It is official. I am special. I now have a lovely yellow rosette that says so. I was short listed in dog in the best condition at the show yesterday. My Mistress says I may need to cut down on the treats if I’m to get a placing. I said that to be quite honest it would help if I didn’t stand next to another dog whose approach to the competition was to spoil their coat by getting saliva all over them, which she had to admit was a fair point. I was disappointed to come nowhere in ‘best pedigree dog’ but my owners consoled me by pointing out that the judge was probably not familiar with my breed anyway and may not have realised just how perfect I am. I can see that I may need to launch a bit of an education programme if I am going to fulfil my potential. I didn’t come anywhere in ‘dog the judge most wanted to take home’ but that may be because I was hiding behind my Mistress after the boxer next to me lived up to his name.
It was all very exciting and I can now identify an Aberdeen Angus cow. We’d had a big discussion about which was an Aberdeen Angus and I can confirm that my Mistress was completely wrong. I think it may be a little while before she can say with any confidence that she has got the hang of a rural life. She did say she might have been better if it had been a tasting competition rather than one where the animal was looking at her with big doleful eyes. It was almost enough to make you vegetarian, except for the knowledge that they wouldn’t be on the farms in the first place if they weren’t going to be eaten.