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.

Sunday, May 11, 2014


A busy time, with lots of shows and some success, particularly with Cupcake, who is doing really well in Ireland, thanks to expert handling.   He is coming over here this weekend, and I will be delighted to see him again – and hope he remembers me!

The puppies like shows.   Sparkle is convinced that he is six feet tall and the most macho dog in the world, and shows are created only  so  that     he can be admired – much the same philosophy as Angel.   Tess Trueheart is very earnest about the whole thing,  and needs mum to be there, but she beat 15 other puppy bitches first time out and won a rosette bigger than herself.   They are both at a puppy growth stage, where their limbs look in motion as if they are tied on with old knicker elastic and granny knots, the  age where you just hope it all comes right.

Plush has decided she likes showing.  The judge really doesn`t want to eat you, and anyway has probably just had lunch.

Mr Wag pensive
"You wouldn`t believe what that vet did to me!"  - Mr Wag

And then there`s Mr Wag, who has always loved the whole business, and is really up for anything.   He has been doing well at shows, but not so well in the health department.    He has had two goes of balanitis, an infection of the penis, and the other day visited the vet again for this problem.

My vet practice is in a little country village and is run by an older vet and a young one.    Last time Mr Wag was seen by the young vet, and had a long lasting antibiotic injection.  He didn`t mind that.   So he wagged hopefully at the older vet. 

I explained about last time.   “Well, my colleague and I agree to differ about the treatment of this.  He gives an injection – but I believe irrigation is the best way.”   And he produced a large syringe full of bright pink liquid and proceeded to squirt it right up  his….well, I leave it to your imagination.   It is a very tender area, and clearly the pink stuff was rather nippy.   YOu could have heard Mr Wag, who  is always very vocal, 20 miles away.   Several of the large dogs in the waiting room tried to hide, or head for the door.  (Mind you, the cat in its basket looked very smug).

“That should do it!” said the Vet.   Mr Wag, standing shaking with glazed eyes, clearly felt that he had indeed been done.  “Mind you, it is likely to come back.”

I decided on the spot that if we did have to come back, it would be the needle next time.

I just hope that the next time Mr Wag is put on the table at a show, he does not look anxiously for a large pink syringe concealed about the judge`s person…..
Poor mr wag, I hope he feels better now.
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