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"
Angel made her first appearance at a Championship show yesterday.
Amazingly, she arrived without having been sick - could this be the dawn of a new era? Could it be that she could now travel without the emergency bag - a collection of equipment and material for the hurried cleaning of a small person (who may even have sat in it)?
I was not sure how she would take to an enormous Championship show. Lots of noise and movement, hundreds of people. Some puppies just fold under the assault on the senses.
Not Angel. She noted with approval that she was entirely surrounded by Real Dogs. Papillons, that is. No sign of a Notapap. And when I got her into the ring, with a large number of equally young puppies, she was very willing to swagger about (for an endless supply of chicken, of course), and show off to everyone watching. She gave every impression of enjoying herself.
And she won her class.
Although she did not win the Best Puppy challenge (hindered perhaps by her insistence on having a Brad Pitt in the ring at the moment of decision), I was really pleased that my baby girl had done so well. I can see that we will be having a bit of fun in the ring this year.