TRAINED TO THE SHOVEL
MERRY CHRISTMAS !
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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"
Saturday, April 11, 2015
I was a bit worried about him fitting in. He has not been an easy dog, I am told, and takes really badly to change. However, I picked him up at a show, and brought him home, late that night, to face the others here.
|"Admit it - you can`t resist me!" - Sparkle|
I need not have worried. They all seemed to remember him – except for the puppies, who screeched and yelled at him, sure that the Martians had landed . The others simply shrugged. “Oh yes, that little pest is back.”
Solitaire, however, was overjoyed. Her wandering boy had returned. She was all over him , tried to clasp him to her bosom and made strenuous attempts to wash him, which he fairly politely declined. (Solitaire still washes all her babies, if they will let her. The girls allow it, but Fidget, now 5, insists he is too old to be scrubbed by Mum)
Where was he going to sleep? He decided that himself. He headed straight to Fidget`s bed. I waited for bloodshed. But Fidget simply indicated that it was OK, and that was that. They settled in together for the night
And that was that. I had bought in lots of expensive food for him – sure to keep him in good body and coat. He ate it the first night. After that he held out for cheap tinned, and whatever I was eating. He seems quite settled. UNusual noises, like owls (we have lots of owls) disturb him, but he will get used to that.
I`m pretty sure he will be OK, and a happy future of Bambi impersonating lies ahead of him.