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.

Friday, February 02, 2007


Spring has sprung, the grass is riz, and my ladies are in a receptive mood. Well...those who haven`t had the snip, anyway.

Solitaire and Truly, the new girl, who waited only a few weeks before sussing out the male talent and rushing into season, are hot to trot and confined to the house. Outside I can hear the symphonic variations on "My Funny Valentine" provided by the boys - the soprano screams of Marcus, the bass desolate honks of Florian, and percussion provided by intermittent dull thuds as Shelby hurls himself at the door, preferring the direct method.

Mr Lentil is silent. His idea of courtship is more tentative, and involves dancing.

You`ve seen films of the bee dance? The one where the worker bee comes back to the hive and dances in circles to show where the pollen is? Well imagine that scaled up and performed by a solemn little dog. He circles round the chosen girl, prancing on his toes and waggling his bum vigorously, faster and faster, maintaining eye contact throughout.

It`s an amazing spectacle. Unfortunately the girls are not amazed. Or even impressed. They seem to prefer Florian (inept but loud), Marcus (suave Casanova) or even Shelby (jump off the top of the wardrobe shouting "Geronimo!").

Dream on, girls. None of them for you.

It`s Heartbreak Hotel for you this Valentine`s day.
I have to say that Shelby is my favourite :)
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