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"
Last month Solitaire made another, probably her last, visit to an attractive young dog.
That is to say, I thought he was attractive, but Solitaire, you may remember, has found sex one of the biggest disappointments of her life. I think she had sussed what the occasion of this visit was, and was far from her usual sociable self. She took a look round the room she had been brought to, and promptly glued herself to my knee. Her face had the well-known "Solitaire go home now?" expression.
The dog appeared, and her worst fears were realised. He was accustomed to work on a table, but the sight of Solitaire`s ample charms drove all thoughts of furniture from his mind, and, much to her disgust, the deed was soon done, on the floor. When released, she shot into her travelling box, clearly expecting to be off. But she was to stay, for more romantic experiences, and we said our goodbyes and left, telling her to be "a good girl."
After we had gone, her hostess thought that she should go out to relieve herself. She was released into the well fenced garden and the lady left her for a moment. When she came back out for her, the garden was empty.
And then she happened to look up.
And saw Solitaire`s mature fat furry bottom just disappearing over the top of the high fence. I had forgotten to tell her that Solitaire can climb. And Solitaire had had enough. Sex with a stranger, abandoned in a strange place - she wanted her mum. Like her favourite film star, Lassie, Solitaire was coming home.
She had to spend the rest of her honeymoon in a secure kennel and run, much to her disgust. And when we were at last reunited, at a show, she was ecstatic, and danced her happy dance for me.
I missed her too. She will not be leaving me again.