Rowan's Tale

I’m pleased to report that Rowan’s pressure sore on his remaining elbow is healing over, and a callus of sorts forming.  I am leaving the dressing on a for another week, but will continue to provide him with some protection and padding for the foreseeable future.  I’m thinking of shopping around for some thick opaque cotton stockings that I could cut to make a few tubes of thick but breathable fabric … perhaps kid-sizes might be a better bet, and I am more likely to find 100% cotton there too, I’d imagine. Greys have very skinny, bony legs, so I will need to give it some thought.

 

He continues to wear a heavy cotton T shirt … his coat is growing back from where it was shaved for the op (7 weeks ago now) but the darker guard hairs don’t seem to be showing as yet; the patch is quite blonde in comparison with his red tan colouration elsewhere.  Anyway, I think he must feel the cold … the clocks went back last week and the days are growing shorter.  It has been strangely mild of late, although the word is that we’re facing another hard winter.  There are certainly a LOT of berries in the hedgerows, which is usually taken as an indication … country lore says it presages cold winters …  though I would imagine it reflects past weather conditions, rather than a predictor of future ones!  Whatever, we have had torrential rain for most of the last couple of weeks; the ground is sodden and I’m terrified of Rowan slipping on the mud, especially after the chickens have had a sortie. (Though the girls bustle about like gossiping matrons, their standard of cleanliness would shame even the most slovenly housewife!)

 

We’ve had a bit of a battle of wills over the last week.  Rowan had got very used to being fed choicest morsels of food, and was NOT impressed when I tried to reintroduce the tinned meat he’d always wolfed down.  The vet said that he could stand a couple of days on low rations, so I have been putting food down, then picking it up after half an hour, to re-present it at dinner time.  It’s worked, but I do feel guilty ….

 

Last weekend my husband & I drove North to visit parents.  We have not been North for a few months, given all the upset and uncertainty over Rowan.  I was distressed when both my Mother and my brother both said that in my shoes they’d have had Ro PTS.  I wasn’t especially surprised by my Ma, as I knew she has always taken that tack … when I was a tot she had my (first) pet cat PTS because she’d lost her eye in an accident.  But my brother has always doted on Rowan, and I was surprised he took the same line.  His reasoning seems to be that it was a shame for Rowan, and I tried to explain some key points, namely, a) we took the leg and the intense pain away, b) that Rowan doesn’t remember having another leg nor does he fret over its loss, and c) he lives in the present and so should we.  He seemed to hear what I said, but there again, he has never kept a pet since he left home, 30 odd years ago.  I was surprised how upset I was.  Mother always trots out, “You have to be cruel to be kind.”  tho I am not 100% sure what she means by that, nor, I suspect, is she.  Ah well, takes her sort to make all sorts and all sorts to make the world go round I suppose!

 

Thanks for listening.

 

Polly, Rowan & Willow XXX

 

Edited to add:  I meant to mention that when I took him to the vet on Monday, he said that Rowan was one of the happiest dogs he can remember, and that he is the perfect patient, standing still and letting people do what they need.  He said he had been a little doubtful that Ro would cope with an amputation, but that he’s delighted by how resilient Rowan has proved to be, and anyone seeing the joy in Ro’s face when he greets people couldn’t  help but be moved by him.  He’s made the vet rethink some of his ideas about big dogs.  Rowan absolutely loves going to the vet, and literally dragged me into the consulting room when we were called.  He gets a lot of attention form other clients, both because of his size and beauty and the op.

Just a quick note to say that on his six week ampuversary, Rowan scaled the forbidden stairs to the first floor (erm, I think US readers say “second”?  In the UK we call the floor at ground level the ground floor. )  He knew he was being naughty and gaily pranced along the corridor running the length of the cottage before making his way to the master bedroom and jumping onto the big bed.  Scaring poor Munch the Merciless – our mocha long hair, who was happily zzz’ing away  – out of his feline mind!

I certainly made a rod for my own back whilst he was in extremis … all those hand fed choice tidbits are coming back to haunt me.  I have been reduced to warming his usual tinned food in a little (extra virgin) olive oil, before he’ll deign to even sniff at it.  He’s gone off hard biscuit, but he always used to prop one between his front paws when eating pre amp.  However, he demolished a full pigs ear this morning, with much gusto!

Some of the last of the scabbing from the op is falling away and it does look a bit raw underneath, but he’s currently on antibiotics for the pressure sore on his elbow, so I’m not too worried.  The T shirts my son donated to the cause have been a godsend.  Though they do need pinning up tightly at his waist if they’re not to get soaked when he pees.

Thanks for reading

Polly, Rowan and Willow.

 

 

Thanks for all the support and kind words Guys. As a psychologist, I know all about the locii of control and concern, and the relationship with stress levels. Knowing isn’t always the same as feeling though, and especially when something comes winging in and knocks you for six.

He’s still Rowan, he still looks at me with the golden boy gaze and the big brown eyes. Greys are the laziest dogs in the world, so I’m not seeing much difference in that he always spent most of his time roaching on the sofa! But obviously long walks are a thing of the past. He gets exhausted having to stand to have his dressing changed, tho I do think that will get easier as he gets more used to the new status quo.

I think I knew from the outset that a lot of the MY loss, as opposed to his, would be losing such a perfect physical specimen as him. I took such a lot of pleasure in people admiring him and complimenting him. It’s a bit like when someone admires your baby .. even if  – in truth –  it’s not actually that special, you think it’s absolutely the most perfect baby ever and deserving of praise and adoration … but that’s hard wired in!

I didn’t know before I had Rowan that I would feel like that … I’ve never had such a handsome dog before so it was a first for me. I’m not particularly proud of feeling that way, but I’m trying to be honest with myself and everyone here. He gets as much attention now, but of course, it’s different; it’s tinged with pity, and in some cases, an air of slight disapproval. (Something about a greyhound’s raison d’etre being to run, but that’s ignorance and dog racing industry PR.)  Though everyone we have met says how well and happy he looks. And he certainly basks in the warmth of peoples’ attention – he is such a thesp!

I don’t for one moment regret my decision – there was no alternative, and we will prevail. It’s right that we should try to live in the moment as much as we can.

On the bright side, and moving away from my navel gazing – he saw the vet yesterday who was very pleased with the improvement in his elbow, and was – I think – rather impressed by my ingenuity in devising a Rowan-proof dressing. Perhaps I should patent it. He adopted the same approach when re-dressing the pressure sore, has given me more antibiotic tablets (to hide in ripe camembert!) and we don’t have to go in again until Hallowe’en! This morning Rowan bounded up the 4 shallow stone steps to the side garden in one leap! Go Rowan!

Thanks for listening

Polly, Rowan and Willow

I still feel a bit sick when I think about the amputation.  I still feel sad watching him struggle to get up from his bed, or down from a sofa.  However, Rowan has adapted to his new state so much better than I have.  He greeted the builder, who’s come back to carry out the last bit of “snagging” in the new build with great joy, almost knocking the poor man off his feet.  He doesn’t come out into the garden as much as he did … before, if I said “Let’s go & see the chickens”, he’d be at my heel as we went up the stairs, with Little Willow bouncing on ahead.  Now it’s just me and Willow, tho on a couple of occasions he’s come up later and I have come out of the hens’ run to find him waiting for me.  But he’s started bouncing out and barking at passing dogs again, and if he’s out when one of the fighter planes whoosh past overhead, he shoots back into the cottage.  (He’s a bit of a wuss when it comes to loud noises!)

My big concern just now is the pressure sore he’s developed on his remaining elbow.  I am incredulous, as he never lies on any hard surface … it’s always the bed, or a sofa.  he never lies on just the carpet, and certainly never on a hard floor.  The vet spent ages trying to create a doughnut shaped dressing, but it didn’t stay in place.  I think I have had more success with a single adhesive dressing and a slice of non adherent dressing on top, smeared with the antibiotic cream.  The best method of keeping it all in place I’ve found is a tube cut from one of my heavy gauge opaque stockings, circled with strips of micropore tape.  I can turn the “cuffs” of the tube over so that they cover the tape and so he isn’t tempted to pull at the ends.  I think it is starting to look better … I have been cleaning it with antiseptic wipes. I am terrified he’ll damage his remaining foreleg.  In a funny way, the fact it wasn’t a cancer makes me nervous that he’ll develop OS in the other leg.  I suppose I’ve done so much reading around OS of late, it feels as if it’s waiting in the wings for me to relax, before springing out like a pantomime villain.  Stupid I know, but there you are.

His scars have faded a lot … there are places where bits of the scabbing remains, and I would love to give him a warm shower in the tub, but I’m nervous of lifting him … I suppose I could put a bath towel on the bottom of the tub to give him some grip.  I massage the site with Bio Oil, which is supposed to have a miraculous impact on scarring … pregnant ladies swear by it for fighting stretch marks.  It smells wonderful.

Feeling low today as last night I heard that a girlfriend, having survived breast cancer 3 years ago, and having had a clear scan 6 months ago, has developed secondaries which are inoperable.  Her daughter is set to wed in April, and she fears she will not be here to see it.  I think the wedding must be brought forward.  Cancer really is a bastard of a disease.

Thanks for listening

 

Polly, Rowan & Willow XXXX

 

… well, in that it was a “Bone Infarct”, which is a bit like saying a broken leg, really.  There is no sure way of telling WHY the infarct happened, but the best guess is that at some point in the past, Rowan injured his wrist joint, and there was seepage/bleeding into the bone, which formed a big clot and – in effect – killed the bone off.  So it wasn’t renewing itself, and could have fractured at any time or a bit of the bloodclot could have detached itself and he’d have had a stroke, which obviously could have been fatal.

 

The specialist vet said she cannot find anything in any of the medical journals which describes this … there are plenty of papers about canine bone infarcts, but they are all linked to hip replacement surgery, where – I gather – the implant doesn’t take and the bone dies back.  And I don’t remember Rowan ever damaging his wrist, tho the big lummox did use to bank pretty steeply dodging round the trees in the orchard.

 

Anyway, with the help of my daughter I have uploaded one of the photos my daughter in law took last weekend, showing Rowan in the orhard … there is a flight of 9 stone steps leading there form the cottage, so he did very well … now he’s able to rush up and down quite easily it seems.  And although a month ago I never thought I’d see it, he’s once more rushing out to shout at any dogs (horses, tractors) that dare to walk down in the lane past the cottage!

Thanks for reading!

love Polly, Rowan and Willow xxx

 

 

One of the features of living in a tourist area is the number of visitors dropping by for the weekend.  I am actually growing most proficient in making traditional “Devon Cream Teas”, and have even mastered the art of making “Devon Splits”, the sweet yeasty bread rolls preferred by purists to the more prosaic scone.  We downsized quite dramatically in our move,  and it soon became obvious we’d struggle to accommodate visitors in any sort of comfort.

With this in mind we have just finished the erection of a large home studio/guest annex built over the original flat roofed garage across the courtyard from the main cottage.  We have tried to be as eco conscious as possible, using English grown timber, hemp and fleece insulation and even the Western Red Cedar claddng was grown in Devonshire.  (Less red – more blonde –  than the North American grown product, but our builder said just as good.  And a lot cheaper as it didn’t have to be sailed across the Atlantic!) At the moment it’s a shell, needing decoration, carpeting, electricity connecting & lights etc wired in.  We will need to wait before we can afford to fit out the shower room, but Rowan’s amputation means that I asked the builder to plan for the biggest walk in shower enclosure we can buy as there is no way I can now lift him into the bathtub in the family bathroom and the ensuite shower off my bedroom’s just too small.

My son Josh and his wife Amy came down from London to stay this weekend … I suspect as much for Josh to see Rowan as anything else.  As ever, Ro was overjoyed to see his boy, and immediately transformed into the whirling dervish dog of old, leaping and turning circles in joy, with his tail lashing eveyone in reach across their thighs!  The light is back in Rowan’s eyes now, he grins at us with delight … and cruises the dinnner table seeking out smuggled titbits.  I roasted two shoulder joints of lamb, marinaded in garlic, black olives and rosemary, with red wine and olive oil.  Ro got a lot more than his fair share of the fatty off cuts from the meat when it was carved.

Josh commented that when in his company you concentrate on Rowan’s face and the lack of a foreleg doesn’t really register until he suddenly needs to perform some manouvere … but he’s walking is growing more graceful and fluid day by day.   He does tire, and whereas we used to be able to walk them the 2 mile circuit of the hamlet, following the lanes between the field boundaries, Ro can now only just about manage to get up to the top of the village and back.  I have been told that walking up gentle slopes is good exercise for strengthening his shoulder muscles.

Still to hear from the vets about follow on treatments.

I was distressed that an aquaintance wrote to point out that the congenital nature of this condition implies it might be present in another leg, and asked have I thought what I would do then?  And what treatment we could give?  She went on to say, “Sorry to bring this up, but I wanted to make sure you have thought about it.”

When, of course, in fact I have thought of very little else .. I am painfully aware that anything that affects any of his remaining three legs would be the end for Rowan … whether that be a bad break, OS or a reoccurence of this condition.   But I did learn, a long time ago, to seperate out the locii of concern and control.  I can try and control Rowan’s environment so that he doesn’t injure himself, and if he did hurt himself on my watch I would feel guilt and blame.  But if fate deals him a bad hand, and he does contract OS or if this defect is present elsewhere, there is nothing I can do, so there is absolutely no point in worrying myself sick about it.  But I am irritated by her tone and the supposition that I’m too dim for that particular penny to have dropped.

Anyway, the weather forecasts say this freakishly hot weather is due to end this week, with more typical autumnal skies to come.  Yesterday was the hottest October day on record.  The autumn colours should be interesting this year.

Thanks for listening

Polly, Rowan and Willow XXXXX

 

and the vet who performed the amputation rang to tell me.

“Well,” she started, brightly, “it wasn’t cancer.”

For a sickening moment my stomach flipped and I felt bereft.  Had I agreed to have Rowan’s leg taken off for no good reason?

But then she went on to explain that the experts at the pathology lab had said that Rowan had suffered from a very rare congenital bone defect, in which the blood vessels serving that part of his leg were misplaced, and that a large clot had formed.  If that had detached itself then he would almost certainly have suffered a fatal stroke.  And in any case, even ignoring the pain he was in already, the existence of the blood vessel was stopping the bone renewing itself properly, and eventually the weakened bone would have fragmented, resulting in a lot of pain and the need for an emergency amputation, with all its attendant trauma.  So, it seems that we did the right thing, albeit for the wrong reasons.  Which is fine by me.

The condition is rare .. the vet said she’d heard of it but never actually come across it before.  She is reading up on the available literature to help inform next steps … and what to watch for.

So this explains why the biopsy and xrays were all inconclusive … there was certainly something going on, but nobody was sure what.  Because greyhounds are noted for OS, that was a reasonable supposition.  That it turned out to be a bone defect of this sort is, as far as I am concerned, the best possible outcome.  It means no need for chemo, and we can press on with planning a regime for his rehabilitation.

So, how is Rowan now?  Well, the dog I look at as I type is almost back to his old self.  He is becoming very adept at getting up and lying down, and at judging just where he needs to position himself to get comfortable on his beds or the sofa.  He’s going out to toilet as he needs … no hanging on until it becomes an urgency!  He tires quickly, and he’s not up for playing with Willow yet, but he is becoming more assertive with her again … “This is MINE!” and he’s responding to the sounds of dogs barking three fields over as he used to.

On Monday the staples came out, and that night I slept in the next room … Rowan cried for a drink at 01.00 and then unmistakably asked to go out at 03.00.  Whereupon he dashed across the courtyard and up the flight of stone steps to the orchard with me scrambling into slippers and grabbing a torch in his wake.  It was pitch black outside, and there was a heavy mist … think “Hound of the Baskervilles” … we’re on the Exmoor foothills here … and I stood shivering in my cotton nightie, getting soaked to the skin.

Last night my husband slept downstairs.  He heard Rowan moving about, but didn’t get up to him and Ro was fine this morning.  So almost back to normal, although we have taken to piling pouffes and side tables on the sofas to keep him on his bedding on the floor.  It’s the warmest room in the house in the winter, the walls are 3′ deep and there’s a cast iron woodburner in there, so I may need to acquire a fireguard.  We’ll see.  Though he’s no longer doing the mad flailing pony impressions of the first few days post amp.  The dressings and bandages are all off and he’s wearing a T shirt under the Ruff Wear harness, both in a fetching shade of red.

We’re having a late heatwave here in the UK, it’s forecast to continue until the weekend, but today has been impossible sunny with clear Disney blue skies and the garden full of late summer butterflies and dragonflies darting amongst the verbena and Japanese Anenomes.  The apple harvest is the stuff of legend … as are the numbers of drunken dozy wasps lolling amongst the piles of windfalls.

Rowan and I sat out on the orchard lawn with the cats and basked in the sunshine, whilst Willow barked and leaped at those woodpigeons with the temerity to perch in the tallest apple trees and coo at her.  I’ve had a lovely day today.  I know I am so lucky to live in one of the most beautiful parts of England and I give thanks for the day and the companions I find myself with.  I’m counting blessings, not legs!

Thanks for listening.

It’s helped so much, but then I suppose most of you have been in my situation and know just how much it helps to have others say, “It’s normal to feel like that!”

And keep telling me it does get better, as at the moment I feel like death warmed over, as my Grannie used to say.

Just for the record, a Lurcher is a cross between any 2 sighthounds or a sighthound/lurcher and a one of the working dog breeds.  Most here in the UK  tend to have a spot of collie in the mix, but GSD lurchers are not unusual.  Lola obviously had whippet, grey and saluki in her mix, plus something that pointed at game.  A Pointer?  We’ll never know.  She was rescued from a Travellers site as a tiny blue eyed puppy.  Whoever kicked her into a puppy coloured pulp lost out on an awesome rabbiter.  (Not that I wanted her to do that, she just did and was very focused on the hunt. We  call it “Lurcher deafness”!)

Does the word not exist in the US?

Well, Ro came home on Thursday and it’s been very hard since.  He keeps waking and forgetting he’s one leg short of the full complement and sort of leaps up into the air … think kangaroo crossed with a bucking pony in your living room, and you can imagine the scene.  Then he stands there whining and shivering wherever he lands … often that’s in a corner, stuck so he needs coaxing to turn and/or reverse.  He is growing braver about going out … we’ve discovered that whereas pre amp he would always quite happily cock his leg in the courtyard area, he now requires soft earth, bushes and greenery.  There is an area outside the kitchen door with a few shrubs but it’s up a short flight of wide, shallow stone steps, and he needs coaxing to get up and down these.  Once there, he quite happily performs, but leg cocking is a thing of the past … at least he’s not got a right front leg to pee on anymore when he loses concentration .. as was the case in the past.  (Greyhound boys are not renowned for their mental capacity, and I have to admit, even amongst male greys, Ro is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.)

I have been sleeping downstairs on an inflatable bed with all his bedding pulled up alongside, and he’s been making a beeline for there as soon as he feels sleepy.  But he does wake in the night, and although my husband and daughter have been great letting me snatch a couple of hours in the daytime to catch up, I am bone tired.  I am dosing him with Metacam at 0500 in the morning, then a couple of tramadol at 13.00, and again at 21.00.  The lady at  the rescue said that in a couple of days I should try reducing the tramadol at 13.00 to see if he seems more alert. She thinks that his feeling a bit spaced out might affect his burgeoning self confidence.

After we got him home on Thursday I spotted some blood staining on the white cotton wool so rang the specialist vet who advised we took him in to our local practice on Friday instead of waiting til Saturday.  The local practice’s Senior Partner did the honours, and although I was dreading seeing the amputation site, it actually looks very neat … a big “Y” shaped scar, with very neat stitching.  The vet said he doesn’t usually use such a big dressing himself, and I can see the argument, but Ro is so tall I would be really scared of him knocking the wound on something and tearing the staples out.  We’re taking him back first thing tomorrow morning to get the wound checked and his dressing swapped again.  It does mean I can use the Ruffwear harness I bought after reading about it on this site … it can’t chafe the wound because that’s buried under layers of cotton wool and tape.

“What doesn’t kill you only serves to make you stronger.”  Becoming a mantra, really!

Thanks for listening.

 

Love Polly, Rowan and Willow XXX

 

 

 

 

 

Hi.  This is my first ever attempt at a blog, and I was holding off until I knew for certain that Rowan was indeed destined to be a Tripawd.  But despite more false dawns than I can list, yesterday the deed was done and this morning he is still at the vet surgery, being hand fed poached chicken and watched by the nursing staff there.

The surgeon is very pleased with his progress and he might be able to come home tomorrow.

I know that many blogs are told from the dog’s viewpoint, but I am taking to heart that for Rowan, his life will continue in a different way than before, but hopefully he will have many more years of pain free life ahead.  He has new things to learn, but he will not know grief in the way humans experience it.

So I want to focus on my own experiences as the owner of a beloved greyhound, who has contracted something horrible far too early in his life. I will use these pages to chronicle our journey, to offer hope to anyone else in this situation, but also to give me a safe place to explore my own feelings, fears and doubts in a safe and supportive environment.

The story so far ….

I have always loved dogs, but for all my adult life had to be sensible and accept that it wasn’t fair to have a dog that would stay at home alone most days.  Although I stayed at home until my kids were of school age, this was largely because my eldest, Josh, was born with severe health problems and in fact wasn’t expected to live much past the age of 3.  (He’s 27 now, so they got that wrong, thank heavens.)  When I did return to work, I surprised myself by very quickly carving out a very succesful and high profile career, involving a great deal of travel, and time spent at home was precious.

So, we always had rats, guinea pigs, gerbils, hamsters and rabbits for the children.  I liked the rats best. And always at least 2 cats and sometimes as many as 4.  The kids grew and Josh left for University in Leeds then a career in London.  Naomi stayed closer, gaining a First from Manchester.

Then in 2006 there was a big organisational reconfiguration.  The only post I could have taken would involve too long a commute and at this point of my life I wasn’t prepared to do that, and so I was offered early retirement. I think my second or third thought was, “Great, I can have a dog!”

By this point I had discovered greyhound & lurcher rescue and in late November I adopted a rescue saluki cross girl pup, “Lola”, who had been terribly beaten as a tiny pup .. she was expected to lose her shattered hind leg, but the attentions of a very gifted hound savvy orthopedic surgeon, and lots of nursing, saved it.

We decided to see if we could adopt another young dog or pup, and were delighted to be offered one of a large litter born in October 2006 to a rescued racer from one of the big tracks in the English West Midlands.  Although I would have liked either a tuxedo or brindled dog, I was given the only red fawn pup in the litter .. a boy we named “Rowan”.  The lady running the rescue thought he showed a gentle spirit and wouldn’t be too boisterous for Lola.  We brought him home on New Year’s Eve 2006.

In late 2009 we moved from Cheshire to Devon.  A very large part of the decision to move from an urban area – we were in the commmuter belt for Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester – to a very rural spot was to let the dogs have more room.  We found a 15th century cottage in a tiny hamlet, with a big garden and set to making this our home.  My husband has a brilliant job 20 minute’s drive away and our daughter Naomi came with us, completed a Master’s degree at Exeter University and is still at home, doing part time work locally, whilst waiting for opportunity to knock!  As well as the hounds, we also brought our two cats, Alex, a red tabby DSH, and Munch the Merciless, a Mocha coloured Semi Longhair.  Both rescues.

Then tragedy struck.  In the Spring Lola discovered sheep and what fun it was to kill them.  After the first sortie, and despite spending almost £1000 on making the garden fencing lurcher proof, she managed to squeeze through a tiny gap (she was very skinny) and made her way into a neighbouring field where there was a pedigree flock of Dorset ewes and lambs.  We paid the farmer what he was owed, but Lola had to go – and quickly – somewhere well away from any sheep.  She now lives with two personal trainers on the Fylde coast where there are lots of sandy beaches but not sheep farming.

Rowan was devastated to be without his sister, and I tried frantically to find another little girl to join the family  I found a 16 week old whippet, who we named “Willow”.  Whippets are much more popular in the North than here in the SW and I was lucky to find one so close.  She has one blue eye so is no use for breeding or showing.  She dotes on Rowan, and just now she is so upset that he isn’t here, she’s not eating and is lying on my feet as I type.

I have posted a thread about the awful first days .. the shock of the putative diagnosis, which was a complete bolt from the blue, the misery of not hearing … the false dawns when we were given hope that it wasn’t a cancer, and then the crushing realisation that amputation was the only way forward if we were to give Rowan any sort of quality of life back. I don’t want to look back at that if possible.

So .. presently I am resting up pending his return either tomorrow or Friday, and hoping that the definitive results from the limb they took for testing will show that it’s something less aggressive than full blown OS.  There is no doubt that he was in dreadful pain, and I take comfort in knowing that the amputation will take that pain as well as his leg.

I will post here about his progress … and mine.  And I will try to find out how to post pictures and videos as we go along.

Thanks for listening.  Love Polly & Rowan & Willow the Whippet XXX