“Don’t you wash?” I said to my Mistress.
“Yes. Why?” she replied indignantly.
“Well it’s just that you’ve still got a big black mark where I stood on your…,” I paused as I realised my comment might have been a bit of a faux pas, “foot. That is mud isn’t it? I haven’t left a bruise that looks as bad as …,” My voice trailed off as I realised by the look on her face that it wasn’t mud! “Right,” I said, “Well I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to. Does that mean you aren’t as keen to enter me in another dog show?” But she didn’t answer. It’s a shame really as I rather enjoyed being the centre of attention, even if on this occasion I was, mistakenly, not the star of the show.
I suppose my clumsiness might explain why I got left out of her trip yesterday. She went to see a little town where some of her ancestors come from. Apparently she has records of them living there for the last five hundred years. On that basis, if I am called an Entlebucher after the village my ancestors come from, I suggested she should be called after that place. She pointed out that the difference was that only part of her ancestry was from there, whereas with me it’s the whole of it. I wonder how far back it would be possible to trace my family tree. I don’t actually think as a breed that we existed as far back as the 1500’s. It makes me wonder how it all began. How did my beautiful markings become so regular and so perfect? I have got a whole book about my breed, but it’s in German and I don’t speak enough of it to read very much. I wonder how long it would take me to type it all into Babel Fish to translate it into English.