“WHAT`S THAT, BOY? TIMMY`S FALLEN DOWN THE WELL?”...
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM…
Happy New Year
MAD AS A BOX OF FROGS
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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"
Friday, October 28, 2011
I have a fond memory of coming back from the Imaging expert (looked a lot like George Clooney), to be accosted by a younger version, who produced a stethoscope and said he would like to listen. By all means, thought I. As long as you like.
At last he folded up the stethoscope and said, "Well, you have a heart murmur."
Now I had previously spent part of an afternoon hooked up to machines in cardiology. With my total lack of medical expertise, I still found it difficult to believe that young glamorous Dr Kilpatient here with his trusty old stethoscope had discovered what they were totally unable to see......
But he was very easy on the eye. I suddenly realised that this wasn`t real. I was obviously now living in a hospital soap.
"I find a lot of those", he confided.
"I`m sure you do", I replied, thinking "probably in every single patient, and you cure them single handed, before the commercials....".
Well, I came home at last, to absolutely hyper puppies, all struggling with teething and the huge problems of growing up. One had explored enough to step on a nettle, and the other two were totally entertained by his antics as he screamed and howled and rolled about and proclaimed that he was going to die. Would they get his share of the food, then? His mother rolled her eyes in disbelief, and gave me a look that stated that I needn`t expect her to do anything. Eventually the appearance of dinner made him decide that perhaps his feet wouldn`t fall off today.
All back to normal, then.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Fidget and I had another show, on a drizzly day in a tent where someone had tried to break the record for the number of dogs in one marquee. Tiny rings, and a very limited view for the spectators. And a judge who preferred really fine bone, so Fidget was only placed, although he showed well and managed to ignore the dogs in the next ring, who were definitely Notpaps.
I took him round the stalls for some light relief. We paused at one selling fur hats, caps, ushankas, that sort of thing. "Does this man know something about the long range weather forecast I don`t?" I wondered, and picked up one of the hats, and the rest of the pile slid down a bit.
Fidget was appalled. He had had his supicions about all that fur, and now he knew for a fact that it was alive. He backed off, eyes rolling, screaming abuse.
I showed him the hat, and slowly the truth dawned on him. He began to look about, furtively. Had anyone noticed him making a fool of himself? He discovered that he had become the focus of attention for a ring full of Akitas (although possibly they were just looking for lunch.) Very silently he tiptoed behind me, and stayed there.
All in all an interesting day for him. He had travelled with a carfull of Chinese Cresteds, and was no doubt wondering if hair loss was contagious. And our driver missed a turning and we went home via Edinburgh, so he saw a lot of the countryside as well.
I think coming home and being assaulted by puppies with teeth like pirhanas probably counted as light relief.