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February 11, 2009
royal blood
"I'll need to meet both parents," I said to the dog breeder. After all, the whole point of getting a purebred dog was knowing exactly what I was getting. I wanted to meet the parents and see their temperament first-hand.
And so I did. Dex's Mom hated me on sight, which is pretty much par when I meet girls' moms. Dad, though, was a lover. Affectionate but cool. He's the type of dog who instantly conveys that you and he have a special relationship. Of the assembled humans and dogs in the room, only you two really understand the world, and on this point you're forever bonded.
The breeder made some reference to Westminster. What's that?
"You don't know?"
Know what?
"The dad won best in breed at Westminister."
No. Way.
Way. I looked him up, and he won it twice. I don't really see much evidence of royal lineage in Dex, not unless Prince Harry is also a bed-wetting shit-eater who moves the driveway into the house one rock at a time. So I'm not sure what to make of my dumb luck.
The breeder, however, knew exactly what to make of it. She and the dad looked at one another and shook their heads in disgust.
Dex's Dad, left, and mom
posted by john at 8:14 AM • permalink