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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, January 21, 2007
Recovering from the first show of the year. And it had to take place on the day of the Geat Storm.
Dog people don`t notice little things like that. The Great White Bus chugged on through the wild night, swaying wildly past overurned lorries, while the inhabitants dozed through iit all, dreaming fitfully of grooming aids and whitening gels and mythical creatures like the Easter Bunny and the Honest Judge. It was a wet rush in to the hall, but after that the weather was the last thing on our minds....
Florian didn`t oblige. Marcus told the lady standing next to us that he
adored her and wanted to go home
with her. She looked at him. "I have two bitches in season at home," she said. I explained that he knew that. He always knows. He is a dog with a mission. So many girls, so little time.....
I had to rush across the hall with Shelby, then back just in time to take Allegra in. She had been confined altogether too long by that time.
Have you seen the film "Flubber"? Imagine that on a lead. (But not green...) She twirled, she spun, she jumped - and amazingly she won.
When we trailed out into the rain, reality hit. Motorways blocked by fallen trees and lorries. Side roads commandeered for emergency overnight parking. Services jammed. All rail networks down....
But we were Dog People. We boldly went.
We crawled up the M6. It took hours to get to Charnock Richard which was packed with those who had given up, and was due to run out of what passes for food at moorway services in 20 minutes. During those hours our driver had mysterious long conversations on his mobile with the driver of the other bus.
I didn`t work out the significance of that till later. It seems that he had suggested to this lad that it might be better to try the side roads. The result was that a coachload of tired exhibitors and fretful dogs wandered off on a zig-zag tour of storm-tossed rural England, hopelessly lost, with no access to basic facilities (well, at least there were trees for the dogs), doomed like the Flying Dutchman to roam the B roads for ever......well actually for twelve hours. They pooled what food and water they had, and looked thoughtfully at the bags of dog biscuit...
But Dog People rise above that sort of setback....
Cannibalism was never even considered.....
Let alone Pom Frite