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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"

Sunday, December 11, 2005

RED SOFA RULES! 

`Twas two weeks before Christmas and all through the house the canine maternity ward was in full swing. (Well it feels like all through the house... what with Tamara`s puppy Cressida discovering what human ankles taste like, and Sonja`s brood taking over the bedroom.)

Yes, Marcus` mountaineering episode bore fruit, and two days ago Red Sonja, between 6.20 and 8.20 am produced four daughters. Having been up all night listening to her scraping, digging and panting like a steam engine, I was a bit too tired to fully appreciate the event when it finally happened. Canine births are usually protracted. They don`t go in for sudden deliveries en route in ambulances rushing to the maternity ward . Instinct tells them to dig out a nest first, and they can dig for a day beforehand. (If wise, one does not let them do this out of doors..)

I remember explaining this to a nurse I know and she was amazed. "Wouldn`t it be great if human mothers gave you that much warning!" I had an instant vision of all the pregnant mums- to-be dashing to the garden shed and searching wildly for a spade, and husbands phoning in a panic -

"I think we need an ambulance now - she`s dug twelve trenches, a water feature and a hole for a septic tank!"

Anyway, Red Sonja is now the proud and astonished mother of four. (I think she thought they only came in pairs). But the last placenta was retained, so we had a rushed trip to the vet. I heaved out the vast and resentful Sonja, aka Red Sofa, for Hans to examine. I felt I had to apologise for her size.

"She`s put on a bit of weight, I`m afraid."

"Well now," said Hans, "pregnant ladies will have their little cravings."

I was thankful that he hadn`t seen her two days previously, downing entire sausage rolls - they disappeared like Eurostar into the Channel tunnel, and after three of them she turned to the dry dog food with a look that said - "At last, the main course - mind you, the starters were good."

(No I didn`t give her three sausage rolls. She conned me out of one. Then she stole two.)

So there she sits in her glory, still panting and surrounded by tiny grubby puppies. (Sonja never quite got the hang of keeping her offspring clean. Her sister used to sneer at her mucky lot beside her own spotless offspring, obviously saying to her children - "Be kind to those puppies - they come from a poor home")

It`s a full house for Christmas




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