Hot on the Trail

The soft plastic yellow frisbee is not long for this world. This is due to its texture being sooooo tempting to have a good old gnaw once I've run it down. I have almost cut through it in one place and the incisor-cut gnarly edges are plain to see. Mind you it deserves it, the way it bounces and keeps on rolling when Dad gives it a good throw, then curves round tighter and tighter as it leans over. Sometimes so tight I can't turn that fast and I have to bark at it in frustration as I race by, completely out-manouvred.

We break off from frisbee concerns to show tender lovin' to a tiny toddler, Olivia. Only about 15 months, I'd say, but obviously dead keen on little white dogs, she is watched over by 2 keen but anxious parents as she wobbles over to us and strokes our heads and tums. Gotta love her - they'll be having to buy her a pup of her own soon, I can tell.

But we must move on, as we are being tracked by big, soft-skinned, droopy eye-lidded Bloodhound Beaney. She is grogeous and completely soppy. Seeing us rolling on our backs, she joins us - it's like a brown hairy beached Beluga Whale writhing around.

Great stories come of frinds dogs Millie, the Spaniel pup, and Summer, veteran Shar-Pei, and their reactions to snow. They got 3 inches or more down in their part of Kent. Millie was ecstatic and lost all reason, charging about like a thing possessed, racing in circles round the garden, dipping her nose down below the surface of the snow as she went so that her snout and brow sent up great snow-plough gouts of the stuff.

Summer hates it, and tried to get all four feet off the ground at once. Mind you, given a "sweetie" and a clear bit of patio on which to eat it, she chose to carry it to a bit of buried lawn, and then nibble if off the top of the inches of snow. No accounting for taste.

G'Night all

Deefer