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.

Sunday, December 23, 2007


No, not yet dead - just seemed to be a lot going on.

Truly made a short journey south to enrol in the Pudding Club and is now looking very thoughtful.....when not thumping other bitches to whom she now feels superior.

Storm and Shadow are looking for good homes - not too hard, unfortunately. Occasionally, when really stressed, I threaten them with being offered at a car boot sale as an unrepeatable BOGOF.

Merlin has at last developed a personality, if not a brain, and may yet walk on the lead without that look on his face that suggests a turkey which has just had Christmas explained to it in detail. He has had a coat explosion, and resembles an animated haystack.

It`s that time of year again. I visit all my relatives for an epic blowout, and they all nag. "How can you live away out there? Do you at least have a guard dog?"

Well, Shelby is greatly insulted by that. He is always on guard, using the classic Chin method of dealing with intruders. He stands stock still and stares them down with those enormous eyes. "You are being studied by an adult male Chin...be very afraid." It really freaks out the postman, who sorta knows where he is with the rest of the pack jumping up and down and screaming, but tries to avoid the basilisk stare.

I was recently in a village a bit upriver where I used to live, and was reminded of the Great Guard Dog scandal there.

There was a little Asian local shop, open all hours, stocks everything. Everything included booze and cigarettes, and this made the poor shopowner a target for thieves. There were regular burglaries. He made a little caged room and put the bottles and fags in there, but they still got in.

Eventually he got a guard dog. Roy the Rescue Rottie. He was neutered, and gentle as a baby, but this was kept secret. At night he had a comfortable soft bed in the caged area with the cigarettes stacked floor to ceiling and the alcohhol. There were no more break- ins. All trouble ceased.

Until the Health and Safety inspection, when the dreadful truth came to light.

In there all night, with his bowl of water and bed, Roy the RR had freely given way to....well, to basic urges. No, he hadn`t smoked the fags. He had urinated on them. Regularly. In his nocturnal version of Tai Chi leg elevations he could reach quite high up......

And not one local had noticed. They had bought and smoked the....impregnated....fags with relish. Probably they had noticed a little extra tang and appreciated it. You could imagine a special local problem in trying to give up smoking - a nicotine patch would not be quite enough, and they don`t make patches for the other ingredient -yet.

R the RR was relegated to his true vocation of children`s pet. The shop was closed down "for renovations". And I left the area about that time.

Well, as I said, it`s that time again. And here I sit relaxing with a pot of Tesco`s "Captain Scott`s Extra Strong Blend as used on his 1912 expedition". Yes , really. I can only hope the tea benefits me more than it evidently did him. (One hopes it was not one of the reasons for Captain Oates saying that he "was just going outside and might be some time"..... )

And with that I wish you a Very Merry Christmas !
A very Merry Christmas to you too, Elizabeth! :) That story about Roy the Rescue Rottie isnt really true, is it? It was hilarious!
It is absolutely true ! Only his name has been changed to protect the innocent. The health inspector was apoplectic with rage.
Have a wonderful Christmas!
Merry Christmas Elizabeth. We wish you the best for the new year and hope to see you again at a show.
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