I should know better

The knights parade

In the lists

As a change from dogshows, I was taken off to a mediaeval joust in the grounds of Linlithgow Palace, birthplace of Mary Queen of Scots. An excellent bit of fun, although the weather could have ben kinder.

My heart went out to the MC, suitably dressed up, who had comandeered most of the children there, provided them with plastic bows and arrows and swords, and marched them about, asking them to cheer "for the King"....and at that moment the heavens opened. At once he was in one of the most unenviable positions in the world - in charge of about a hundred soaked children who had suddenly lost all interest in the proceedings and just wanted their mothers .

And they jousted on in the rain. Well, jousting at that slow speed is not exactly a dangerous sport, but it was quite spectacular, and they were very skilled at other faster sports, like tilting at the ring, and tent-pegging (for which they used neeps!)

There was a falconry exhibition. I am not keen on falconry. I am not convinced that captive birds of prey lead happy lives. And nor was one of theirs, a hen kestrel, which when released to the lure, simply took off and vanished behind the trees. (I liked that bit).

A friend`s delightful Border Terrier really enjoyed the falconry. As the falconer paraded with a bird on her wrist, I noticed the little one, eyes huge and fixed on the falcon, panting and salivating heavily. Her owner said that she had always tried to catch birds, but found it too difficult....and here was a kind-looking lady who had evidently managed to catch one. Surely she could spare a bit for a hungry little terrier?

I enjoyed the swordsmanship, and the black powder people were there with their matchlocks, no doubt cursing the rain and having lots of misfires because of it.

All in all a good mediaeval day out.

Yes, I should have been at East of England. The shampoos (3) were laid out and being eyed nervously by Merlin, and everything was packed for the show when I went out to keep a Health Centre Appointment.

When I got back, two hours later, I let them all out in a great rush for the outdoors - except for Solitiare, who staggered out, salivating unbelievably and twitching all over.

Straight to vet. Where I was told that it must be metaldehyde poisoning, prognosis death. I suppose it was a classic case of "this is what I usually see, so this is what she has. " I was more or less invited to take her home to die, but I insisted that she be treated. She was taken off and put on a drip, and given diazepam....

And I went home, wondering where on earth she would have found slug pellets, which I only use on the high wall and pedestal planters which the dogs can`t reach. I wandered about, checking my pills, and going back out in the quest for pellets - and then I spotted it.

It had been a lupin, a tiny one, bought at the Pound Shop and brought on in a pot. Now it was a potful of stems. No leaves at all. I knew that the seeds are poisonous, but didn`t suspect the plant. Till now.

I phoned the duty vet and told her I had a potful of lupin stems. I could hear her brighten up at the end of the phone. Clearly it had been a boring day up to now. She said that Solitiare was no worse, so it was unlikely to be metaldehyde, and she would now go and look up lupins.

We both did. The symptoms seemed to fit. It appeared that Solitaire had had a little snack before I left. An unfortunate one, but probably not fatal. I was enormously relieved.

The vet said that the toxin had a half life of 6 hours, and that by then she should show improvment, and by 12 hours the toxins should have been flushed out of her system.

And so it proved to be. At 10pm, just when I should be leaving for the show, a call came to tell me that she had stopped shakng, could walk in a co-ordinated manner, and was eating. Just on the 12 hours. She would be kept in for the night and sent home in the morning if there was no relapse.

In the morning there was a further call. She had begun to shake uncontrollably again. Did I think that the presence of an angry and excited male Boxer in the cage opposite could have anything to do with it.....? I assured them that the Boxer would have a much worse effect on her than any lupin.

And she came home, not at all worried by her adventure - mind you she had spent most of it zonked out on diazepam - but offended that her leg had been shaved for the drip. She kept on showing me it, holding it up at ear height with an aggrieved expression. Not the slightest idea of how ill she had been. Or how dreadfully upset I had been.

But she seems to be quite recovered now.

Which is more than can be said for the lupin.

Well, it looks like the heatwave is over. While it lasted it got to 28 Celsius down here - hottest I can remember for years. I have a simple strategy for the heat - do as little as possible. Come to think of it, that`s my strategy for quite a lot of problems....

The dogs have not enjoyed it, but find the shade, and use the approach defined above, which comes hard to Papillons. I hid all balls and toys that would invite activity. I put out plastic basins of water, and you might expect they would like to be in cold water, but my lot have an aversion to it, so there is no use in getting out the hose either - at the sight of it they scatter.

Xena is an exception, and likes to be cool. I can still remember the first time I put out a basin of water on a hot day, and the others watching in horror as she slowly and carefully stepped into it and stood there. As the cold water lapped round her intimate bits, she gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. The others couldn`t believe it. The senior bitch had volunteered for a bath!! Would they now have to do the same? They began to edge away......loyalty only goes so far in a pack.

At the last hot show, where my green factor 40 stick was much in demand, there was a continuous stream of "last warnings" about dogs left in cars, usually followed by the sound of car alarms as the vehicles were broken into and the dogs inside rescued. I don`t begin to understand why people leave animals to cook in hot cars, but hope there will be prosecutions.

Meanwhile, as I struggle with the paperwork for a prosecution of my own under KC Rule 42, the dogs are just delighted that the heat is over and the toys and balls are returned. Yet again they can dash screaming to the gate in the hope that something is happening there - please, just something - a cat, a rabbit, maybe lots of rabbits (or, if you`re Marcus, a procession of welcoming bitches).

Alas, all is quiet. Everyone is probably indoors watching tennis.

Possibly even the rabbits.

Poor Merlin! Life just throws everything at him.

At the last show, he was really up for it. Showing well, not barking at the judge even when he made duck noises at him, looking good.....

Until I got him on the table. Where he behaved impeccably - and then I realised that the judge, who had been investigating his knickers for proof that he was really the boy he claims to be, was holding something up something huge. At least the size of a golfball....

A mat. I gazed in horror. The judge said something very relevant about the difficulties of coat care. I stared at the mat. Everyone stared at the mat, now at least the size of a cannonball. Merlin stared into space, wondering what he had done wrong now and why he was still on the table.

At last Merlin and I and the mat, at least the size of the planet Mars, slunk off and the three of us were placed 4th, one of his very worst results.

Poor Merlin - always let down by something or someone. Fortunately he didn`t realise it this time.

But I did see his daughters, and they are lovely.

I thought it best he didn`t see them. He would be off home to count his dog biscuits again.

Last week I received the delightful news that Merlin has become a father. He now has two beautiful little daughters, both doing well, (after totally puzzling their mother, who had always believed that children only came in ones, and had to get her head round coping with two.).

Of course I told him at once.

When i break this sort of news to Marcus, I am usually greeted by a yawn (although if I mention that they are girls he does probably file the information away for future use.)

Not so Merlin.

He stared at me and over his face came the usual expression with which he greets anything new - worry with an undercurrent of panic.

You could just see his head spinning. Two! Was he supposed to support them? Out of his allowance of dog biscuit? And daughters! Clothes, college, thwarting the attentions of unsuitable dogs.....

He headed for the door at a very fast lick.

Not easy, being Merlin.

What`s defiantly orange, in your face, and frozen? No, not a Larkhall man at the North Pole - Irn Bru ice cream. I discovered it in a local shop in the current heatwave, and, having led a sheltered life, couldn`t believe it.

Irn Bru gets everywhere.For the rest of you out there, Irn Bru is a totally Scottish aberration. Glowing orange, and terminally sweet, it is marketed as "your other national drink". It pushes Coke well into second place in the fizzy drink market. A national institution for about a century, it began as a health drink (and so did Coke, but that stuff we don`t mention isn`t in it now, and hasn`t been there for over a hundred years). It still contains a small amount of iron, and is usually said to owe its continued popularity to creative advertising, but every Scot knows it is really indispensable because of a legendary reputation as a surefire hangover cure, capable of raising the dead....well, lots of water and sugar can`t hurt.

In the present warm spell, the orange bottles and cans are everywhere, contrasting luridly with the lobster scarlet bodies that a few days of hot sunshine brings out everywhere in this country.

The taste....? Well, sorta fruity and incredibly sweet, I suppose. I haven`t touched it in years, not since I was put off by an incredibly ageist advertising campaign, so I`m no expert.

I discover that now you can even get it abroad. Could Irn Bru conquer the world?

If a Scot ever gets to the moon, you`ll know it. Left behind, shining orange in the earthlight, will be a little empty can....

This happened last May. Five days of sun, then it rained till September....

Anyway, as you see, my lot are enjoying relaxing in the shade. And few can get quite as relaxed as Marcus....

It`s spring - well, we have had two sunny days and there might actually be a third. My lot are seen here making the most of it, in their usual quiet, refined manner.

I go to the cinema a lot. I always have.

But taste changes. After years of arthouse, I have sunk into a happy miasma of escapism. After all., time teaches you that there is a lot which is best escaped. I can remember , for instance, in my youth being fascinated by Italian Neo Realism - GERMANY YEAR ZERO and so on - but I now revisit these and their like and find them amazingly depressing in the light of experience. Been there, done that, don`t have any answers.....(have a very soft spot for Werner Herzog, though)

So anyway, my recent visits have not exactly been seeking answers to social problems or personal angst...

Let`s be honest - this old Trekkie loved the new STAR TREK!

Another visit was a bit strange. You know you are old when scenes from your past life begin to turn up in nostalgia comedies. So it was with mixed feelings that I went to see THE BOAT THAT ROCKED.

It`s a comedy about the pirate boats. And for those of you who don`t remember, way back in my youth the BBC had a radio monopoly in this country, and if you wanted to hear any range of pop music you had to tune to Luxembourg, broadcasting from abroad and so not needing a licence - or to the pirate stations, broadcasting from leaky old boats just outside the 3 mile limit and having no interest at all in licences. The best known one would be Caroline. And in my depraved youth, I knew some of the lads who DJd on the boats, and a jolly lot they were too.

Well, it was indeed odd. Not very funny either. Poor, scrappy writing. It seems they had a vision of broadcasting from a flat calm, sunkissed sea, constantly stoned and beseiged by boatloads of young women (some wearing clothes that were alarmingly familiar.) From what I was told at the time, if you decreased the totty frequency by 90%. and factored in gales, constant seasickness, leaky unseaworthy boats and isolation - but yes, they all said they loved it - the music, the excitment of being on the wrong side of the law, a start in the profession....

It brought back memories. Most of those lads went on to significant careers. One I knew is dead, and still has a fan following. They were a fun crowd...

Except, there was this one Irish fellow I met in their company. Not sure that he was on the boats at all, and he was a dour character, always very serious about his future prospects...

I wonder what happened to Wogan?

A reasonably successful beginning to the show year. Boris is enjoying it, flaunting his ears....unfortunately, having managed to hoist both of them at once, he is now struggling with the daunting problem of clothing them with an adequate amount of fringes.

I seem doomed to worry about those ears for ever. I still speak seriously to him on the topic, and he listens very carefully, but I fear the advice is going in one ear and out the other....

Merlin has no such problems, and is doing well, especially with Boris, quite a solemn little fellow, to show off to. He swaggers and screeches, and does quite well. He tends to gaze up at people with the sweetest expression, and I just hope they don`t realise how little real common sense lies behind the big dark eyes.

The last show saw both well placed, but otherwise the main interest was the whirwind. I`ve seen these often abroad, and this one as usual rose suddenly into a little funnel, carrying up a cone of dust and rubbish, swirled about, then suddenly,turned and shot right across the Pap ring, scattering everything on the stewards` table and overturning it, blowing away the results board, filling the Pap`s fringes with dust, and attempting to relocate the elderly judge to Oz (where I suppose his entry would be reduced to Toto, and possibly a few flying monkeys).

And then it died as suddenly as it began.

Everyone shouted about the "tornado" - it was later reported as such to dog people in America and I began receiving queries about damage and casualties, and how much of the county had been laid waste.

Little other excitement. I have at last escaped the dodgy half-life of committees, and feel so much the better for it.........

Oh, and hat is not on the menu. For all her singing and dancing, Solitaire has not passed her audition for the Pudding Club. But give it time - she may yet audition again, with an improved act.

Solitaire, whose career up to now has been that of very spoiled pet, footwarmer, and room fragrancer, was introduced to the joys of sex last week.

I must admit, I had reservations about this, and I was not disappointed. She had no intention of being catapulted into the responsibilities of an adult, and was, to put it mildly, not helpful. As the chosen stud dog soldiered on, finding the target a little high but grimly determined to get there, I kept a firm grip on the sharp end, while two helpers tried to see what was going on at the stern....so much easier with bigger, and perhaps less hairy dogs.

Then suddenly he got there. Not for long, and it wsn`t very convincing - well not to us, but the dog was sure he had achieved something.....

And Solitaire danced. All round us on her hind legs, warbling a strange high-pitched song, presumably of delight. None of us had seen anything like it before, and the stud dog stood with his mouth hanging open, clearly thinking, "They don`t usually do that - I must have done something right! Here`s one to tell the boys about down the pub!"

No I didn`t have a camera. You never do at moments like that. You have to take my word for it that after the great event, Solitaire was transformed into a small, hairy Salome.

Mind you, there will be a lot of hats consumed if that mating comes to anything.

But Solitaire is thinking her own quiet thoughts, and looking very confident.

Never fails, every spring.

When my Coelogyne (Bride of Heaven) orchid does its thing (despite total neglect).

Boris at his very first show

At last! The ear is up! Poor Boris had been stuffed with all kinds of additives and vitamins, but I suspect the ear`s time had smiply come. One morning when he got up, so did the ear, and it stayed up. He got the impression that he had done something important, but had no idea what. I worked hard on that ear, but I wonder if the excitement of the girls all coming in season at once had something to do with it - it certainly reduces the older males to mindless idiots.

And so Boris was at last able to go to his first show - a very big one, as it happens, and aquitted himself nobly, completely unfazed by the crowds and more dogs than he had known existed. He was placed well in a large class and enjoyed himself.

It was such a relief to deal with a happy, straightforward uncomplicated little dog like Boris, I thought, getting out Merlin. He did well, but was at his dippy best, screeching at anything black, trying to defend me from an innocent soul who bent over my chair to ask a question about the class in progress and then licking me anxiously to see if the Bad Man had hurt me. He always gives me the impression that he has learned how to be an adult male Papillon from one of those skimpy manuals badly translated from the Japanese - the kind that you always get with complicated electronic equipment.

Faced with a big event like this huge show he goes into excited incompetent overdrive, gazing at it all blankly, like a man who has rashly promised to create a fitted bedroom from a huge pile of Ikea flatpacks and one small sheet of instructions......

And if you`re Merlin, you are always several screws short of the finished wardrobes.

Solitaire - "He was not a nice dog and he looked at me. More than once."

A bad back obtained somehow at Crufts, a truly horrible meeting, the enforced termination of a club website I run, all the girls rushing into season...just one of those weeks I love so much.

Solitaire, who may well be dipping her little hairy toes into the tempestuous sea of sex in the near future, went to a show with Shelby and Merlin at the weekend. Alas, I had forgotten that she is only happy in Papillon company. In the ring she looked lovely until we approached a corner where there were 3 very innocent Cavaliers - her tail hit the dirt and she informed me that the end dog was Notapap, and furthermore mostly black, and had looked at her more than once, and could she go home please? Right now?

Merlin on the other hand, had a happy time, and his raucous bark echoed round the hall , probably shattering glass and permanently damaging hearing. Shelby was his usual impeccable self. He is the ultimate reliable dog, and always gives of his best, and indeed was Best of Breed.....

And was rewarded by being forgotten. I woke at 2am convinced that I had somehow missed a dog. Got up, and there outside the door sat Shelby, his big round patient face turned up, not at all upset, just waiting. I rushed him in and he was consoled with a Tesco Value sausage roll in bed - his idea of heaven (although a willing chinlady would be very acceptable too........)

What with the credit crunch, he had better not set his sights much above the sausage rolls for now

Well, we had a good time. So good that I am still recovering.

Merlin was not at all overawed by the huge hall and the noise and plethora of dogs. He was fascinated. And willing to show himself off really well. Apart from his usual slight attack of the vapours on the table, he behaved, and at the final assessment he gazed at the judge with limpid dark eyes. She gazed back, clearly thinking what a pretty picture he made.

I would not be so confident in assessing what he was thinking. Certainly not "I wonder how her leg would taste?", but quite possibly "Is she going to wash me now?" (I fear he may now think this is the ultimate aim of all strange women who look hard at him.)

Anyway, she liked him. He was 3rd in a class of 20 - quite respectable for his first Crufts.

Shelby, on the other hand, was in his element. I had forgotten quite how much he likes showing. His class was in another hall, and as we made our way through the crowds we were frequently stopped by admirers - Shelby loves this, and graciously gave a paw and allowed strange women to pick him up and kiss him (don`t ask - it`s a flat face thing.) He showed off impeccably and was well placed in a hard class, and totally complacent about it too.

Of course the Papillons had a change of judge, the designated one being very poorly just now. He is a popular and well-known figure in the breed, and a collection taken up to provide a gift for hm was well-supported. I wondered what would be bought and someone said "We had thought of a garden ornament". Thinking of the very large sum of money, a vision flashed across my mind of the poor invalid rising from his sickbed shivering in the menacing shadow cast by the largest garden gnome in the universe....no, I didn`t say a word.

Tact is my middle name.

Anyone in dogs will tell you that.

....Crufts, of course and the shampoo and conditioner are flying about and small dogs are hiding in corners at the perfumed smell of them.

Merlin was taken for his final makeover yesterday, and seemed bit more resigned to total immersion and general beauty treatment than usual. When he came back, beautiful and lustrous, he was again allowed to meet his Dad and Aunt Daisy, this time through the mesh of their run.

Leo, his dad, was furious. He strode about trying to find a way out to get to Merlin. Was this little squirt too thick to understand the message he had clearly placed on his yellow travelling box the last time?

Daisy, on the other hand, remembered him only too well and was assuring him that she was all his in no uncertain terms. She posed and flirted and his ego shot skywards. He was so well pleased with himself that I suddenly wondered if he had learned the lesson that comes so hard to many adolescnt males - the one about making a real effort with your appearance and the effect it can have on girls.....? Does he think that a beauty bath makes girls fall at your feet? Has he been watching those TV ad for a certain male deodorant?

Knowing Merlin`s tenuous grasp on reality he proabably thinks she loves him for his mind.

...and the main chamber

Had a great day out with my cousin and his partner, courtesy of another cousin`s boy (the pro golfer) at the Scottish Parliament.

A guided tour, courtesy of his MSP, who has just been promoted to Ministerial status, a seat at First Minister`s questions - and a good day for it too, with Sir Fred the Total Failure`s huge pension under heated discussion. (the definitive comment on the said pension was heard on a phone-in on Five Live when someone, probably of my years, said that in the old days Fred would just have been told that there was a bottle of malt whisky and a pistol waiting on the desk in the library...)

And then we had a lovely lunch with the MSP, and coffee with yet another. My cousin, a rabid Tory, wisely chose to keep a low profile among all those Nationalists and LibDems. There was a good feeling of people about who were really trying to make Scotland work....OMG, I`m getting idealistic in my old age ! Let`s just say a feeling of enthusiasm and leave it there.

The otther draw of the Parliament is the enormously expensive building itself, a gingerbread-house nightmare, already weathering badly - does concrete ever weather well? Inside is a bit of a warren, and I shudder to think how people would escape from a fire, but looks slightly better than the exterior, and has some satisfying vistas. In an ancient city where buildings are commonly hundreds of years old and look little the worse for it this turkey is scheduled to last for - just seventy years. Wonder if anyone has worked out the cost per year?

Probably more even than Sir Fred`s pension......

It`s been a trying time for young Merlin.

A kind friend has volunteered to "do him out" for me several times before Crufts, and so he has been making visits to the east coast - visits that end in hot soapy water and lots of conditioner. Not happy visits, then. Not exactly a Grand Day Out. I have a lovely doggy chat with friends - he has suds, and a strange woman with an endless supply of shampoo being very intrusive with his private bits.

Last time, he was allowed to visit his dad.

It didn`t go too well.

Merlin`s father is Leo, a beautiful fellow with a very impressive show record. All of which means nothing to him. For, like Florian The Climbing Dog, Leo has a hobby that verges on obsession. He is in fact in training for the Olympics. His particular discipline is Long Distance Target Pee.The essence of this is accuracy at a distance. Leo practises constantly.

I first became aware of this at our Club show, where Leo and his half-sister Daisy were in a crate close to Marcus. Leo didn`t like the way the other boy was looking at His Girl (the taboos imposed by close relationship are entirely lost on dogs, and the fact that Daisy is also Marcus` half sister was not inhibiting that swaggering little Casanova at all ).

Leo glared. He stood up to his full height. He moved sideways on. A glazed look came over his eyes as he calcuated vector and elevation, and then a jet shot out directly at Marcus. It reached a considerable distance but didn`t quite make the target, who was totally unimpressed. Undeterred, Leo continued to refine his aim, until his owner moved him away to spare the floor and any hapless passers-by further soaking. In all my years in dogs I had never seen anything quite like it.

And this was the father Merlin was being introduced to.

He came out of his little yellow travelling box, and Leo came rushing down the garden., up on his toes, neck stretched, eyes blazing. A strange dog on his territory!

Merlin was shocked - an angry senior dog! In panic he turned and roared at another dog he had spotted out of the corner of his eye, to try and restore his position. As Daisy subsided in a flurry of white petticoats, indicating that she could quite fancy a bit of rough, his confusion was complete - he had attempted to intimidate a girl! The shame of it!

Leo took all this in - strange male, insult to his girl. But he didn`t want a fight. Neither dog is in any way a fighter. He looked around and spotted the intruder`s bright yellow travelling box. That old familiar unfocused look came over his eyes as he calculated vector, elevation and ,since he was outdoors, windage - and then he hit the box spot on.

It was the last straw. Merlin was totally demoralised and had to be picked up and taken away.

Leo was triumphant. And quietly pleased to have had an unexpected spot of target practice.

Boris, Calypso and friends - socialising like mad.

The saga of Boris` ear continues. One up and one down is not a recipe for success, and he has had several lectures on this topic. He listens very seriously.

Meanwhile training goes on. Here they are, Boris and Calypso, playing- sorry, being socialised - with their friends Carter and Aria. Carter is the one wearing the psychedelic shorts. Calypso was very intrigued by these. Would they come off? Would he like assistance in taking them off.....?

70 years young - with his sister and nephew

Recovering from last night`s party - a surprise one for my cousin`s 70th. It had been in preparation for weeks, with enormous efforts to keep it from him almost causing a total breakdown of communication at home. A buffet was secretly prepared in the Bowling Club next door, a cake was secretly baked, and all guests warned to let nothing slip,

This worked so well, that by 8pm, with all the guests assembled, everyone was trying to think of a way to get him to the party. He had settled in for the night. Eventually he was told that his son-in law, a very temperate soul, had been plied with booze in the Club to the extent that he was now "blootered" and someone had to get in there and drag him out. Why he was convinced by this totally implausible tale I do not know, but in he came, loaded for bear, to be greeted by loud cheers and congratulations.

The guests were a strange mix. That is, strange to each other.

The relatives had arrived in large cars and designer clothes, and were gazing in amazement at the dog folk. The latter had also made some effort - one or two were dressed up in party clothes, most had worn what they would if they were reasonably sure of winning the CC at Houndshow, and quite a few had looked out a clean fleece. They also outnumbered the relatives, and the latter. sure that they had at last made landfall on the planet Zog, retreated to the bar.

I was in the happy position of being about the only person there, apart from the birthday boy, who knew everyone. I could chat to one lot about childhod memories, and to the next about the impossibilities of the KC revision of the Frenchie standard. I had a good evening, and so had the birthday boy, who thoroughly enjoyed it all.

And there was a cake. A deerhound cake, with a picture of Grouse, a dog we had both owned, winning his 3rd CC. Any dog person could see that he was bending down to adjust the dog`s hind foot position....the relatives could only speculate wildly as to why he was so interested in the animal`s rear end , and why the dog was so much more more prominent than he was in the picture....indeed why there should be a dog on a cake at all.

All in all, great fun. The vast and excellent buffet was not all consumed - and I expect you know exactly where the leftovers went.

Shelby gives his verdict on the snow.....

"Exterminate! Exterminate! Papillons rule!"

Two of my new lodgers

We have some new arrivals.

Horses.

No, not mine. The fields have been rented out, and five assorted cuddies, two with half-grown foals at foot, are chomping away at the ovegrown grass and weedy stuff.

My neighbour, having met the funny little mn who talked me into this, said "He`s an odd one. You know, the way he talks and dresses, he belongs in the fifties."

And so do his horses. Thoroughbreds they are not. They are of a type older people might think of as "vanners" - undistinguished light draft. Most of them are piebald,and almost everyone who has seen them has stared, and then said with a faraway look - "When I was a kid, our milkman had one just like that!" My puzzle is why anyone would want five like that.....

But they are quiet and friendly.

And the dogs are not. This is the excitement they have craved for months. It beats cat-hunting hands down. These invaders are so much bigger and smellier. Just the whiff of horse in the air is enough to set them off.

The horses couldn`t care less. They stare indifferently at the tiny screaming balls of fluff. They are not even curious about them. It infuriates my lot, who really need a reaction, preferably one involving terror and much galloping. When you have just put on a big production number involving your most horrible barking and jumping up and down, it`s very galling when the audience just snorts and produces a big pile of dung. (Although I think Merlin is quite reassured to see that the senior dogs make no more impression than he does.)

The last time they all came and leaned over the gate, Allegra screeched herself into a hissy fit and damaged a toenail bouncing about. The horses yawned a bit. Horses one, Papillons nil.

I`d like to think they will get tired and give it up, but I know them better than that. Until a bigger target comes along, they will concentrate on these poor beasties.

Tyrannosaurus, anyone?

"Peel me a grape...."

I had to leave the dogs for a day last week. I came home to the alarm racketing on and a worried police presence.

I opened the door and out popped Truly.

She had discovered that in the front of her large crate there is a little hatch for providing food. Not too little for our Truly. She had squeezed out at 11.40am (that`s the first time the alarm was logged as going off.) No doubt some time was spent sneering at the others who were still confined - then I think she had spent the day in my bed, judging by the warm Truly-sized dent I found in the middle.

There was the slight problem of the call of nature. No problem to our Truly. Truly uses the bathroom, like any civilised person.

I discovered this when she had her litter - they were kept in my bedroom, on the other side of the bed from the door, in a large box with a clamshell lid. I was awakened during the first night by Truly walking over me. She opened the lid, climbed up on the bed, jumped down on the other side , opened the bedroom door, went across the hall and visited the bathroom - then made the return journey, crossed the bed, jumped down, opened the clamshell lid and popped back in with the puppies. I suggested that she could at least have closed the doors behind her, and was favoured with the intensly smug look I know so well....

So throughout the day when I was away she had visited the bathroom, leaving small deposits - and setting off the alarm again each time.

Truly was quite uinrepentant. She had had a lovely day.

So much so that at the next show she sulked and pouted and made it clear that there were better ways of spending a day than posing in the ring.

And looking at the way the judging went that day, I had to admit that she had something there.

A sign of the hard times - a dead Woolies

Took myself off to see the sales, and the film AUSTRALIA, in the hope of lightening the mood a bit.

The sales in Glasgow were scary. No-one was there. I went into a big department store and found that all eyes were on me...every salesperson gazing hopefully at me as I went past. Very unnerving. I got out quickly.

I headed up to my usual cineplex. This is a gloomy place, and built as a tower block to boot - it was said at the time that a huge bung was required to get the plans past fire regulations. As it is, if you are on the top floor and there is a fire, you had better have packed your parachute.

The staff are - how shall I put it? - not all that committed to the product. They study you and offer awful warnings. Maybe it`s just me and how I look. In the past I have had -

"Are you sure, because...."

"....this one is quite violent" (you obviously have a serious heart condition)
...."it has subtitles " (you are obviously illiterate)
...."it is a long one" (you are obviously incontinent)

This time it was -

......"are you aware it is three hours long?"

Clearly his opinion of my life expectancy was alarmingly poor. He was no doubt going to continue to advise me not to take out any long library books, but I moved on quickly.

And I did like the film. Apart from the scrupulously correct attitude to race problems, it belongs in the forties, a big sprawly romance owing a lot to Gone With The Wind, Red River, and The Sundowners. Very predictable in plot, but Jackmann is a nice piece of eye candy and the pace is good.

It helps to cheer me up in a hard financial winter, in which my investment income dwindles and the government informed me for Christmas that it is cutting my work pension. I have suggested to my ageing, robustly hungry pack that they should try eating grass, with no result beyond wide grins.

Florian The Climbing Dog, however, continues to try to supplement his diet with cat, and last night, with the light failing fast, he at last achieved a lifetime goal of climbing right up to one. The cat of course jumped out of the tree, right on to a very interested Shelby, and Florian promptly fell on top of both of them. Cue for a lot of screeching, spitting, barking and truly amazing Chin vocalese.

I ran around cursing them, with a torch. The cat legged it. I collared Florian and told him just what I thought of him. Shelby was running in circles, his eyes as big as saucers, so terminally excited it took the offer of three Tesco Value sausage rolls to get him in. As I removed him, the cat returned, growling, tail like a bottle brush. I was informed in no uncertain terms that only a very large meal of his favourite cat food would soothe him....

No luck on the grass diet with him either, then.....

Looks like I`m the one who`ll have to eat it.

"Well, of course I spoke out! Someone had to!"

...But recovering from one chest infection after another. Still, I did make it to the last show, coughing mightily.

Merlin stood the best chance. In a large class, the judge clearly liked him. But Merlin didn`t like the judge. As the man approached and stared at him, Merlin let his feelings be known. He barked. As my friend said - "not a welcoming bark".

Merlin screeched that this was obviously a Bad Man, that he wanted every dog here to know it, and that the Bad Man would not be getting to his Mum. I shut him up at once.

On the table he behaved. He tends to have an attack of the vapours, but wasn`t too bad this time.

The judge liked him and came back to stand and stare at him. And again Merlin let fly. This was not only a Bad Man, but a Bad Man who had had the audacity to feel his intimate bits! His indignation knew no bounds and echoed round the hall.

Amazingly, he was third.

And very pleased with himself.

My two, Boris and Calypso, training for the Olympics. This chaos is euphemistically referred to as "puppy socialising"...

You probably guessed it - I`ve not been well. Only getting out of bed to see to the dogs, and neglecting the computer. The usual chest infection, complicated by a tummy bug.

Nevertheless, I`m up, trying to get a firm grip on Christmas, which got away from me at breakneck speed - and already planning more shows in the future.

My last doggy event, before I came down with everything, was an Afghan hands-on practice, where we were advised on what I can only call "going over the Afghan as Performance Art". I am told I go over Afghans "like a toy judge", and was told to strike bold poses, stride forward with authority and get a firm grip of the......subject. (In this case, a very patient hound.) I strode about and took a firm hold and had a feeling that I should be dressed up for this - possibly glam-rock. Also probably the dog...Afghans in platform boots...singing ABBA hits.

The puppies have been depressingly frenetic. At training class on Tuesdays they seem to think they will be competing in the Olympics. Despite total ear meltddown due to teething - I expect sabre-toothed tigers never had the problems getting their second teeth that Boris has - the little lad is still ready and willing to strut his stuff....and his sister is not. She only wants to run.

The adults gave me no peace either. One of the cats has adopted a high branch in the walnut tree as her favourite and the baying pack settles at the base every morning, cheering Florian The Climbing Dog on in his eternal upward quest for Cat Dinner. He heaves himself grimly upwards, and they shout their orders for a tail or a bit of ear. Eentually the cat moves on, or I come out and shout and threaten an excited muddy pack. I dream of a quiet day in bed....

Not a cat`s chance in hell of that.....

Dogue de Bordeaux - "He looks good enough to eat....though I`d need at least 3 of those to make a decent lunch"

Marcus - "Bring on the girls!"

I suppose I should be well used to Marcus by now. He is, to say the least of it, single minded...

At one of the summer shows we were redirected into somewhat cramped indoor accommodation. Marcus and the other Usual Suspects were placed in their crate at the ringside. I left them to look for someone, and when I got back, their crate had been joined by a much bigger one containing two Dogues de Bordeaux.

Merlin took one look at those two huge red mastiffs and dived under the bedding. Marcus, on the other hand, sussed out that they were girls. The little detail that their heads were bigger than his whole body was totally irrelevant. By the time I returned he was strutting his stuff for them. They were studying him with interest. Was he lunch? If so, why was the meal dancing?

Marcus gave me a knowing look. "I`m well in there mum. Did you bring a ladder?" He was most offended to be removed.

At the last show, I was well aware that Truly was still...well, quite interesting. But they would be separate. Separate crates, separate rings. And she was almost out. Shouldn`t be a problem.....

Oh dear. Marcus doesn`t do "almost". And when frustrated he screams. I spent a lot of time just shutting him up.....and then their classes coincided.

A kind friend took Marcus in for me. And I watched from the other ring as he behaved disgracefully, heaving and pulling to get a glimpse of his beloved at the far side of the hall. And then he spotted an alternative. A little dog of the same breeding as Truly, who looks very like her... Unfortunately, a male dog......

Gentle reader, I will draw a veil over the very unambiguous and very public advances he made to this unfortunate and unsuspecting dog. I can only put them down to desperation and hope the victim is not permanently emotionally scarred .

I gave him a sharp lecture on how he had ruined his reputation. He smirked at me. He was already planning how to get at her on the long journey home...

Alas, not even Marcus can chew through metal.

Training progresses. Boris, bless him, is not endowed with too much brain. The result is that he is willing to do everything I ask with a bemused look. When he is really puzzled he falls into a show pose, which is ideal for my purposes.

Calypso is a different kettle of fish. She sized up training class at once. Before the actual training starts there is a puppy socialising period. Calypso sees this as The Party. Every week she is wildly excited getting ready for The Party. When she gets there, screaming with excitement, she hits the ground running, and leads all the other puppies in wild chasing games. riccocheting around the room like a fur bullet. Boris watches in stolid astonishment.

Then comes the great betrayal. The lead. Show training starts. The Party`s over. Her parade has been well and truly rained on. The Great Sulk commences. The eyes roll and the tail is clamped between the legs. How could they do this to her? A lot of work looms ahead.

Recent shows? The least said the better. At least I can add a new judge to my list - the one who remembered her handler. And I will reveal all about the truly atrocious behaviour of Marcus next time.....

Just a quick one. This is a personal blog. Any opinnions expressed here are mine. I do not represent any dog club, kennel club, government be it local, , national or galactic, official views. What`s here is what I think. If you don`t like it, take it up with me. You know who I mean.

One of the few prospering shops on the Main Street is the Polish Deli. It`s never empty. And recently it has expanded into the promising field of Pizza.

They are of course truly Polish Pizzas, filled with Polish specialities.

There is a Masurian Farmer`s Pizza with sausage, pork and sauerkraut on top of the tomato and cheese. And a Warsaw Mermaid, prominently feaaturing Pickled herring.

I began to wonder why we had never developed regional pizzas here. A Welsh Pizza with leeks and laverbread? What would a Scottish Pizza feature? Venison? Salmon?

A friend put me right.

"Aye, it would certainly sell. Let me see - you`d want a standard base with cheese and tomato, then bung on a deep-fried pie and a big dollop of curry sauce. It would go well when the pubs close. You could call it the Braveheart Pizza."

Brave heart indeed.

Even braver stomach.

"Don`t talk to me about teeth !"

It`s been a while. Lots of reasons, incluing the dificulty of posting using his old laptop which suffers from a common laptop disease known as jumping cursor.

A quiet time. We held the dreaded seminar and it went off really well. All the dogs and people arrived on time, the talk went well, despite Truly`s insistence on staring at the ceiling all the way through, and Marcus, bored with waiting his turn, quietly eating all his lead. (I`ve had this trouble with leather leads before - I remember waiting to go into the ring with Decibelle, and discovering I was holding about 8 inches of lead- the rest was inside her, and it reappeared, in neat little sections, over the course of the next few days......)

Most people passed the assessment, and those who did not, took it in good part (with one glaring exception who had a hissy fit and became very offensive....and I`ll deal with him when he dares to come out of hiding.)

Apart from that, the puppies are growing on and have hit the great teething barrier. Suddenly ears have flopped, tails are at half-mast, and everything and anything is being chewed - I found them both yesterday chomping on the Dyson. They roll their eyes and give me looks that tell me how hard a life it is being a puppy.

Wait till they try being adults.

"Ears? No problem! You just have to concentrate....And I`m not lending him mine!"

Calypso, sister of Boris

"OK, so they went down again! I`m working on it!"

I`m sweating over a hot computer this weekend.

Literally hot. I`m having to run the 11 year old machine known as Old Chuggy, and it`s labouring under the strain. With the Qosmio dead, and the backup laptop only configured for getting online, I have a struggle ahead to redo all the paperwork for our seminar this weekend coming.

Seminars are the new black for the Kennel Club. In order to judge, you have to jump through hoops, more of them every year, and assessment at seminars is the foundation of this process. Does passing exams make you a better judge? I couldn`t possibly comment. Meanwhile, people are travelling the country, running up mileage desperatgely trying to pick up on whatever elements they lack.

The KC,of course, has other fish to fry at the moment. They are suffering from what can happen when what is esentially a private club financed by dog shows takes on a self-declared position as the arbiter of everything doggy. No, I`m not going there either. My breed has no health problems that are due to the Breed Standard, and we should be able to weather the storm.

No ,my immediate problem is a collection of eager people converging on a hall this weekend to listen to me speak on the Standard, and put an assortment of volunteered Papillons in the correct order.

I hope Chuggy, at present assuring me that it is midnight on the first of January 1995, holds up under the strain.....

I hope they all remember to bring a pencil.

"You don`t love me any more" - damn right!

No recent posts because my big Qosmio died. Wouldn`t boot, blue screen, message about "This volume not accessed - the whole nine yards. Took it to the local man, who hadn`t a scooby. So today I set off to get it back.

And there was a huge bullock at the gate. Enormous, and looking really well-fed. He gazed plaintively at me with huge moist eyes. Would I give him a home? Did I care?

Emphatically not. I was in a hurry and he was blocking the way. I waved my arms and shouted threats involving sirloin steak, and walloped him on the nose with my umbrella. He gave me that hurt look Iam used to from Solitaire when she gets a row - the "You don`t love me any more" look, and turned to lumber away .

And that`s when it became very obvious that I had not been attacking a bullock with a pink umbrella.

I had been walloping a bull.

A really big bull. With horns.

I went on down the road, not without a few backward glances, and discovered my neighbour busy with a shovel. The bull had left a number of large deposits at her front door. She reckoned it was because he had become really excited after his encounter with the postman. The postman, of course, drives a bright red van......which now has a few horn-sized dents in it.

I left her to it and went on to collect the dud laptop.

The bull?

Well, he`s still out there.

If Xena spots him, she`ll see him as a good alternative to rabbit.

"I`ll never get the hang of this ear thing...it`s so hard to be a puppy dog!"

Boris at 8 weeks...a bit lopsided. He is named for Boris Johnson - jolly but not too bright.

"Where`s our rabbit then?!"

If you have ever watched THE DOGWHISPERER , you will have realised the importance of the dogowner as pack leader. I am well aware of this, never more so than when I rushed down into the lower dogrun the other day, hearing the familiar sounds of all sorts of mayhem and threatening death or retribution.

It turned out to be a complex crisis. One of the cats was up in the walnut tree - Florian can`t climb that one, so he was halfway up the nearest one, grimly hauling himself up, determined on Cat Dinner.

Meanwhile the old ladies, the Heroines of the Soviet Union, were having a catering meltdown of their own, and canine threats and curses were being screamed. I parted the crowd and found two partly eaten rabbits.

It is not the first time that they have caught rabbits, and quite frankly any bunny rash enough to tunnel into the dogrun is committing ritual suicide. But in this case the ownership squabble seemed to be getting out of hand. I ordered the whole lot in.

They slunk in, casting me looks that weren`t hard to interpret....

"She`s having our rabbits. She`s shutting us up so she can have both of them for herself. Rotten selfish pack leader she is...."

I left them to cool their heels, and disposed of their catch.

When I let them out later, they made a beeline for the spot where they had left their banquet. No rabbits. Not even fur, or any remains. Furious glares.

"See that? She did it! Ate the whole lot herself! Didn`t even leave us a scrap of skin! Ate fur and all!

I could see that they were casting around for a way to tip me the Black Spot, and possibly a plank for me to walk.....

Well, dream on! No mutiny aboard this Bounty!

(Although sometimes it feels more like the Titanic.....)

...And there we were ankle deep in thick clinging mud. A sea of evil ooze extending to the horizon, swallowing up shoes, dropped objects, lost children and small animals, and slowly sucking down parked cars into the depths...

Ofc ourse, another dog show. What else? We all crowded into a tent in the middle of the mud ocean, . packed in like herring in a box, and on all sides the mud flowed in. It had obviously had a recent and significant contribution from cows, and the smell was truly amazing....and very attractive to Papillons. The crowds and the overpowering smell had them exceptionally excited.

And they did well. All were placed, and for Allegra another RCC - her second in a week. Truly`s return was very successful. She had travelled down with Merlin (very delighted to be partnered with a genuine female girl, but his joy was soon tempered, as during the night she bit him whenever he moved and woke her.) . It didn`t stop him being wildly excited by everything at the show (especially if it was black, hairy and needed exterminating.) His racous screechy bark echoed round the tent.

The people did less well. The mud penetrated everywhere and we were all soaked in it. My fluorescent orange wellies were much admired.

Then I discovered that the RCC Winners Stakes were being held - outside. We ventured out on to the wilderness of slime. Allegra had an advantage over the other gundog entrants in being too light to sink in, while they were slowly going down like so many shaggy Titanics. She showed valiantly, rolling her eyes at the other contestants and looking questioningly at me - were we in the right class? Who were these large hairy girls? Why were they slowly sinking? And we won again.

Off home we trailed, the trolley wheels carrying a huge cake of mud each, past bogged down cars waiting to be tractored out at £10 a go, and large dogs dripping and all reduced to the same colour of smelly brown.. It was wqonderful to reach hard ground. We sat in the car exhausted by the struggle through clinging mud. Never again, we gasped.....

We`re going again on Friday.