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.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011


Things jog on here, with the puppies growing bigger, and finding more ways to get grubby, every day. Already the adults are seeking higher ground every time they are let loose.

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.
Hehehe... you certainly have a way with words. I couldnt help laughing out loud at the image of Fidget being attacked by fir hats.
That is to say, FUR hats!
Fir hats - like Birnam wood coming to Macbeth...
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