I should know better

I usually let Truly out last thing at night, after all the others are in bed, and she doesn`t stay out away from her not so little girl too long.

But last night after a few minutes a storm of barking, growling and other horrendous Swedish cursing broke out. Merlin, safe in bed, was insisting that something out there was Very Wrong, Mum, and that I should Do Something.

I couldn`t see why someone would be at the gate so late on. but out I went.....

And there was Truly, facing up to a really enormous fox. Drawn up to her full height of nine and a half inches at the shoulder, she was telling it loudly and clearly that it had no right to live, and when she had killed it, she would be feeding it to her puppy.

The fox was.....well, a bit foxed by it all. You could see him thinking: "It looks like a dog, it smells like a dog, it sounds like a dog - but I do eat things that size....."

I got her in quickly, and got the look I know well that says "I brought it to bay for you - now you kill it!"

I went up to the fox, which showed no inclination to leg it. But after some persuasion it headed off behind the coal into the thicket down by the burn, from which came sounds of crunching. So it already had a meal.....fortunately not Truly.

She was already in bed with her fat daughter, telling her all about how she had vanquished a giant predator, and how when she was older, she would be taught how to do the same. And then they could go hunting together.....

Be afraid, Godzilla. Be very afraid.

The hype about Swine Flu hits new heights every day, and by now everyone locally equates it with bubonic plague and The End Of The World As We Know It.

This weather does not agree with my well-known chest weakness, and the other day I was coughing my way merrily home on the local bus, a gaudily painted affair clearly decorated by someone who needs to read less Harry Potter and definitely get out more. A young woman sitting behind me announced to the general public that it was a scandal to allow me to sit there infecting everyone with Swine Flu.....

Wet winter days do not bring out the best in me, and before the other passengers could have a whip round for the stake, faggots and tar barrels, I heard myself suggesting that my accuser was by the look of her probably herself harbouring quite a few diseases that she would be happy to pass on.

Silence. Which lasted till I got off.

Really, I shouldn`t be allowed.

But circumstances change. Last night I ate beans.

And today I concede that on the bus I was nobody`s friend.

Merlin does it again!

Yesterday, at a very civilised time of day for once, Truly presented us with a little girl, delivered with the usual Swedish efficiency and minimal help from me (apart from a considerable amount of ice cream and encouragement to "push harder, dear".) The new arrival took only a few seconds to find the milk supply and latch on.

Yes, another Merlin daughter. When informed, he did not reach for the cigars, but a strange blank look came into his eyes, and he looked about nervously for a place to hide . He already spends a lot of time with his two Allegra girls, now entering the "teenage"awkward stage, but clearly it had never occurred to him that these little blessings might just keep on coming.

Truly, on the other hand, is quietly smug.

Off into the unknown with us - Allegra, Merlin`s 4 daughters and a friendly Border terrier

Collision course!

The puppies were introduced to the wider world last week, as we had a wonderful autumn walk on a nearby farm and estate. They had the company of their half-sisters - Merlin`s older litter.

It was a revelation to them. Blanche decided that she would quite like to play with these older girls, and galloped off after them. Velvet is more of a people dog, and consequently spent a lot of time just avoiding being stepped on. She is the smallest of the four, and soon discovered that running as fast as she could with her little legs just didn`t take her nearly as far as the others, already disappearing into the distance.

Allegra, who accompanied them, was more interested in the farm Border terrier, and kept inspecting her closely eventually accepting her as quite OK for a Notapap.

The autumn colours were beautiful. Quite lost on Allegra, who preferred the attractions of the odd piles of horse manure - indeed, she would have preferred to spend the whole afternoon in the stable, with all those wonderful smells. Mind you, the horses would have to go. She spent quite a lot of time and energy alerting me indignantly to the presence of these huge and totally unacceptable animals, and then waiting expectantly for me to get rid of them.

The puppies were put to bed for a rest and we went on walking, across the farm where my friend rides, and over a nearby estate. Very healthy for me, and for Allegra, who for maternal reasons has not been getting out enough. I am determined to put some muscle on her, and she is very agreeable to that. Also a coat, as she is now bald as a egg - many Pap bitches just throw it all away when they have a litter, and the phrase "in the pink" takes on a whole new meaning when the skin shines through. I keep reminding her that winter is coming and threatening her with one of my big collection of knitted coats left over from my Crested days. (I used to practice my fairisle patterns on them and they are very varied and really tasteful...)

However, my memories of trying to persuade Papillons to wear coats are not good. I had a little dog years ago called Clovis, who developed a mysterious hormonal problem and became bald. I made a coat for him and put it on. He ran and hid in the bushes, and would not come out for anything. I could see him thinking - "If the dogs see me in this they`ll kill me. And if the bitches see me in it, I`ll kill myself."

Allegra`s daughters, however, are not short of coat and well prepared for wind and snow.

Probably much more than I am
i.

Allegra, now bald as an egg, puts the girls through their paces. (Sorry about "Hancock`s Half Hour" in the background.)

Recovering as the show year winds down - only a few to go and mercifully those are indoors. Our championship shows are mostly outdoors, which is fine if the weather suits, but really I feel the autumn cut off point for showing outside should be brought forward.

The last outdoor show of the year is always a bit dodgy as to weather, and this year we had a sunny cold windy day, just fine for a brisk walk with the dogs....miserable if you were stationary at the ringside. People huddled together for warmth and the more enterprising ones bought dog blankets from the stalls to shiver under. I coughed all the way through it, and have coughed ever since.

Wind usually makes the dogs a bit more lively - not what Merlin needs, as his little spring is already wound up tight and only the sudden appearance at the ringside of a willing and ready Pap lady could make him more distracted. As it was he had to cope with Tibetans in the next ring which definitely needed An Eye kept on them. As I wrestled with his nanosecond attention span, another problem arose. I use vocal cues in the ring. Alas, the little dog next to us was also called "Merlin". Two very puzzled little dogs looked back and forth in confusion. "How does that strange woman know my name?"

It was the second unsettling moment for Merlin in as many weeks.

We had gone to Belfast as foot passengers, and as we were carrying the dogs to the boat, a kind person offered to take them over in their car. So there was Merlin, being handed over at midnight to a stranger in a car park, and being put in a strange car. He was far from happy. It was clear to him that I was fulfilling the threat I make to all of them when they annoy me. At last he was really being sold in a car boot sale.

When I got him back at the other side, it was clear that his relief was tempered with confusion. He was glad to see me - but did this mean that he had not only been sold, but had been returned as unsatisfactory goods? It`s tough, being Merlin.

Truly on the other hand, is well and truly expecting - maybe 3, according to the scan - and is eating relentlessly with Scandinavian efficiency.

The puppies are full of it, and driving their mother to try to exhaust them in order to get a rest. Allegra is really good at that. Velvet is very confiding, and cute Blanche is still hoping for a good home.

Well, a slow slide into Autumn here, with days of grey drizzle and just a few falling leaves. As usual I dread the winter to follow, especially as the BBC has declared it will be a mild one - and we all know what that means....snow up to our knees.

Had my usual day of cleaning out the coal heating stove, involving intimate and filthy exploration of its side and back passages with a variety of tools collected over the years. (I find a bent barbecue fork very useful) . Came away looking like a miner coming off shift, but congratulating myself that -

(a) there wasn`t a dead bird up there (the ultimate disaster),
(b) I didn`t have to take the huge cast iron flue cap off with the big hex wrench,
(c) I had the foresight to shut the puppies up first.

There has been a succession of very forgettable shows - good company, but judges who liked reds, long noses, lunch as soon as possible and so on. We always seem to be on the last day too, when the ring smells delectably of all the large ladies who have been there on the previous days, making Merlin very distracted.

Truly may have enrolled in the pudding club......she certainly thinks she has, and is treating other bitches accordingly, leading to a certain amount of discord. (Let`s be honest here - she is very free with her teeth, and the others are reacting accordingly. For a little girl who is all adorable sweetness with people, she has an alarming lack of ability to fit in with other Papillons, and a very exaggerated opinion of her ability to dominate them. ) I am keeping her carefully separate.

Puppies are growing like weeds. Allegra`s strenuous workouts are giving them muscles like weightlifters, and they are very active and more cute than anything has a right to be. I realise that I will shortly be looking for a nice pet home for Blanche, whose decorator short changed her a bit. She is a sweetie, and should make someone very happy.

Allegra gives Velvet and Blanche a power workout......

Allegra`s puppies are thriving. They have at last found names - Blanche and Velvet - and discovered how well tiny teeth fit into my ankles. They are at the perennially underfoot stage, and when I walk I have to adopt a strange gait known as "the puppy shuffle" to avoid squashed Papillon.

Allegra doesn`t so much believe in playing with them as in giving them a good strenuous workout, and I think very healthy puppies will be the result, probably with muscles like Arnie.

I have not liked the way comments on the last post have been going while I was away showing this last weekend. If you want to make snide gibes, this is not the place to do it. I am the queen of this particular castle, and while I don`t mind you taking me on ( for I am more than a match for you), I will not have third parties attacked here.

Accordingly comments have been disabled for now, and when they return they will be moderated, which will put an end to any nonsense.

I had a refreshingly different judging experience at the weekend - a little fun show for charity, part of an equestrian event.

Before it began I sat in on the dressage judging, - nervous riders, confused horses - and felt desperately glad that I do not have to ask my dogs to do anything that precise. (And they would laugh at the very idea.)

From control (well, attempted control) to chaos. I went round to the little field where the dog show was to be held, reflecting how much better it was than some of the mud I was asked to show in last year, and was faced by a host of small children, desperately hanging on to their pets, most of no particular breed and of a type I always think of as "jolly dogs". Many of the dogs were considerably larger than their handlers, and children were towed all over the field.

There was only one entry in Veteran, and a large and truly ancient mongrel came in and proceeded to trail his tiny handler all round the field, where his only interest was to lift his leg as often as possible. I eventually brought them to a standstill, and asked the little girl how old he was. She looked around for help. None came. "I don`t know" she whispered, and I suddenly realised that he was at least twice as old as she was.

As we proceeded through OVER 15 INCHES; UNDER 15 INCHES; BEST SIX LEGS; WAGGIEST TAIL (a really hard one this, as most of the tails went so fast they were just a blur); BEST CHILDREN`S PET (where I asked one child if her Lab was a working one and she replied "I should say so - he`s a stud dog!") and headed towards DOG THE JUDGE WOULD MOST LIKE TO TAKE HOME, it became a matter of avoiding tears, and I sent for extra rosettes so that no-one would be left out.

On we went, with me trying to see that no child was left out, and being licked and climbed over by happy panting contestants. Things slowed down as more and more people joined in. By the time we reached the end, we had quite a crowd, and all seemed pleased with the results.

There was another happy result that weekend.

Three years ago I sold one of Fenella`s puppies called Daisy to a show home, where she was destined to be a brood bitch. She had two litters, and then the decision was made to let her go. My friend`s son, who knew the family and the dogs, was upset about this, and eventually bought Daisy, just as a pet. His mother, very experienced in the breed, looked at Daisy and thought otherwise. Daisy received a lot of skilled attention. And the outcome of that was that on the same weekend, a very tail-waggy Daisy won the Bitch CC and went Best of Breed and was shortlisted for the Group under a well-known international judge at a large Championship Show in Wales.

And I couldn`t be more pleased.

Of course I watched the Perseids. I got settled outside with a comfortable chair, a radio and a pot of tea, and watched the north-east skies.

The midges were intense. The little pipistrelles swooped back and forth just above my head, hoovering up a midge -feast. Solitaire was parked on my knee, producing the usual unfortunately regular...er..."emissions", surely enough to drive off biting insects (and probably low-flying aircraft). I hoped bats had a very limited sense of smell....

...And of course we saw the meteor shower. Very impressive, until the overcast got too thick. A great spectacle every year, and this time we were so lucky to have clear skies.

It made me resolve to spend more time skywatching.

And if Solitaire wished on a falling star, she kept the wish to herself

I am destined never to get a night`s sleep, it seems.

Again I was awakened, about 4am, this time by the fire alarm. I got up. There was no fire. There was, however, a fire alarm having a nervous breakdown, and refusing to shut up. It is one with an integrated ten year battery - no switching it off by removing that.

This was the second panic awkening in two nights, and I had had enough. Instead of doing something sensible with it, I completely lost my temper, rushed out into the night, and hurled it away into the next field.

Back to bed, thinking that was that.

But next morning, when I got up and out - it was still going! And so loud! Broadcasting to the whole valley. Possibly for ten years....?

Cue a shamefaced and painful hunt among the nettles for the errant ET, still loudly phoning home, and more sensible disposal.

"What was all that beeping last night?" asked my neighbour. "Did you not hear it?"

I told her I sleep very soundly.

Well, I would like to...

Who knows what tonight will bring....?

I woke at 4am, to the sound of a very loud clock ticking.

I do not have such a clock in the bedroom.

I put the light on to discover a large, loud drip beside me.....no, not an unfortunate choice of male companion. A leak. A puddle had formed, and a menacing ballooning swelling above on the ceiling was oozing water.

Solitiare and I got up and headed upstairs. The plumbing here, as I have explained before, is very basic. Fortunately, it is also very accessible. I dreaded a mains fault, as I would have to go out, prise up the manhole cover and turn off the water in the road....an exciting prospect, often involving going up to the shoulder into muddy water.

But it wasn`t. The water seemed to be coming from the little expansion tank. And I couldn`t see just where the leak was coming out. I peered about with the torch. Solitaire offered very vocal encouragement. Merlin sat worried at the bottom of the stairs. He could see that we would all be washed away...the very word "washed" is a traumatic one for him.

I put something under the leak and went back to bed. Then I sat up and said to Solitaire - "No, I really have to fix this." She gazed at me with her most intelligent expression, the one that makes me doubt that she has as much brain as a split pea. We went back up.

By the light of a failing torch, I jammed the ballcock, emptied the tank with a jug and managed not to fall off the steps. Solitaire was very impressed. Back down to a very anxious Merlin, and a fairly damp bedroom. I could see that both Paps felt that they alone had saved the day.

We await the plumber.

And the bill.....

As you can see, the picture shows Allegra and friends.

Why, you ask, does it not show Allegra and puppies?

Because Allegra is bored. SO bored! Already!

As a person she would be known everywhere as the life and soul of any party. And it has taken her less than two weeks to sus that motherhood is no party. You feed one end and clean the other and that`s it, folks. So after the first week I began to hear the patter of feet in the hall, and see a little nose come round the door - "What`s happening in here, then? Did I miss something? Can I just sit on your knee for a bit?"

Of course she is doing her duty, and the little girls are now so fat they can hardly crawl, and spotlessly clean. I suspect they will be a lot more entertaining once they are up and moving and trying to chew her tail off......

I told Merlin that having four daughters involves a lot of responsibility. Had he heard of the duties of the Father of the Bride? When the little girls are old enough for husbands, who will have to pay the stud fees.......?

He went under the sofa.

He hasn`t come out yet.

Why do they always do it at night? And at weekends, in what I think of as the "vet desert", with the nearest one miles away and on special call only. No, they don`t come to the house. (Remember the old saying that the words "vet" and "vampire" both begin with v, both are bloodsuckers, but only one of them will come out at night...)

So of course Allegra started labour Sunday evening, not too early. She is young and healthy and I hoped it would be over quickly. But the strong second-stage contractions went on and on, and nothing came. I began to think of the vet, and when I phoned, I got no useful advice, but a horrendous estimate.

Nevertheless, I phoned a friend and arranged transport and went off to get carriers and hot water bottles and all the paraphenalia ready.....and when I got back to the delivery room, Allegra had left the whelping bed and run about, and the result was a little daughter. Clearly moving about had dislodged the puppy from whatever it was stuck against. The poor little thing had a face that looked as if it had gone 3 rounds with Tyson - after all, she had been pushing her way out with it for two hours.

I was very relieved. I brought my friend up to date (but forgot to cancel the vet, leading to a very snippy phone call later), and assumed that all would now be plain sailing with the remaining puppy.

The relief lasted until a large water bag appeared and burst, revealing two enormous hind feet. I was appalled. How was I going to get that out? Allegra obviously totally shared that thought.

There followed what felt like hours of effort as she pushed and I gripped and pulled. It came out millimetre by millimetre. We got stuck at the hips, then the shoulders....then at last the head popped out and a huge second daughter flopped out, apparently lifeless. How could she have survived all that?

But there are things you can do. I massaged, and applied a stimulant to the tongue - and suddenly there was a gasp, and in a minute the purply-dark body had turned pink, muscle tone arrived, and a little girl apparently built on the general lines of a rhino was crawling around, rather snuffly, demanding the milk that had been promised in the Getting Born Manual. I cleared the nose, and she joined her older sister at the milk bar.

4 am, and vast relief. Puppies OK and settled. Allegra is young, and wasn`t too exhausted. And the pleasure of a family was already making her forget.

I knew what would make her forget even quicker. And would provide some much-needed calcium and energy...for both of us.

So at 4am the new mother and I happily shared a tub of ice cream.

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.