Dog days

A crack of dawn start…

…in the snow, to get to the motorway services to meet the horsebox transporting D-the-Dog, and some other lucky winners being collected to be taken to their new homes. Some less fortunate dogs were going to the rescue centre, hoping for someone to come forward and offer them a home. They were in decent spirits and condition, considering their five day overland trek, but understandably not in peak nick.

White dog, in terms of welcome, has been her usual self: grumpy and unwelcoming. He may ingratiate himself yet, joining her in the anti-fox gang. We’re getting duet “oy, get orf our land” barking.

Avoiding those ‘loveable’ and ‘scamp’ clichés isn’t going to be easy.

The collective noun for women picking up rescue dogs en masse is a ‘squeak’. Or a ‘coo’. Or an ‘adoration’.

Moneyball

A great true story about an Oakland Athletics baseball team that bucked the mega-bucks = mega-success trend. Not much baseball in the film, and plenty of Brad Pitt lobbing stuff around in a bad temper (the TV into the corridor was funny).

Obviously, at a baseball club, there’s no shortage of baseball bats to smash stuff up with when the mood takes you. So, naturally there’s a fair bit of that, too.

Favourite scene: after a loss the players have the stereo in the changing room cracked up, and are too chilled, one of them dancing on a table. The stereo gets the baseball bat treatment, and there’s a few harsh words followed by total silence.

“Hear that?...that’s the sound of losing”.

Even in advanced years playing pretty laid-back, far from ultra-competitive sport, that’s still the sound of losing. I doesn’t have to last long, but you need a bit of it, or why bother turning out?

Never much of one for coffee table books

I tend to ignore them. Coffee tables are for coffee, and delicious, healthy and nutritious savoury snacks. Like monster munch. But I’ve just noticed we’ve a copy of How to Train a Superdog. The subtitle says: unleash [sic] your dog’s potential.

Look, we’ve almost always had dogs. I’m a bit sceptical about this unleashing of potential thing. If they come back when called and you come home to the furniture you had on going out, what more do you want?

I think the poor little feller may have to endure training classes too. Some Barbara Woodehouse clone blowing up your nose, that’s all you need, mate.