My Mistress is ruefully reflecting on the famous Pam Ayres poem ‘I wish I’d looked after my teeth’ after an hour and a half of having her tooth ‘dug’ out yesterday. The root fractured and had to be taken out bit by painstaking bit. Actually, to be honest the anaesthetic was so good it didn’t really hurt at the time, but lets put it like this, in the absence of frozen peas she took her pain out on hammering some ice cubes into fragments so that they could be used as an ice bag! I did the only sensible thing and stayed out of the way.
All sorts of paperwork keeps appearing from the Kennel Club after the enquiries she has made to them. I am most put out to find as yet they have not thought to address any of the correspondence to me. Don’t they know that I am the Dog of the house and as the body that is supposed to uphold all that relates to dogs, they could at least acknowledge that I am intelligent enough to read their letters? Ok, so I can’t personally, or more to the point, dogally take part in the accredited breeder scheme myself, but I will be responsible for looking after the little harem that will do the breeding. I see myself in an honorary father figure or minder sort of role. It was my suggestion of our kennel name that my Mistress is going to register. At the moment there is no one using it, but that is no guarantee it will be accepted apparently. Who else would want to call themselves after our old road name in Belgium?
My Mistress did turn down my first suggestion of kennel names, saying that ‘Alfie’s flock’ didn’t have the right ring to it. She can be such a spoilsport.