THE NOSE HAVE IT
Ancient cottage in a wood....
WHERE MY CARAVAN HAS RESTED
EMAIL ME .
Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.
"IN DOG YEARS, I`M DEAD"
Saturday, July 31, 2004
He has had a chequered career. He was an indefatigable stud dog, specialising in the "more difficult" ladies - i.e. he didn`t tmind getting bitten in the performance of his duties. He was also a mean fighting machine, and had to be kept separate from other dogs.
This vision of himself as a serial killer has only mellowed in the last few years. Only four years ago he got at my top show youngster and was found dragging him around by the throat. The youngster was terrified. He had wet himself. He was eyeballing the Grim Reaper. But what I knew, and the victim didn`t know and the old killer had conveniently forgotten, was that the Venerable Ancient no longer had any teeth. I pulled him off his prey, and he came away with a loud sucking noise. He had been trying to gum him to death, and was evidently surprised that it hadn`t worked. The victim was damp but unharmed.
The vision of himself as stud dog has not altered. Last year, aged seventeen, he mated a bitch - another old lady of thirteen - without my approval of course - he just got lucky. I mentioned this to the vet and said that I didn`t really see any need to take action in view of his age.
"I expect he`s firing blanks," I said.
"How old is he?"
I told her and she fell about laughing. "Firing blanks?" she guffawed. "I`d be amazed if he was firing anything in remotely the right direction."
He`d be appalled if he could read this. He`s out there just now, parading in his party hat, strutting his stuff, making overtures to all the old girls, convinced he`s one hell of a fellow.
He`s planning his twentieth birthday, never mind his eighteenth.