Sunday, February 5, 2012

title pic Puppy love

Posted by dulwichmum on Tue 2 September 2008

Who am I to refuse my darling children a special treat? They ask for so very little (sigh). Freya has been begging for that damn life size Butterscotch Pony toy (grrr, thanks mother) to be returned from the garage, and I will do anything in my power to distract her…

The poppets have expressed an interest of late in owning a pet. Simply everyone in Dulwich is currently sporting a regulation chocolate coloured Labrador and extols their virtues ad nauseam. I am aware that they encourage children to be responsible and caring, are tolerant, docile and loyal family members (just like my mother), but I simply cannot bring myself to purchase a model that everyone else already has (stomps foot on floor). Our Utopian postcode is bordered by Lambeth – a land of Dobermans, Rotweilers and all manner of terrifying, killer, monster Pit Bull type dogs – we are certainly not having one of those either.

I have been searching online (Google Images) for an appropriate breed of family dog, not a handbag sized arm accessory – I own so very many of those already (smirk). I initially considered an Old English sheep dog, something windswept and casual with eye catching good looks – to co-ordinate with my new tailored autumn wool coat, for wafting about in the park. Something substantial, that requires minimal exercise. However, as Albena our housekeeper pointed out, “the bigger the dog – the larger the poo” (OHMYGOD, and we are expected to pick up its business -eugh). We will not be buying an Irish Wolfhound for that reason either.

A Labradoodle is a Labrador/poodle hybrid (they even sound environmentally friendly!) with long wavy hair that does not shed (ideal for a minimalist, clinically clean home like mine), kind, gentle and easy to train . My mother has tried to insist that we purchase a Cockapoo (Cocker Spaniel/Poodle hybrid – smaller than a Labradoodle but with a glossy coat) and they are very pretty indeed, but I simply couldn’t bear to own a dog called a Cockapoo! If only the breeders had named that brand of dog a Cockadoodle and then I would definitely have bought one.

I have endured the most traumatic week, telephoning chocolate Labradoodle breeders up and down the land. One breeder I spoke to, could be heard smoking during our conversation, with a baby screaming in the background. She informed me that she intended to interview James and I in order to assess our suitability as a dog owners. In between shouts of “shut up or I’ll get the slipper” (to dog or child?) she described how her expenses for travel to London would have to be paid in advance in order that she could “inspect” our home!!!

OHMYGOD, who are these people? I could not bear to purchase one of her passive smoking, brow beaten puppies. For the love of God, I am not trying to adopt her child – although, perhaps I should, I am after all, so very selfless and child centred – would you like a top up for that glass?… Another breeder described how I would be required to bring my progeny to her home in the West Midlands, so that she could assess how they interacted with her doglets. She insisted that only then could inform me of how much her puppies would actually cost!

How dare she? I could be compelled to purchase every puppy she owned at great cost from her doggy dungeon. I am so very sensitive, and my babies can be rather demanding when faced with a choice. I shall leave my PA to select and collect a puppy for us. If she doesn’t come up with something appropriate soon, I shall purchase my progeny a pair of goldfish. Butterscotch is staying in the damn garage…

Did you say that you wanted another drink in that glass?

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