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.

Saturday, August 26, 2006


The day before a show is always fraught. It boils down to an exercise in logistics:

1. Get them clean
2. Keep them clean.

It`s at times like these you wish you had gone in for Scotties, or Russian Black Terriers. That you didn`t belong to the My Dog Has White Feet Club. Or White Anything.

After a day of blue shampoo suds, Mrs Crinklyhands stands back and surveys the result.

Florian looks as if he has one paw in an electric socket.

Solitaire, washed first, has already picked up a mysterious stain that looks a lot like tomato sauce.

Allegra has developed a tuft between the shoulders that just won`t lie flat.

And then there`s Marcus. The hot summer made all the dogs cast, and Marcus more than most. But he cast selectively. From the front he looks fine.

But from the back.....well, there`s just nothing there. Bare legs. He`s thrown it all away.

Let`s be brutal. What he needs is an arsewig. A nice long veil of white hair I can hang from an elastic loop round his tail.

Anyone out there got one?
Poor Marcus. Shall I knit him one?
Yes....perhaps not green cotton...
Ooooh, an arsewig!! Hahahaahahaaa - that I've gotta see!!
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