[Tamara texted this afternoon]
“I just turned around to find Dad asleep in his chair and Dashwood up on his back legs, front legs waving in the air, snout hoovering up the crumbs from the plate on Dad’s knee!”
Maybe rather than a tutu, we should buy Dashwood an eye mask like El Zorro, as he is now onto Thievery Acrobatics… Hummmm…
I know when I am the one with separation anxiety when walking around Medieval Portugal I find myself indirectly looking for toys for my puppy… What are you up to right now, my pup? Are you too missing me? Even in the delightful company of Andrea Smith, features writer for CataVino, and sampling the delicious Ginja in chocolate cups!
This late September will be our revenge against the ridiculous rabies quarantine… It shall be a weekend in Paris, where they love and welcome doggies EVERYWHERE you go. Ah, Paris, you and me little puppy, strolling along the Seine… shopping for perfume at Annick Goutal, just doorsteps from Coco Chanel’s apartment… jumping on the back of a handsome Frenchman’s motorcycle and roaming the cobblestone streets of rue de Lille…
It couldn’t be any other way… I’ve met Mr Ford three times. He is charming without syropy language, elegant without the prima ballerina choreography, and funny, daringly funny. Now, in addition to sharing a liking for intellectual men, I am let known that we both own fox terriers with dashing British names. I shall mention this next time our paths cross, possibly orchestrated by Suzy Menkes.
[Text from Tamara]
It’s still too hot and there’s a surfeit of bull mastiffs in my life but all else is good and little one grrred his way round the park this morning disdaining the Maltipoo I tried to introduce him to, in favour of running in ever decreasing circles round two huge black Labradors, then spiralling away at such strange angle that the Labs bumped into each other trying to chase him!…. I think we’ll have to get him a tutu – he does a fine pirouette!
Of course I had to realise that Dashwood’s black lips had a funny sore just the day before I am about to leave for a 10 day trip. Tamara takes him to the Kynance Mews Vet and we are told that it is apparently a common form of xxx suffered by puppies – ehhh? we both shrug, and that it will disappear in about 6 weeks. Problem is, the thing starts to become itchy as it progresses towards recovery and little Thunder tries to apeace the itch by rubbing it against all kinds of surfaces, hence the sore.
…. this is when you wished you had a pet turtle rather than a thunderous fox terrier that will stubbornly rub his snout against the furniture… ah, the joy of puppy parenting…
Tamara buys us tickets to attend the Macmillan Dog Day and of course, very Tamara, forgets to tells us that this is a very posh thing full of celebrities and lapdogs dressed with outfits better than Paris Hilton. SO I showed up dressed as if I was attending a Monteria (hunting shoot in Spain) We meet delightful people and Tamara signs us up for three dog shows: Puppy About Town (which we miss because we are too involved in conversation and on Pimms), Puppy Heeling (which we enter even though Dashwood only heeled in Puppy school and when we go out he either steers in front of me the first five minutes or goes off the lead when we hit the Hammersmith boathouses), and another fancy one that we also miss because of more Pimms and more conversation.
When we are leaving the little dog show enclosure after the Heel competition – which we remained amongst the sixth finalists (Go Puppy Classes, Go!), the reporters from The Field Managzine hover over the both of us, interview us for their August number and take a picture of us both and my riding boots, which they adore and must-must manage to get in the picture. I kneel to ground, ensuring that my black explorer Prada dress is not flying off too much because of the rising wind that seems to increase as the afternoon goes. I think they had a look at me, French hand-made riding boots and Out of Africa-meets-posh Milano, with fox terrier champ puppy, and they thought we were definitely the right crowd for The Field. Alas, little Puppy and I get immortalised for posterity in the pages of the oldest country magazine in the world, printing since 1853! I will subscribe definitely!