I had a short conversation with Ellie today – not easy. She has the attention span of a gerbil on crack, but this was one of her rare lucid moments. She seems doggedly determined to be a show dog. I told her, “Forget about it.” Most of you followers have read my thoughts about cat shows.
It’s probably even worse for dogs. “They’ll make you take baths,” I said. “And promenade in a circle while holding your tail up.”
“I don’t care,” she barked. “It’s in my blood. My dad is a famous show dog. It runs in the family. And what about you?” she asked. “Bucks told me you posed for the centerfold in the December issue of Parisian Pussy.”
“True,” I told her. “But I didn’t have to train for it, and I've never had to have my ears glued. There were no baths involved, and I didn’t take my coat off. I guess you could say I’m a natural.”
“Whatever,” she growled.
She’s not a bad dog, but she’s not the brightest pup in the pack, if you ask me.