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.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Saturday, December 20, 2008

"Well, of course I spoke out! Someone had to!"


...But recovering from one chest infection after another. Still, I did make it to the last show, coughing mightily.

Merlin stood the best chance. In a large class, the judge clearly liked him. But Merlin didn`t like the judge. As the man approached and stared at him, Merlin let his feelings be known. He barked. As my friend said - "not a welcoming bark".

Merlin screeched that this was obviously a Bad Man, that he wanted every dog here to know it, and that the Bad Man would not be getting to his Mum. I shut him up at once.

On the table he behaved. He tends to have an attack of the vapours, but wasn`t too bad this time.

The judge liked him and came back to stand and stare at him. And again Merlin let fly. This was not only a Bad Man, but a Bad Man who had had the audacity to feel his intimate bits! His indignation knew no bounds and echoed round the hall.

Amazingly, he was third.

And very pleased with himself.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

My two, Boris and Calypso, training for the Olympics. This chaos is euphemistically referred to as "puppy socialising"...


You probably guessed it - I`ve not been well. Only getting out of bed to see to the dogs, and neglecting the computer. The usual chest infection, complicated by a tummy bug.

Nevertheless, I`m up, trying to get a firm grip on Christmas, which got away from me at breakneck speed - and already planning more shows in the future.

My last doggy event, before I came down with everything, was an Afghan hands-on practice, where we were advised on what I can only call "going over the Afghan as Performance Art". I am told I go over Afghans "like a toy judge", and was told to strike bold poses, stride forward with authority and get a firm grip of the......subject. (In this case, a very patient hound.) I strode about and took a firm hold and had a feeling that I should be dressed up for this - possibly glam-rock. Also probably the dog...Afghans in platform boots...singing ABBA hits.

The puppies have been depressingly frenetic. At training class on Tuesdays they seem to think they will be competing in the Olympics. Despite total ear meltddown due to teething - I expect sabre-toothed tigers never had the problems getting their second teeth that Boris has - the little lad is still ready and willing to strut his stuff....and his sister is not. She only wants to run.

The adults gave me no peace either. One of the cats has adopted a high branch in the walnut tree as her favourite and the baying pack settles at the base every morning, cheering Florian The Climbing Dog on in his eternal upward quest for Cat Dinner. He heaves himself grimly upwards, and they shout their orders for a tail or a bit of ear. Eentually the cat moves on, or I come out and shout and threaten an excited muddy pack. I dream of a quiet day in bed....

Not a cat`s chance in hell of that.....

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