“WHAT`S THAT, BOY? TIMMY`S FALLEN DOWN THE WELL?”...
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM…
Happy New Year
MAD AS A BOX OF FROGS
OFF WE GO!
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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"
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
There is no comparison.
Mind you, car travel can have its little problems.
A friend lent me a book on hairless dogs, and I recognised many of the dogs and people in the old pictures as those I knew well - alas, many of them gone now.
It made me recall travelling to shows with Crested friends, many years ago, bombing down the M6 to in a Volvo estate. The driver believed that motorways were designed to be cruised at 120mph, and every time she spotted a police car she stood on the brakes and everything in the back shot into the front at lightspeed.....
But that`s not the memory that came back first....
We were once going down to Coventry to a club show, with several dogs. One of the party insisted that her dog could only travel loose, otherwise he would be sick. Boy, was he a nuisance ! He hopped from front to back and annoyed everyone. Then he migrated into the back of the car, where he was quiet for some minutes.
Then a horrible but familiar smell began to fill the car. We pulled over and investigated.
The loose dog had become really loose. In fact he had had diarrhoea. Lots of it.
And with unerring aim, he had had diarrhoea in his owner`s open handbag.
Think a moment, ladies. Lots of things you can just throw away. But not a handbag. You have to salvage quite a lot of the contents. In short, the owner had to go through it. We tried not to look....in fact we tried to get as far away from the smell as possible.
The rest of the journey was very silent. The loose dog was in a box, and all the windows were fully open.
Those were the days.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Shelby was his usual self. Other Chin were sitting on coolpacks and drooping in the shade...Shelby loves heat and swaggered in the sun. He was unfailingly sociable to the other rather timid and overheated exhibits and I felt better about his 2nd when I discovered that the 1st belonged to a close friend of the judge...so it goes.
Our breed is becoming a magnet for superheroes. At the last show we had Papillonman, making the showring safe for humanity and frogs. At this one I understand there was an appearance (or perhaps apparition?) of Flowerpowerman in crushed velvet flares, but I`m told he was so laid back he had sunk out of sight by the time I got there. I can see we are going to get a name for this kind of thing and am looking around nervously for the next guy to feel an irresistible impulse to put on his underpants over his tights.
It seems to go with the breed. Many years ago, we lost a Club member, one of those quiet uniformly grey Scotsmen of the bunnet and Sunday Post variety. Committee officials were delegated to attend the funeral.
They arrived in the wee grey kirk in a wee grey town, suitably solemn and soberly dressed, and were amazed when the other mourners arrived in flamboyant cowboy outfits and the coffin was carried in draped in the Confederate flag with a pair of distinctly Texan boots on top...with silver spurs. The minister was unfazed.
"We are gathered here to say farewell to Colorado, as we knew him..."
"Colorado!" I am ashamed to say that the delegation completely lost their cool at this point and found it increasingly difficult to maintain the decorum required for a Scottish funeral as they tried to imagine his other secret life.
Not that there`s any harm in dressing up.
But rumours that I will appear at Leeds as Wonderwoman will have to be scotched right now....
I can`t find my Golden Lasso of Truth, let alone my Feminium bracelets.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Allegra is somewhat...interesting to the opposite sex, and will spend the day in seclusion.
Truly and Shelby seem to have had access to my books on hairless dogs, and decided that that is the way to go this summer.
Marcus (still recovering from Doing It The Pom Way) and his brother Florian The Climbing Dog have decided that beige is the new white, regardless of my washing efforts
Well, I`m certainly not going for the cuisine (classic salmonella innabun).... .
I`ll just have to look on it as a social event then.
Go on, convince me !
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Marcus was having some difficulty with a visiting lady. This is not a usual occurrence for the young Casanova, and the fault certainly did not lie with the object of his attentions, who was flirting and tail switching in the most alluring way. No: somehow or other he just couldn`t seem to hit the target, even when it was flaunted in his face.
I wasn`t too well anyway(the Achilles Wooden Leg seems to have developed termites), and time was going on - the window of opportunity is not too large with dogs - so I phoned a friend. In short order we were being helped by an expert.
Now, I should point out that a helping hand (quite literally) is not unusual in doggy sex. Often a little manipulation is all it takes. But my friend is an expert in quite a different breed.
Marcus was about to take a dive into the turbulent waters of Pom Sex.
For the young eager Pom male, sex has unique problems. The dainty young hopeful is likely to discover that the chosen one is, well....considerably larger. In fact, often a Really Big Girl. However keen he is, he is unlikely to make it on his own, so techniques have been developed.....
The lady was held firmly, and Marcus got going with enthusiasm. His little face was suffused with concentration, Any second now.....
As he connected with the target, a large strong hand clutched his bottom and propelled him inward at lightspeed. His ears shot up and his eyes rolled in shock. As he was held firmly in position, the expression turned to acute embarrassment. He began to look about furtively to see how many witnesses there were, and how he could silence them.
"There, that`s it," said my friend, releasing him at last. "That`s how we do it in Poms."
Marcus` look spoke volumes about Poms. You could see that he was wondering how they could ever face reproduction.
But as we chatted and time went on, he began to notice that his lady love was as attractive as ever. A certain amount of flirting went on.
"He might go again," said my friend. "Look, I`ll hold the bitch..."
The patter of Marcus` feet heading out of the door was the only response.