Livingston


Italian Greyhound
Picture of Livingston, a male Italian Greyhound

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Home:Tacoma, WA  [I have a diary!]  
Age: 13 Years   Sex: Male   Weight: 1-10 lbs

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   Leave a bone for Livingston

Nicknames:
Livy, Livy-Bibby, Livy-Bivy, Colonel Livingston, The Baby Bunny, "Livington," The Little Olive-Shaped Guy, The Old Codger, Little Liver Pill, Squirmulon

Doggie Dynamics:
 Energy 
sleepyenergetic
 
 Intelligence 
sillygenius
 
 Friendliness 
aggressiveaffectionate
 
 Playfulness 
not playfulvery playful
 
 Disposition 
anxiouscalm
 

Quick Bio:
-purebred-dog rescue

Likes:
sleeping, napping, snoozing, resting, burrowing like a little weasel into our blankets, eating, barking at strange noises, snapping at the other dogs, being told how handsome he is

Pet-Peeves:
the horrible outside world, big dogs, being disturbed while he's sleeping, having his nails clipped, having his teeth brushed

Favorite Toy:
the old sugar canister filled with cereal

Favorite Food:
Wellness canned and First Mate Pacific Ocean Fish Formula (softened!)

Favorite Walk:
from the crate to a human lap

Best Tricks:
when he gets excited at mealtimes Livy will prance backwards on his hind legs while licking his lips and hand-jiving with his front paws

Arrival Story:
Livy was adopted in August of '06 from IGCA Rescue Texas. He had been a stray but one day he wandered into someone's house, through the cat-door, and went straight to the kitchen. The nice lady whose home he invaded tried to find this bold little guy's owner but eventually had to take him to a shelter in Livingston, TX (guess where he got his name.) From the shelter he was turned over to the Rescue where he got to be fostered by a lovely couple with two great iggies of their own. Livy was adopted along with Monty and they're pretty close. Livy is less fond of the other dogs of the world. He's also clearly the boss of the house. "It's my bed; I just let the humans sleep in it. When I'm feeling charitable." Livingston is definitely a senior gentleman; in fact, as of some time last year he no longer has any teeth. He's gotten a little ganglier and crankier lately but he's still very loved and seems to be enjoying life.

Bio:
Livy grumbles like an old man. It's awesome. Even though he's a bit of a gruff old coot, Livy is handsome and soft (like a bunny!) with soulful eyes and an expressive face. He wins over everyone who gets a chance to meet him. His "Dad" and I are so privileged to live with this little character.

Forums Motto:
Now, where\'s my laudanum?

The Groups I'm In:
The Iggy Club

The Last Forum I Posted In:
good food for pancreatitis??

I've Been On Dogster Since:
December 16th 2006 More than 7 years!

Rosette, Star and Special Gift History

Dogster Id:
441454


Meet my family
MontyIn loving
memory of Nina
Taylor
(Adopted!)
Ida Roo
Felipe
(Adopted!)

Meet my Pup Pals
See all my Pup Pals
See all my Pup Pals
 

The Travels and Exploits of Col. Livy B. Livingston de Kanter, Esq.


Where was I?

March 13th 2007 4:07 pm
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Oh yes... this keyboard again, what what. I have to admit that I have completely forgotten where I was when I last wrote about my early life, so I will simply limit this issue to the rip-roaring good times of the past few days. Firstly, one of the pet mice died. Ripping good laugh. Her friend ate part of her too. That Hamley has what we called in the RAF "spunk." Sad really. The poor girl who died... I can't remember her name... Hildegard! That's it! No... it was something different. At any rate she was a bitter old crone, and she couldn't catch a bee to save her life... not sure why I know that... Well she's gone, and we all mourn her passing, etc. etc.

Then do you know what that bastard pater of mine did? He snuck up on me all Jerry-like and brushed my teeth. He was half done before I realised what was going on. Here I am now in my diapie unable to remember what the deuce my last months worth of food tasted like and it's driving me mad. I suppose I could just think back to this morning... they never change our food really... but no short-term memory, don't you know. Lost that in the war, what what... now... what am I doing here again... Best lie down I think.

 

It all started in South Hampton and all that rot...

February 19th 2007 5:25 pm
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You see mummy... oh I say, is that a tea cracker? No... nevermind. You see mummy was a FANTASTIC woman. She had probably hundreds of us little young uns to raise and we never knew where pater was. Someone said that he was in Antwerp once... jolly good... Well mum couldn't support us all so my brother Stanley and I joined up to fight the Czar, what what. We were both too young, but we made it through. Were going to give the Cossacks the ol' heave ho, what what. Stanley died, of course, the poor luckless bastard... sniper fire, don't you know. I ended up eating him for power and comfort. Fantastic organ meats, but a bit disgusting otherwise... it was only after eating my own brother that I decided that I would never be tempted again to eat myself. It was then that I asked to transferred to fight the ugh....... the... ah yes the Utu tribes of Papua New Guinea and Madagascar. Yes, and I'm not saying we didn't give the ol' Austro-Hungarian empire a bit our minds along the way. Of course we were always giving people a bit of our mind in those days... it could have been ol' Tommy Turk... the point was we gave someone a bit of our mind, and that was when I met Lucille, FANTASTIC woman. That woman could play a mean game of gin rummy with half a gallon of goat's milk in her... all while singing the entire score of HMS Pinafore. I swear I'm telling the truth! I've seen that dog practically wretching her giblets out and not miss a single note on Buttercup's entrance. FANTASTIC woman! Still writes you know....

 

Tally-ho, what what

February 18th 2007 3:02 pm
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As lazed around this afternoon with a rather sporting glass of brandy what what, I realized that I had yet to commit the numerous travels and exploits of my long life to paper. I start by staying that my life's adventures did not start, as one might expect, because of a great aura of virility or because I sought out excitement. It was rather than adventure sought me, what what, and the virility and cunning followed. In short, I am a product of my time. Great men such as myself do not produce themselves, but rather great times produce great men, tally-ho what what. I shall continue my next entry with the details of my not-so-eventful birth. There were no parting of the heavens or 21 gun salutes, as one might imagine. I hope you will care to read on. Right now I'm having the most blasted time getting the last of this brandy out of the glass and into my mouth... come here you, what what...

 
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