I should know better

A quiet time here, punctuated by two fairly local championship shows - great for once not to have to load a car and head out into the night with a cargo of dogs who start off squeaky clean, but may well be the worse for wear by the time they are unloaded.

Cupcake in particular hates travel.   He begins to dribble before he even gets into the car.   With travel sick pills he will not actually be sick, but has been known to make....offerings...from the other end.  There is no pill for that.   (Although the old saying about swallowing corks of varying size till you hit on one that fits comes to mind...)  He longs for a method of transport that does not involve four wheels and going round corners.

Belle at one year old

Angel loves it.   She sleeps all the way, on her back with her legs in the air like an upended beetle, in her little travel box.

This time the shows were back to back - two consecutive days.  Angel was delighted.   She would love a show every day.  Cupcake shuddered - two car journeys!

Two very contrasting shows.  We did reasonably at the first - but the judging was so slow that all sense of continuity was lost and the cafe did a roaring trade.  The Event Manager stood by with a watch, reminding us when the hall let would run out.   Fortunately Belle and Cupcake are very reliable and do not get bored, and anything that slows Angel up is a good thing.

Home very late from that one and off early again to the next.

Cupcake - just a year old  now

This , in contrast was efficiently quick in judging - but results were strange.  Cupcake was thrown out, but I didn`t feel so bad when I saw other top quality dogs go the same way.   At last I got an explanation.  "She only puts up dogs that stand like statues and keep looking at her."   Well, Cupcake didn`t like her.   He is too much of a gentleman to protest, but when she tried to attract him to look at her, he simply and eloquently turned his head away, and kept it turned.   Angel?   Stand still?  Look at the judge?   Amazing she was placed at all.

I headed off to the Afghan and Pharaoh rings, where my friends and relatives were having great success.

I find two days running pretty exhausting nowadays, and will be glad not to do it too often.

Angel, on the other hand, was very disappointed to wake on Monday and find that we really weren`t going again!

The local council has gone tree mad.  Suddenly the fields above my house are infested with little men in high-viz jackets, planting  row upon row of saplings in little protective sleeves.

Needless to say, the dogs highly approve of this.   And so, I think, will the local vandals.  I don`t give much for the trees` chances, even behind deer fencing.  The council will get a grant for them provided they are cared for - well, knowing council workers, I still don`t have much hope for them.

Meanwhile it all makes work for the working man to do, and reminds me of the joke that sums up  my experience of council workmen :

One morning a man was looking out of his window, and saw a strange thing.   The road had a broad grass verge, and two council workmen were working on it. One would dig a large squarish hole, then move on a few yards and dig another.   Meanwhile the second man followed behind and filled in the holes.

Our man was consumed by curiosity.   He went out and asked "What are you doing?   One digs a hole, the other fills it in - it makes no sense!"

"Aye well," said the council workman, "I can see it would look a bit confusing.  You`re just not getting the full picture.   You see, the guy who plants the trees called in sick."

Bank holiday weekends are usually non-events for me - no public transport so I stay at home - but this time I was going to visit relatives across the river, so was busy getting ready.   I had already confined the younger dogs, who were very sulky about it, when there was an outburst from the Granny Farm, the elderly girls who were still out.

I went to investigate.   They were screaming abuse at a man walking along the garden fence.

Not a sight often seen at my gate...

Now I get a few of those.   They usually shout that they will go where they like and they have a "right to roam", and I face up to them and reply that that`s OK because I have a right to call the police and that`s what I`m doing right now.

This one didn`t respond to that.   He just kept on trying to get to the house.

And then the helicopter arrived.   A police one, hovering about in a search pattern.  The noise made any further conversation impossible.

Well, Bank Holiday Sunday, and the whole area as dead as the far side of the moon.   I reckoned that they must be looking for him.

I had another look at him, now trying to climb over the gate at the back.   If they were looking for him he must be an escaped criminal, or worse, a fugitive from the nearby Secure State Hospital, where the insane axe murderers go.

Well, he didn`t have an axe.   Or any weapon.   He shambled along, and looked harmless....but then so did Hannibal Lecter.   I saw a way out and waved to the helicopter, and pointed to him....

And the helicopter landed at my gate!   No, that doesn`t often happen.    Out came the crew, in helmets and kevlar vests, and all was made clear.   He had indeed escaped from hospital and was officially described as "very demented but quite harmless"  They had been searching for 6 hours.

Meanwhile two cars full of police and a van with more of them had pulled up at the gate.   They were more impressed with the helicopter than anything else going on.  "I`ve never seen one up close " confided one constable.

I had to make a statement, and was thanked for "helping a police operation".

They put him in the van and off they went.

I calmed down the old ladies, and in particular Fenella, who was still demanding that Something Should Be  Done, and phoned my relatives, who came and collected me.

On the way out we passed my Good Neighbours, who were understandably at their door looking out.  I explained.

"Yes, we could see something big was going on....

But we knew you`d be all right!"

Due to a trend to relaxing security at Championship shows (one has done away with it altogether, and you can take any dog you fancy in or out), and a spate of reports of stolen dogs, I decided to go with mocrochips.  I thought I would start with the 3 youngsters...looking at the rest of the pack I wondered just who would want any of them, and as for the Granny Farm, I suspect I couldn`t give them away.  Anyway, the youngsters are the ones who travel.

Electronic dogs - Belle, Angel and Cupcake

So I packed them up and off we set away over the hills on a beautiful sunny day to the vet.  My vet is a bit distant, but really good.  The premises are very basic - a converted cottage in the main street of a village where you sit on kitchen chairs and the filing system is a card index box - but the treatment is excellent, and really not expensive, probably because they have very few overheads.  (My previous vet was financing a huge vet hospital, an expensive lifestyle,  and his own retirement, mainly from my account).

We arrived to an atmosphere of chaos.   The efficient lady who managed the card index was absent, and the two vets struggled with an avalanche of well-thumbed cards.   But I got my lot to the table and we struggled through all the paperwork, and at last the chips were implanted.

Angel didn`t care.   Belle cared desperately and screamed and gave the vet her big-eyed "you have betrayed my trust " look.   Cupcake didn`t even notice.   For him the worst had already happened - he had been taken over winding roads in a car.  For distant shows he is dosed with pills, but not this time.   He had arrived soaking, and he sat on the table with his head down, dripping copiously from the mouth.  He would not have noticed ear amputation.

Well, I got my 3 newcomers to the electronic age home, and looked at them, and began to speculate.   What about a control chip?  I picked up the Freeview remote control.   Suppose it could control dogs instead?

I suggested to my 3 that they would now be entirely under my control, and that one click on the remote would bring them literally to heel.    I received 3 looks of utter scorn.  They sauntered off, secure in the knowledge that no advance in science would ever lead to Papillon control.

Shelby looked after them, unimpressed.   He does not believe in new technology.

Shelby is tattooed.

Blogger is at it again, and you will have to scroll right down to get the rest of my post.  I am thinking of moving this to Wordpress....

Getting ready for a big show down south, I find I am being sidetracked by the Thatcher media circus going on.


I expect it is difficult for anyone outside the UK to understand the feelings that the death of Margaret Thatcher has revived.  Because she destroyed British industry, and incidentally whole communities, she was, and still is loathed in many areas north of the home counties.  She created a UK of service industry and in particular finance industry - and look where that has taken us!

A well-known Wicked Witch

In Scotland, she defined Toryism, and so to this day, Scotland does not vote for them.  The jokes that go around are that Scotland has more Pandas than Tory MPs (we have 2 Pandas), and that no Tory MP would ever be harmed in Scotland because here they are an endangered species.

Now we are facing huge Tory eulogies (do they forget slinging her out?) and a Ten million pound state funeral, at a time of austerity when people are being taxed for having a spare room, and food banks are proliferating.  Our government sees nothing incongruous in this.

Meanwhile there is a groundswell of opposition.  A Faccebook campaign led to that old song "Ding Dong, the Wicked Witch is Dead" rising to #3 in the top 40, which means that it is due a play on BBC radio - and there is no doubt as to who the witch is.   Cue much public heartsearching on the Beeb, and a strange decision to play part of the song, with "an explanation" (which will no doubt be yet another Thatcher eulogy).   Not a wise decision.

I think the spectacular funeral will provide a focus for opposition, and there may be riots.   There have already been street parties arranged to celebrate her death.  Our Tory government just does not or will not see that the anti-Thatcher feeling is not just about her, but is a measure of how much they are hated by those who are suffering under the "austerity" they have imposed, and see no effort to provide economic growth.

My position on this is quite straightforward.   I do not  believe any politician whatsoever deserves a state funeral.

And I remember from years ago, on a radio phone-in when this enormous funeral was first suggested, a young lad calling in -

"I think a state funeral for Mrs Thatcher is a wonderful idea!   Lets do it! .......
Do we have to wait until she`s dead?"

Small dogs are always the problem.

The bigger dog is usually calm and laid-back and confident.   The little fellow has something to prove.

I have two such problems at the moment.

One is Marcus.   Marcus seems to be having a mid-life crisis - common to males, I believe, but instead of dressing half his age or buying a red sports car (which I could easily cope with, apart from wondering where he got the cash), Marcus is set on World Domination.   All other males must submit to him.

Now in the past I have had males who would have reduced Marcus and his ambition to a small greasy stain.   But things are different now.  My males are

Marcus the Merciless, ruler of the world

Fidget  - a big soft pudding
Merlin - a wimp "OMG, they are all senior dogs!"
Florian the Climbing Dog - mind on higher things
Shelby - Chin, and so by definition pacifist

Marcus roars at all of them, threatens them with death, and enthusiastically bumbites them when their backs are turned.  He gives the impression of a small furious but ineffectual wasp buzzing round a herd of mammoths.  The others hate it, but have no idea what to do about it beyond barking and looking hopefully at me.  Sometimes Shelby swats at him, and he flies across the room.

I keep a very close eye on things.

Truly is a different problem, although the size is about the same.  She is a warrior, and much hated by the other girls, many of whom she has bitten in the past.  Her body language seems to inspire attack.

Truly, my little red viking

Yesterday Daisy decided to take things in hand.    Backed up by an eager gang of bitches she advanced on Truly and began to tell her in no uncertain terms what she was and what was now going to be done to her.

The little red viking didn`t wait for the end.   She reached up and bit Daisy, right in the middle of her tirade, and then headed for the door at a respectable fraction of lightspeed.   She came in triumphant, just avoiding the screaming pursuit, and curled up in her favourite seat.  

"Someday one of them will get you", I said, having made sure she was safe.

Truly, who has seen off a fox in the past, gave me a look of nordic contempt.

"So much the worse for her!"

Traffic I`m really glad not to be out in

Mid=March, and a week of snow, with more promised.   Spring it isn`t.

We were at a local show last weekend, and it took place in a blizzard that would have made Captain Scott think twice.  I could see the venue just vaguely from the car park, and it was difficult to get the dogs in without each one accumulating a little cap of snow.

As the judging went on, the snow drove relentlessly down.  I could see the judge glancing out at the weather, then speeding up.   People left early.  We worried that we would never get home.  We did not wait for the puppy class.

"You can have enough of this white stuff!" Angel

But the further north we headed, the less snow.   And my road was quite passable this time.

Last night we had a further blizzard, leaving 4 inches by morning.   And it snowed on.   Even the dogs - even the young ones - lost some of their enthusiasm.  I didn`t dare go out, remembering my last trouble on the road.

Damp dogs everywhere.  All very jolly.  Even the Chin managed to get wet...and nothing looks worse than a wet Chin. especially when it is scowling at you for allowing this weather to happen.

So we stayed in and watched the disruption on TV, and I shuttled dogs in and out and tried not to think about the next heavy snow promised for the weekend,

My road didn`t look too bad...

A cold start and nevertheless I thought I would really have to go and shop.   So I set off along the road with my trusty shopping trolley. The road really didn`t look too bad and the snow was crisp.

I passed my Good Neighbours` house and sstarted up the hill towards civilisation.

The first warning was the Water van stuck at the side of the road.  The driver indicated that he wasn`t going any further.   He made some pithy comments about the nature of his job and the inadequacy of the pay.   Then a tractor appeared, hauling a car up the hill.   I realised the road surface was a sheet of ice.

I proceeded with caution.   Nevertheless, I fell twice.

Realising that the third time was very unlikely to be lucky, I turned for home.   I met the tractor, having another go, and was entertained by his spectacular skid, ending up in the hedge at an angle.

My Good Neighbour and I studying the ice slide...note the abandoned car.

And as he righted himself, a silver car came from behind, did a 360 degree spin and ended up right across the little road, blocking it.

I headed back on to my road, and found my Good Neighbour about to drive off.  I suggested that this was not the morning to take out a car, and we both walked over to the hill and watched the spectacle of the tractor, hauling another car, trying and failing to negotiate the silver car roadblock (now abandoned), and sliding back gently and inevitably on to the car it was pulling.

"I think I might leave it till later"  said my Good Neighbour.

And we both went back home to large pots of hot tea.

Not exactly the best   Crufts for me.

Cupcake, who behaved impeccably and looked good, just wasn`t liked, and came 5th.

Angel - "We wuz robbed!"

Angel...well, she carried a disaster area with her like a halo.  In addition to being hyperexcited, she felt the need to pee at least three times on the already rather...moist...famous green carpet.   The production of two little steaming piles of droppings  at important moments as well added to the sensational effect she was having.   Yes, it got her noticed.   No it didn`t get her anything else, like a place.  She swaggered out, a little puzzled that her star performance had not been appreciated.

Cupcake had been upset when I took her out of the crate to be shown, and wailed that he couldn`t be left alone.   So he was put in with my friend`s dog puppy, with whom he gets on really well.

Yes, they did get on really well.   When I came back they were playing a certain game much favoured by puppy dogs, with great enthusiasm, taking turns to be on top.   The bench was surrounded by fascinated tourists, with cameras.  I hurried to get him out, hoping that the next meme to go viral on YouTube will not be "bonking dogs at Crufts"   (with "I like to move it" as soundtrack).

It was fascinating to see all the foreign dogs, most of them champions, and most having the same fate as Angel.   It was good to  meet old friends.  But it was also very tiring, as was the journey home through endless roadworks and drizzle.

Maybe better next year.

Papillon show travel box...

We have been going to a number of local open shows, - good practice for the dogs, and a social event for the humans, with no pressure.  Cupcake and Belle have been doing quite well, with Best of Breed for him, and Toy Puppy Group 1 for her last weekend.

I was looking around the venue this weekend, when I was brought up short by a huge apparition.  It was black, almost five feet high, made entirely of metal, with rivets and steel bars much in evidence.  A huge impregnable metal cube.

...and Velociraptor show travel box

And yet it looked strangely familiar.  I reached into my memory - and pulled out JURASSIC PARK.   That was just the sort of reinforced crate they used to transport Velociraptors.

No, I didn`t go over and look through the bars.

I don`t judge Velociraptors.  They are not included in the Toy Group, or even the Hound one (for which I am profoundly grateful).  I expect the Kennel Club would fit them into the Utility Group some how....

Although as dinosaurs, they possibly belong on the judges list.

Not going out too much these days....

Last Wednesday, home from training, I was carrying the plump Sonja to her bed, when I tripped over something, and having to save Sonja first, I couldn`t save myself.   I fell and hit my head on the door.

I lay there for a little, trying to work out if all of me was still functioning.  Sonja, never the sharpest knife in the box, stood and looked at me.  "Why are you down there?   Do I still get my dinner?"    (I suspect that if it had been Truly she would have checked my vital signs and called an ambulance.....very efficient, our smart Truly.)

The eye

However, I got up, and had a sore head and an eggsized lump above my eyebrow, and that was all.   I got on with things.

But in the morning, somehow the problem had migrated.  I looked in the mirror - and there was the mother of all black eyes.  

I didn`t go out for 2 days.  I should have gone to the Health Centre for a prescription, but I felt that if I went in there looking like that, they wouldn`t let me out again.  And it kept on spreading.  Definitely not going away.
Eventually I went to the shows I had entered, and people pointedly refrained from comment....I think I am too formidable for jokes about drink and fighting.

I still have the multicoloured eye.   I suspect it glows in the dark.

I hope it goes in time for Crufts.

The show season is underway for Angel the Brat and Cupcake and his sister Belle.  

Last weekend we went to a show in a venue which had previously seen the exhibitors and dogs huddling round industrial heaters.   This had been remembered, and exhibitors were piling in wrapped in duvet coats, scarves and heavy boots, looking like anxious penguins.   I was no exception.

Cupcake and Belle

But it was warmer this time, and both Belle, who behaved in a most ladylike fashion, and Angel, who strutted and sneered at the opposition in a very unacceptable fashion, won their classes.   Belle, having fluttered her long eyelashes and gazed earnestly with her deep black eyes at the judge, was rewarded by becoming Best Puppy in Breed.

 I would like to be able to get it over to Angel that being, or at least pretending, to be a lady in the ring pays dividends, but I despair of that.   She is a wicked little bitch, while Belle is a gentle Lady Dog, a variety of which I have had precious few over the years.   Female Papillons are on the whole evil, and totally up for it.

Ella was in season, and as usual took to her bed ...."women`s troubles."   She is totally anti-sex, and especially with Shelby, the other Chin.   She screams and bites him - just as well, as he is far too big for her.

Poor Shelby is puzzled and frustrated.   You can see him thinking "but she is the only girl here who is perfect at both ends!"

Sonja is quite recovered, and really missing those pills in pate.  I am still slipping her sausage rolls, though.  Little does she know that she is going back to the vet on Friday to have a small growth removed, mainly because she has decided that her new hobby will be licking at it incessantly.  Party hat for a while, Sonja!   And if you are lucky, more pills!

I have long had a problem with an overflowing field drain that crosses the driveway, and was having a river flowing past my front door, with lots of red silt as an interesting memento, left in drifts when the water subsided.

Dido`s Grand Canyon

At last it is being fixed.   What was a small inadequate culvert has been dug out into a drain as big as a small roadway.   It would take Noah`s flood to trouble it.

Last night the old ones went out for their last run.   They came back quickly - and old Dido was wet and covered in mud.   It wasn`t raining, and at sixteen she is not too adventurous.   I was  puzzled.   Then a friend suggested the obvious.

"She fell in it."

The poor old girl had wandered up to the gate in the dark, as she does, only to find the equivalent of the Grand Canyon  had suddenly opened up across her usual route.  Fortunately she wasn`t hurt.

Meanwhile Sonja is a lot better.   She is devouring Tesco Value Sausage Rolls.  I wonder what is in them.  Tesco beefburgers are one third horse, we have just discovered,  but these are on an even lower nutritional level.  Roadkill Rolls?   Rat?   Sonja doesn`t care, and chomps on .

As an invalid she feels entitled to the best bed, and doesn`t care how she gets it.   She removes Shelby from the softest bed by simply standing and staring him down - he gets more and more uneasy and eventually runs away.

But last night she found little Marcus sound asleep in the best bed.   She studied the problem.   Clearly she concluded that he was a nonentity, and slowly climbed into the bed and sat on top of him.   Poor Marcus, a small lad, awoke to find that the sky had fallen - on him.  Sonja is a big girl.  She settled her furry ample bulk on him, like a hen with chicks.   Marcus had no desire to be hatched.  Muffled squeaks and heaving, and at last he struggled out, looking distinctly flattened and very offended....after all Red Sonja is one of his romantic conquests.

But that was a long time ago.

Now he only represents a small inconvenient  obstacle to sleep.

I suppose quite a few husbands are eventually demoted to that level.

Absent for a while with yet another chest infection - the usual rush to an emergency appointment and the usual antibiotics and steroids.   (I am still managing to keep it from the practice that I get a steroid high, and it means 5 days of  my brain feeling great, even if the rest of me is crumbling away and falling to pieces.

Red Sonja, aka Red Sofa "More pills please!"

Red Sonja (aka Red Sofa) decided to come out in sympathy.   After a few days of just standing about looking miserable,  she began to squirt spectacularly.   Now our Sonja has a record of finding small dead - very, very dead (indeed the deader the better) - creatures and consuming them with relish.   I was very suspicious.   I remembered the epic of Sonja and the Squirrel - it was extremely dead, she refused to give it up, and the result was horizontal diarrhoea for days (while the look on her face said "It was worth it!")

This didn`t clear, and so we had a visit to the vet.   She had a going-to-vet bath.   Alas, one of the effects of spaying a Papillon can be drastic coat texture change.   When you wash the ample Sonja, the result looks like an explosion in a cotton wool factory.  

I took this fluffy fat apparition to the surgery and after blood tests and 3 injections we came home with pills, which, to Sonja`s delight are administered in chicken liver pate. She gazes longingly at the pill bottles.    And she is being tempted with cat food.   The old girl (now fourteen) is living high these days.

Life is quiet for Belle and Cupcake, Sonja`s grandchildren.   They should have been at a big show yesterday,  but the weather said no, so they are all dressed up with nowhere to go.

They don`t care.

And after looking at the show results, neither do I.

Next stop Crufts.

Gracie has gone.  

No, not departed this life.   She has been earmarked for a new home for some time.   And at last I found one - a very charming elderly gentleman who had lost his Papillon in an accident and found, as many do, that he couldn`t live without one.

Gracie

We took Gracie and he mother over, and the little one was very charming and only had one accident on the rug,   Solitaire just looked worried.   These days, car excursions usually mean the vet, or (even worse) a visit to a male dog.   This was clearly not the vet, and she looked around anxiously for the latest Papillon Romeo .

Well, Gracie was an instant hit, and all was settled.   We left her being cuddled in her new owner`s arms, with a look on her face that I have seen on Papillon bitches before:  "I see I have inherited a house and a servant.   Well, it is no more than my due."

When we got home, Solitaire seemed a little bereft, but half of a fish supper soon reconciled her to the loss.   And after all she still has Cupcake and Belle.

They have no plans to leave.

As usual, scroll right down.

...when you should be thinking over the events of the past year.  

But on the whole I`d rather not.

Instead I spent a happy time having the field drain, which has proved totally inadequate for the change in our weather, inspected for possible improvement.  Although it occurs to me when I look at the relentless overflow that maybe I should just harness the rushing water for hydro power and reduce my bills.   Meanwhile it piles up silt at my door, and the puppies love to play in it.

It has indeed been the year of muddy dogs.   Can`t remember one as bad.  A monsoon year, with some of the wettest outdoor shows ever.  People wearing out their wellies and developing webbed feet.

A reasonable year in the showring, despite health problems.  And I have great hopes for the puppies.  Well, if we didn`t have those fond delusions, we wouldn`t make plans for the coming year  - which will, of course, be a glorious one.

And I hope yours is too.

Blogger is at it again.   Please scroll right down.

                         WET  CHRISTMAS

As the festive day nears, I am sitting listening to the wind and rain beating on the windows and trying not to think about the flood running past the door (the field drain has failed again and I am not going out in that to shovel silt out of it.)

Even the puppies are a bit subdued by the weather, but always willing to prove the old saying that there is nothing more friendly than a really wet dog.   They feel that their real vocation is sitting on me, especially if they have some mud to spread.

Nevertheless, they have been to their first Really Big Show at the NEC no less, and did really well.   A huge hall full of strange dogs, many of them large, can be scary for a puppy and I had my doubts.    No need.   Cupcake and Belle were enchanted by the noise and people and different dogs.  And in the ring they behaved perfectly, with the result that Cupcake is now going to Crufts with Angel.  

He is very self-assured and laid back in the ring, but Belle is much more serious and never takes her eyes off me.   "Am I doing it right, Mum?"  Being placed on the table to be inspected, she gazed intently at the judge with big black eyes - "I expect you are a nice person - my Mum wouldn`t let you touch me otherwise."

 Really, the puppies don`t offer much to write about.   They don`t misbehave, don`t get into trouble, aren`t even very destructive.   (I wonder if they are really Papillons?).  Quietest litter I`ve had for years.

It has been a mixed year for me, with far too many hospital visits, and the puppies have been a highlight.  (I`m trying hard to think of another!)

What`s on the horizon?   Well,perhaps a home for Gracie.  I have no worries about her settling well.

And in the New Year the intense excitement of the chainsaw men.   All my electricity comes in on overhead wires,and the company hires contractors to prune any trees which have grown too near to the cables.   What actually arrives is a group of young chainsaw maniacs straight out of a Tarantino film, with glazed eyes and an unnerving habit of revving up their saws.  "We`ve come to fell the trees!"  And so they would, if I didn`t follow them about shouting "No!".  The one who assessed the situation said they would only deal with "the willows and crab apples".   I have no crab apples, and the only willow is at the front of the house.   Trouble ahead.

Apart from that, a rest until the show season starts - which is not long.

And then off we go again!

Meanwhile, Merry Christmas, everyone!

Well, the dreaded snow has hit.   Not too much, but the weatherman`s promises that it would just melt away were nonsense, and we are stuck with it.

I never understand the attraction snow has for dogs.   It`s cold, wet, and they are much closer to it than we are.   Where`s the fun in that?

For Cupcake, Belle and Gracie, it was their very first snow.   And they were delighted.





It goes without saying that I did not join in!

Nothing here for a while, because I have been struggling with a really bad cold and a hacking and really interesting cough - the sort that empties rooms and sends bus passengers off huddling in corners.   The dogs are well used to me coughing and treat it with the same amused contempt as when I shout at them.

"We`re ready - let`s go again!" Thoughtful Cupcake and bouncing Belle

Winter is here, and I hope it gets no worse.  I don`t mind sunny days and frosty nights provided they are not too severe.    I am hoping for a repeat of last year`s mild winter.   Hope is a great thing.

The puppies are coming on.  They went to their first breed show last week.   Very exciting.   Lots of other Papillons.  They behaved impeccably - Cupcake very laid back, and Belle very serious and anxious to get it right for Mum.   And it was Belle who was Best Bitch Puppy, much to her surprise and mine.  

The day came.   First show for the puppies, just 6 months old on the day.

We set off in the car, puppies on my knee, and all went well till we hit a diversion, off up hills and round winding twisty roads.  Belle, OK till then, gave me a look of hopelessness and threw up all over her indignant brother.    Cue towels.

Well, we had a long wait before Cupcake had his chance - a very slow judge beside whom glaciers looked speedy.   (Lots of time to dry him out).    But when I got him in, he behaved excellently, and was 3rd to two adult dogs...obviously a puppy would not be put first.

More waiting.   I had joked about how long the hall had been booked for, but it wasn`t so funny when we were actually evicted from it to another cold one - because they had to get the first one  ready for -  a wedding reception.   Really?   Would the wedding guests realise by many not so subtle signs that the hall had previously been occupied all day by dogs doing.....well, what dogs do?  How much cleaning would it get?

Belle, very serious

Not my problem.   We moved,  and I still waited for Belle`s turn.   She competed with twenty-odd other puppies, and I was very doubtful, but when we got in there she rose to the occasion and showed herself off beautifully.  I was surprised and pleased.   Belle is a very self-composed little lady, and quite different from Cupcake, and probably has a sense of duty.

Mind you, ham helps!

We seem to be settling in for a quiet wet winter.  Lots of wet dogs, and the little stove kept hot and humming.

The puppies grow on, and have been admired at another Puppy Parade at a Championship show last weekend.   Their behaviour at the show was exemplary.  They made lots of friends, and showed off, and clearly enjoyed themselves.  Their half sister, Angel, showed off even more, and won again.

Angel at a recent show (photo by Raper)

Their behaviour on the way, was something else.

Knowing their...little weakness, I had visited the vet for travel sickness pills.    Alas, he had only 2 left.   So little Gracie was left with her mother.   The other 2 were packed, and off we set.

Not far down the road the barking began.   The puppies were in separate boxes, to minimise mess, and one of them didn`t like it.   Probably Cupcake.   On and on it went.   A horrible squeaky puppy bark.  Just what you want to hear in the wee small hours on the motorway.   When we stopped, it stopped, so I wasn`t quite sure if it was Cupcake or Belle.   We just had to wait till exhaustion set in....and appreciate the silence.

And how did they arrive?

Well, the pills worked.   They were not sick.   Just rather damp.   But to make up for the lack of their usual performance, they had both indulged in a Brad Pitt in their travel boxes.   And then sat in it.

Alas, there is no pill for that.

A quiet time here, with lots of rain, and increasingly frustrated dogs kept in by it.   When I eventually got them out in the dry, there was a spate of arguments and score settling due to pent up energy, and I was kept busy sorting them out.

Meanwhile, the puppies grow steadily.

They visited yet another show at the weekend, and were very blase about the whole thing, although they would rather run about and create mayhem than be confined, even briefly,  in a show trolley.

"Let us out!" Cupcake, Grace and Belle at a recent show.

At training they share a pen with 2 slightly older Papillons.   Male Papillons, who have just discovered a new and interesting game.   This week they proposed to play the game with my girls.  Belle was puzzled, and indicated that she wasn`t very keen on them climbing on top of her.   Gracie indicated that they would lose important parts of their anatomy if they tried that on with her.

Cupcake sat and stared dismally.   He doesn`t play these games.   He didn`t understand.

He has still a lot of growing up to do.

A fairly bright  mild dry autumn spell here means lots of outdoors for the dogs.   And I still have quite a few flowers, including a pot of lilies at the door.  I wonder how long they will last?

OCTOBER LILIES

And the deer have returned.  (Were those girls off looking for a husband?)  

The other morning when I got to the gate there was a huge rustling in the hedge beside it.    It could have been a lurker.     I shouted, and out leapt a very shocked hind who stared at me and then made off at near lightspeed.

Always good to see them.

But it Truly spots them, she will be having plans for home-caught venison for lunch.

It`s great to stand 9 inches at the shoulder and believe that nothing is impossible.

I`m back.

I`ve been ill for a while, due to inhaling cement dust at an unfinished shed used as a show venue in Belfast.   Drifts of white cement dust everywhere - "just what you needed", said my doctor, writing out the usual prescription for steroids and antibiotics.   Mind you, I wasn`t as bad as the poor woman there who had a light fitting fall on her - she escaped being killed, but had her toes broken.   Needless to say, I will not be going back there.

Meanwhile, the puppies also went to a show.   Not to be exhibited, just as visitors, to experience it....the people, the noise, the other dogs.   They rose to the occasion.

BELLE DOES HER SHOW POSE

AND SO DOES GRACIE

They walked and posed and were generally very sociable, which is so important for puppies .

As you can see, they were quite willing to show off on the move too.






BELLE SHOWS OFF


AND SO DOES GRACIE...

I am soldiering on with shows and the terrible three and their education.

The trio attend training class weekly, and in between run riot.  The discipline of the lead is still not really appreciated.   One of the problems is Belle,   She is intelligent.   This is no help at all.  She really cannot see any good reason for marching up and down on the end of a lead at all.  It`s not as if we are going anywhere, after all....

BELLE AND HER MOTHER,  SOLITAIRE

Ham is the great motivator.   They do all love it.  I get through a lot during training.   And I get three different responses;

BELLE:  "Ham is nice, but really I could be doing better things - maybe reading philosophy or studying calculus - than walking back and forth with a piece of string round my neck"

GRACIE:  "Ham, and lots of it, and let the others see me getting it, and know that they are having none because they are totally inferior!"

CUPCAKE:   "Ham!   Ham!   Ham!"    

And this lot I have to get ready for the showring in December!

I hope we all make it.

And off I went to the show, with the lip much reduced.   A long journey south, but a welcoming hotel at the end of it.

The day of the show was hot.   Really hot.  Over eighty.   But fortunately we were in the shade.  I started quickly as other breeds would be in the ring after us.

And on we went.   Little dogs showing well despite the heat, and the howls and barks of the Afghans behind us.   I had the pleasure of putting up a dog I really admire.

I had said that I would prefer a picnic lunch, as I didn`t want to stop.

And it arrived.    The stewards (who were useless) were in fits of laughter.   "Straight from the Ritz", they cackled.

Here is is:

One tiny cheese sandwich cut in four.  (I can`t eat cheese)
One pork pie
4 grapes
One banana
One bag crisps
One tin of Tango

Not the worst show lunch ever - that was at an open show in the north of England and I can only describe it as "something brown with potatoes."   But close.

We went on.  All the young bitches seemed to be "just out of season" and were very flighty, and the Afghan sound effects didn`t help.   Tails were dropping.   And it got hotter.

I was tired, and glad to get to the end.  But happy to give top honours to a promising young bitch, and make that admirable dog overall winner.

Now I could get down to sorting out the results printout, which was complicated by the fact that the stewards couldn`t be bothered to send the results over to the secretary, and haggling over my expenses (eventually I played both the Little Old Lady and the Recovering from Illness cards), and at last we faced the horrors of the M25 on the long way home.

Delivered to the door by my good friend, I found all the dogs delighted to see me, especially the puppies.

And Cupcake was so delighted his ears were up!

On Saturday I went to a local agricultural show. Nothing huge. Cattle, sheep, goats in a large field, already horrendously muddy. Baking competition (scarily labelled "Industrial") in a shed. Poultry screeching in their own tent. A steady trail of men to the bar.

Last week the terrible trio actually went to a show.

"Of course the other two are entirely to blame!"

"You couldn`t possibly be suggesting I`m carsick?"

"Not fair! I can`t see why they`re all blaming me!"

Solitaire`s terrible three have run into a problem. Not that they see it as one. But they are seriously travel sick, and even on short journeys I open the travel box to find three soaked and dribbling apparitions, (and sometimes more mess than that).

When I get this lot done.....

....there are these ones

I am fighting a battle with the Council, this time over refuse collection. They just don`t like to come all the way down here.

The puppies grow like weeds, and even their mother is looking a bit less devoted and a bit more escapist these days. Although she will still wash them, and if I pick up one, will come to see if itis all right.

"Right, what`ll we do now?"

Another show - and we all came armed with wellies and raincapes and umbrellas.

A wonderful Sunday last, when I proposed to worm the puppies and settle to the Wimbledon men`s final.

This was an attempt to introduce the six weekers to the adults. Part of their socialIsation. They had already met some adults, but here were more, and outside.

Girl and boy. Guess which one is the boy? That`s right, the one with the glazed expression. Having two sisters is hard on a lad.......

Solitaire`s little ones are not so little now, and have discovered the great outdoors. I just wonder of the great outdoors is quite ready for them.....

Angel, wondering if she is going to sink all the way in....

Doesn`t this look fun!

Of course there was a Met Office amber warning out for the venue. But we were going anyway. One of the party decided against, and was teased about melting in the rain. How right he was!

Captain James T Kirk and I are having problems.

ONE SWALLOW DOESN`T MAKE A SUMMER?

A busy time.

Busy for Angel, who has been at two Championship shows and placed at both. People have begun to comment on "the Angel look". When she goes into the ring, she poses, then turns her head and looks at the competition, with an expression of total contempt.

And as you can see, rather busy for her mother, Solitaire.



Two girls and a boy, very full of milk indeed! Just 5 days old in this video.

We had a day of constant pouring rain (nothing new there, then), and I rushed around getting all the dogs in when the heavens first opened. We settled to a day of rain drumming on the roof and restless dogs, waiting for me to turn the rain off so that they could go outside.



I had a look out to see if there was any easing of the rain. I stood at the door watching it hissing down. And I saw movement in the field.

A soaked little figure was making her way up, coat plastered to her, tail high.

Xena had got out, and no doubt had been after rabbits. In she came, grinning, with tail wagging, splashing me with rainwater. "I had a good time!"

Xena is 14 now, and I seriously doubt that she could run down even a lazy rabbit. What she can do is lurk at a rabbit burrow, waiting for her prey. (Although I must admit the effect is a little spoiled by her tendency to break into heavy panting with excitement and anticipation.) At least she can still strike terror into a bunny,and maybe that is satisfaction enough.

I got her in, and dried. The tail kept wagging. "That was a good day!"

Many more good days for Xena, I hope.