I think that you should. You’ve wanted one for ages, haven’t you? It’s a long-felt want not just an impulse.
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I have felt that OH needed a bit of freedom in his retirement as looking after Mam was a bit all-consuming. Oh, but the house felt so good, with the Dog weaving about all over the place…
I must say that I am very taken with poodles. They don’t shed or smell and are extremely clever - Bracken will sit, give her paw, turn around, walk behind, go pee and leave a treat untouched until given the go ahead. She stops at kerbs, will walk nicely to heel (with encouragement) and she’s just a (large) puppy. I’ll probably end up with another Border Terrier, though.
Soo xx
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Standard Poodle vs Border Terrorist: I reckon a couple more stints of Bracken-sitting and you will be a convert. Not that I have anything against BTs, you understand, apart from their status as hairy little agents of Satan (albeit in a beguiling way)
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Talking of hairy agents of Stan, take Mrs B. Cat (oh please, someone, go on…)
Was exceedingly tired and feeling pretty rough last night after a somewhat difficult day, and didn’t have much success in getting to sleep. About 3 in the morning, who starts by beating seven shades of rainbow out of their scratching post and squeaky rat? And who then gets on to the foot of the bed. That’s fine, I move my feet and tell self sternly to Mind What You Do With Them as kicking a poor hardworking cat off the bed is both rude and unkind.
3:45am: cat takes to contemplatively tapping ankles and soles with a sharp little foot. To withdraw the foot abruptly would turn it into ‘prey’, of course, and result in full-on grabbing and biting so that’s a non-starter…
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Strangely, the thing that attracts me to such disparate breeds is that they are both resilient and strong, Gus. They are not naturally obedient, so present a challenge. My last Dog was a BT and she couldn’t have been more rewarding, as a companion.
We have been invited out for lunch, tomorrow, by DS and Fiancée. It’ll be my birthday on Sunday, but his day off dictates the date of our family celebration.
Soo xx
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Dogs are good for you. Just my two penn’orth. Thassorl.
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Please soo, don’t for a moment think I was dissing your dear Last Dog - just, my experience, which is not based on a statistically significant sample, is that SPs are more tractable than BTs. Both are Horribly Intelligent, of course…
Have a splendid time tomorrow.
Gxx
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Intelligent dogs are more fun.
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I wouldn’t mind if you were to diss my beloved Poppy, Gus. She would have been a heck of a challenge, had I not been forced into early retirement before I acquired her. Constant companionship made her a breeze to train. And, yes - Dogs are good for one and intelligent ones even more so, in my experience. 2018 will be the year of the Dog, I imagine (and hope).
Soo xx
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Hondootedly.
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I don’t want your Cat, Gus. She’d be given the heave-ho from me if she tried that torture out on me, I can tell you.
Do you want to elucidate on the difficult day?
Soo xx
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My mother’s cat used to refuse to use the cat-flap in the early morning and require my mother to get up at 4am to open the door for her to go out.
She never tried it on me when I house-sat: I made angry cat growling-meowling noises at her on the first night, and she left me in peace and used the cat-flap thereafter.
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I am very much in favour of growling at recalcitrant animals, Fanta. Works a treat. I imagine that a growling Fish (with teeth) would beat a whisperer in the training stakes.
Soo xx
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She wasn’t meaning to torture, just having a contemplative little fidget while she pondered weighty matters in her furry little brain. A least she only expects me to open the door in which her catflap is set when I am downstairs to be looked meaningly at.
As to the difficult day - loony bin visiting, with Complications.
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Sympathies for Complications, Gus.
Good nights, Cellarites.
Soo xx
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Night-night soo. ta for sympathies. Sleep tight and dream of the day when you are once again whispering your Very Own Delightful Dog.
Gxxx
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Don’t ferget yer Gin, Soo
Hugs, Gus
Carinthia.xx
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Reciprocal huggage, me dear. Sleep tight, Chatelaine and all cellarites.
Gus xx
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And here am I covered in bludd and Mrs B Cat isn’t even to blame. I must have knocked off a couple of tiny scabs from Patchfaced Oaf’s rather rough style of play without noticing and there was me forearm weltering in the stuff. Which smells, all metallic and horrible. Well, I can always utilise the showerhead and tonight, unlike last night, I can make sure that the taps are turned right off so that the showerhead doesn’t drip minimally into the soapdish and then overflow down the back of the bath and then Enlarge Stains on the kitchen wall and ceiling. That is a detail I could have done without, but entirely my own fault.
Unlike the bleeding, which is down to bleedin’ cats. Though the PFO seems to be channeling dear Fat Tommy, even to the rolypolying with ants and added London dust and following one around calling, so one cannot be cross about that either.
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Not quite a ‘Like’, Gus
Will you survive the night?
Carinthia.xx
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