Every so often Jake comes across something so surprising that he looks at us gone out, as we used to say in Notts. (Which means "looked at us with an expression of utter astonishment / disbelief.") Tragically we are then usually too busy laughing to catch a photo. Examples:
1. When he first heard Anthony and the Johnsons arooooo (and he usually doesn't react to music at all)
2. When he first saw his staple food, potatoes, being pulled out of the ground.
and just now
3. When he saw Rod cycle past. His mouth literally fell open. Bet he thought cyclists were some strange centaur sub-species, not actually people he might know on machines ...
1. When he first heard Anthony and the Johnsons arooooo (and he usually doesn't react to music at all)
2. When he first saw his staple food, potatoes, being pulled out of the ground.
and just now
3. When he saw Rod cycle past. His mouth literally fell open. Bet he thought cyclists were some strange centaur sub-species, not actually people he might know on machines ...
Labels: Whimsy
Jake's Progress goes to er, Crufts?
So we left Jake for a lurcher pyjama party with Molly & Steve, and headed south to a strange parallel universe where pedigree is everything. It’s strange, going to Crufts after all those years of watching it on the telly. Our slender excuse for stamping our carbon size 7s all the way down to Brum was to see our agility trainer who was competing with Wigton DTC in the agility semi-finals with Murphy, and running in the Rescue Agility showcase with Bracken. And as a bonus we saw other peeps we know in the flyball semi-final (running with Broxburn DTC).
I’m not quite sure about this pedigree thing, but I mustn’t fall into my favourite vice, inverted snobbery. (Though I’d be in good company with Roy Hattersley). Go mongrels! And kudos to the Kennel Club which is apparently one of the few in the world which allows crossbreeds to compete in obedience, agility, and freestyle. Makes you wonder what all the mutts in the rest of the world do – are there underground clubs where people are doing heelwork to music with labradoodles? The first rule of dog club is that nobody talks about dog club…
What struck me was how many of the pedigree dogs looked a bit like Jake. The Lancashire Heeler is like a stumpy-legged Jake. The Manchester Terrier is like a short-arsed Jake. The English Toy Terrier is a Jake you could carry in your handbag. We even found a hound that is the dead spit of Molly (a whippet x) – the Cirneco dell’Etna.
And you can buy anything for your dog. We were quite restrained - Jake got a Scotland rugby shirt, some kewl new toys… but the best bit was being in the packed NEC Arena, almost exactly where I sat to see the Pet Shop Boys years ago. But this time watching dogs dancing and mini poodles jumping their mini jumps as though being shot out of mini rockets. This only reinforced Rod’s deep-seated resolve to rescue a mini poodle for Dog Number Two.
So we left Jake for a lurcher pyjama party with Molly & Steve, and headed south to a strange parallel universe where pedigree is everything. It’s strange, going to Crufts after all those years of watching it on the telly. Our slender excuse for stamping our carbon size 7s all the way down to Brum was to see our agility trainer who was competing with Wigton DTC in the agility semi-finals with Murphy, and running in the Rescue Agility showcase with Bracken. And as a bonus we saw other peeps we know in the flyball semi-final (running with Broxburn DTC).
I’m not quite sure about this pedigree thing, but I mustn’t fall into my favourite vice, inverted snobbery. (Though I’d be in good company with Roy Hattersley). Go mongrels! And kudos to the Kennel Club which is apparently one of the few in the world which allows crossbreeds to compete in obedience, agility, and freestyle. Makes you wonder what all the mutts in the rest of the world do – are there underground clubs where people are doing heelwork to music with labradoodles? The first rule of dog club is that nobody talks about dog club…
What struck me was how many of the pedigree dogs looked a bit like Jake. The Lancashire Heeler is like a stumpy-legged Jake. The Manchester Terrier is like a short-arsed Jake. The English Toy Terrier is a Jake you could carry in your handbag. We even found a hound that is the dead spit of Molly (a whippet x) – the Cirneco dell’Etna.
And you can buy anything for your dog. We were quite restrained - Jake got a Scotland rugby shirt, some kewl new toys… but the best bit was being in the packed NEC Arena, almost exactly where I sat to see the Pet Shop Boys years ago. But this time watching dogs dancing and mini poodles jumping their mini jumps as though being shot out of mini rockets. This only reinforced Rod’s deep-seated resolve to rescue a mini poodle for Dog Number Two.
Labels: Agility
The workmen are back for a few days, finishing off the bits and pieces from the house refurb. And Jakey is chumming all the workmen for their lunches. At one point yesterday I realised I couldn't find Jake, and found him sitting on the stairs, trying to hypnotise joiners into giving up their soup, sandwiches and to the bafflement of one, his smoothie. Kind of hard to explain that Jakey is used to being given empty actimel pots to lick out, viz. -
