ArlenRic Productions - you are not in distress... you cause distress - Quartermain: The Lost City Of Gold
pouched bugs... chaucer's saucer... de-caf wolfie... doh by doze... mouse meat... ruffled feathers... sofaaa, so good!! defoxxification... table scraps... snooze puddie... the woowoo... ooouch!! melee gloriosus...	TheManx My first encounter with Manx is still a vivid memory. Manx was a rescuee, on the lam so to speak, from his previous owners because one of the children had developed an allergy to dog hair. Or so we were told. It didn't take long for us to realize that we’d been flimflammed big time. I'd never heard of Irish Wolfhounds until I met Arlene. Certainly I'd never set eyes on one and wasn't at all prepared for Manx. Manx arrived with Dan, his rescuer. In truth, Manx wasn't rescued. It was his owners who got the reprieve. Now, he was here. Arlene could barely contain her excitement. Actually, she didn't contain herself. She rushed outside leaving me to deal with the wildly swinging screen door, and reached the van before it had even stopped. I followed little knowing the fate decreed for me by some devious minded god. When I reached the van, Arlene was jumping up and down exclaiming “Wait ’til you see him". I was waiting. Manx was sprawled in the van with his front legs crossed, calmly looking out and as we gathered at the open door, he rose to his feet. My first thoughts were "Oh my god! The size of him. He's immense!. He's still getting up!"
Manx continued to calmly survey his new domain, and as far as he was concerned, there was no question but that it was His domain. The voice in my head was still jabbering away, "Christ! I'm almost six feet and he's looking down at me. I am looking UP at him". He's going to live here? Jesus, what does he eat, postmen? How many a week? We'll never get mail again! He's big enough to ride. It wasn’t until sometime later that we found out the real reason why Manx was per poocha non grata.
Manx hadn’t been looking for a career change. He’d been perfectly content where he was. He had the run of the house, which was by the way, immense, and his initial arrival there was definitely in style via an air-conditioned chauffeur driven limousine. His new owners, like me, were definitely not ready for Manx. An Irish Wolfhound puppy grows at an astonishing rate. You can sit and watch it happen. At nine months Manx was a thirty-five inches tall, one hundred and twenty pounds of puppy. He soon established himself as the boss. What he wanted, he got. The housemaid made a serious error one day when she locked Manx in the enclosed patio while she cleaned the house. He tore the screen door apart. On another occasion, when guests were expected and they didn't want to put Manx on the tennis court, they locked him out on the deck. Manx was not amused and to prove it, chewed up the teak furniture to the tune of over a thousand dollars worth. It was shortly after this one of the children suddenly developed an allergy to dog hair and Manx was looking for a new home.

ArlenRic Productions
- you are not in distress... you cause distress -
Quartermain: The Lost City Of Gold

chaucer's saucer...

TheManx
My first encounter with Manx is still a vivid memory. Manx was a rescuee, on the lam so to speak, from his previous owners because one of the children had developed an allergy to dog hair. Or so we were told.

It didn't take long for us to realize that we’d been flimflammed big time. I'd never heard of Irish Wolfhounds until I met Arlene. Certainly I'd never set eyes on one and wasn't at all prepared for Manx.

Manx arrived with Dan, his rescuer. In truth, Manx wasn't rescued. It was his owners who got the reprieve. Now, he was here. Arlene could barely contain her excitement. Actually, she didn't contain herself. She rushed outside leaving me to deal with the wildly swinging screen door, and reached the van before it had even stopped. I followed little knowing the fate decreed for me by some devious minded god.

When I reached the van, Arlene was jumping up and down exclaiming “Wait ’til you see him". I was waiting. Manx was sprawled in the van with his front legs crossed, calmly looking out and as we gathered at the open door, he rose to his feet. My first thoughts were "Oh my god! The size of him. He's immense!. He's still getting up!"

Manx continued to calmly survey his new domain, and as far as he was concerned, there was no question but that it was His domain. The voice in my head was still jabbering away, "Christ! I'm almost six feet and he's looking down at me. I am looking UP at him".

He's going to live here? Jesus, what does he eat, postmen? How many a week? We'll never get mail again! He's big enough to ride. It wasn’t until sometime later that we found out the real reason why Manx was per poocha non grata.

Manx hadn’t been looking for a career change. He’d been perfectly content where he was. He had the run of the house, which was by the way, immense, and his initial arrival there was definitely in style via an air-conditioned chauffeur driven limousine. His new owners, like me, were definitely not ready for Manx.

An Irish Wolfhound puppy grows at an astonishing rate. You can sit and watch it happen. At nine months Manx was a thirty-five inches tall, one hundred and twenty pounds of puppy. He soon established himself as the boss. What he wanted, he got.

The housemaid made a serious error one day when she locked Manx in the enclosed patio while she cleaned the house. He tore the screen door apart. On another occasion, when guests were expected and they didn't want to put Manx on the tennis court, they locked him out on the deck.

Manx was not amused and to prove it, chewed up the teak furniture to the tune of over a thousand dollars worth. It was shortly after this one of the children suddenly developed an allergy to dog hair and Manx was looking for a new home.