip through the fence and often did, wandering the neighborhood. I was always grateful when I didn't see him squashed in the road. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything - I guess living with these two big guys, taught him a thing or two about not being afraid. Wishbone and Zazou weren't very friendly at first. I guess according to their human, they had been tied up a lot at first. We talked to the lady who owned them a few times when we stopped to greet the dogs. I don't think she was very happy from what she told us - sometimes too much for not knowing us at all. It took us a while to get these dogs not to not snarl at us. After they learned we had treat

All the dogs that I am writing about are not dead. I really don't want my dog blogs to turn into obituaries. In all probability, Kelty, the dog in this picture, has gone over that rainbow bridge, but I don't know for sure so this one doesn't have to end with me in tears, talking to his human - who I only saw once in all the years I visited Kelty. Kelty was a Chow or else part husky. He was a big boy (a couch of a dog, as my daughter would have called him) and when my friend Ron and I knew him, he was already 14 years old. He lived along our morning 6 mile route, in a nice big house, with a friendly gold kitty (you can see her in the background) who I never got to know mainly because she didn't have a tag around her neck (which is how we got to know the dog names) but also because cats don't want to be known like dogs do. Cats don't really seem to need the social interaction of random runners passing by. And they have no use for milkbones. As was our hab

On Saturday when I was slogging through the first 6 miles of a long run, I saw Squirt's mom out in the yard. I wasn't sure if her name was Linda or Lori, but I knew her dog's name and I knew that I hadn't seen Squirt for a while. A little golden retriever puppy was running around in the yard and I didn't see Squirt, my friend of at least ten years and maybe more. I stopped in front of her fence. I had chatted with her before so she at least knew who I was. "Did Squirt die, Linda?" I asked, already knowing the inevitable but surprisingly painful answer. "Yes" she said. "But my name is Lori". I burst into tears. I didn't expect this reaction from myself even though I often cry over commercials on TV. I felt stupid and she got teary too. I think it may have made her happy to know her dog had such an impact on people she didn't even know very well. Squirt was one of many dogs I got to know on my running route over the past almost

We became grandparents to this sweet little boy named Desmond 5 weeks ago. In this picture he looks like he is memorizing his grandpa's face - because this grandpa will be an important part of his life. As a new grandma, everyone asks me "what is it like?"I can gush and mush and kiss him, put pictures on Facebook and talk about him all I want because it is expected. I can tell everyone how cute he is and the things I want to do with him - run a 5k, or maybe a 10k, take him to the cookie store on Fridays, and make him watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and "The Christmas Story" with me every Christmas Eve. I won't however, ever make him watch "Bambi" or "Old Yeller ". I will overlook any faults he might have - although I am sure he will be perfect. Grandpas however, go about being grandpas a lot more quietly. It doesn't mean that they love their grandchildren any less, they just leave the gushing to the grandma. Despit