Happy Birthday Hellhounds! They really are incredibly beautiful.
Thank you! As I tell other people regularly—and myself even oftener*—eye candy is one of the things they’re for.
And have so much leg! I’ve been trying to trace how they have folded it all up in order to lie down successfully in the dog beds and on the sofa. I think an extra hellhound leg dimension must be in play.
That would explain it. I have often wondered. The previous generation, while whippets, and smaller, used to curl up into incredibly tiny little parcels. Hazel, the smallest of the three and who weighed about nineteen pounds but was slightly above (my) knee height at the shoulder, used to sleep on my chest, and Chaos, the smaller hellhound, fits on my lap, more or less, except I can’t stand the weight for long.
August seems to be a popular time to have puppies. Not only hellhounds and bullies, but Holly, of the previous generation, was also an August baby. I mean puppy.
Diane in MN
Belated happy birthday to the beautiful boys. Their expressions–especially Chaos, looking a little worried–remind me of Teddy’s. Not Tasha’s–she’s either looking at something with intent or has her eyes closed. Teddy will just LOOK. Must be a boy thing.
It certainly seems to be more of a boy thing. Both the hellhounds have it, although in the previous generation, Hazel could worry for England.
semi-nostalgic** puppy pictures
I absolutely agree with the “semi.” I’m a sucker for a puppy, but would much rather live with a dog!
Fortunately ALL FOUR of those adorable bullies are taken. I don’t need a third dog! I couldn’t cope with a third dog!** And furthermore the puppy thing is only six years ago in this household! The memory has not faded sufficiently!***
And did you notice that the pink puppy paws go with the pink All Stars?
Actually I hadn’t. But you’re right. Of course. And I admit I was wearing pink All Stars in their honour. And the pink coral rose round my neck. The violently pink knapsack was mere serendipity.
. . . I was given on book on knitting cats which I think will hold me for a while. I understand there is a companion volume for dogs … maybe it can keep you safe from the temptation of darling puppies.
THEY’RE ALL TAKEN! I’M GLAD THEY’RE ALL TAKEN! And . . . yes.
Diane in MN is (shockingly) correct, there is no Great Dane. Perhaps we should organise a letter-writing campaign toward the second edition? But it does have quite a good whippet. Which, some day, when I’ve overcome my automatic abject terror of the mere idea of 2.25 mm needles and rows that go: cast on 2, knit 3 rows, increase to 20 . . . WHAT? HOW DO YOU INCREASE SEVENTEEN STITCHES FROM THREE? No, no, don’t tell me, I’m not ready.
Also . . . the whippet’s neck is too short. It may just be the photo, and the fact that there’s a little knitted collar over the little knitted neck. But when I get around to attempting this I will be poised to try adding a row to the neck.†
More puppy pics, please!!!!
There will certainly be more puppy pics. Both southdowner and Olivia have promised to send me some of the ones they took, so it may be a day or two (since they have lives, although, at the moment, Olivia, not so much). ††
I retreated to one of those old fat square objects with actual paper pages that you turn by grasping them individually with your fingers.
It’s a good thing you had one along! (I suppose the Heaviest Knapsack in England is heavy for a reason.)
ONE? I had TWO. And that was even when I thought all half-gazillion ebooks on Astarte would be readily available. I was also carrying almost 300 pages of SHADOWS print out. . . .
* * *
* THEY DIDN’T EAT THEIR FRIGBLATTING LUNCH YESTERDAY. They’ve been better, recently, and it’s not a bad idea if someone else feeds them occasionally just so this tight little hellgoddess/hellhound vortex doesn’t disappear up its own fundament. I assumed it would be okay—I told the dogminder to leave it down if they didn’t eat it at once. I didn’t discover the Awful Truth till we got back to the cottage very very late last night/morning. Peter had told me they had eaten dinner (at the mews), but did not add (till I tackled him this morning) that they’d been dubious about it. ARRRRRRRRGH. Meanwhile I was up till an even sillier hour than usual last night because they were NOT going to miss supper, if I had to stay awake till noon.^
And then today they needed what, by our somewhat unusual standards, was only a mild level of fuss: One Scene Change, from Bed to Kitchen Floor, and One Plumping Up of Food by Hellgoddess Fingers with Perhaps a Few Extra Crumbs of Chicken for Interest.^^ I was expecting something much more exotic and drawn out. You still can’t really tell your dogminder to wait five minutes, move the bowls, and then stir up the food with her fingers and sprinkle a little more chicken on top. THIS IS WHY I NEVER GO ANYWHERE.
IT’S JUST A VERY GOOD THING HELLHOUNDS ARE CUTE.
I did look on rather wistfully yesterday when Olivia put Lavvy’s supper down and it disappeared at almost supernatural speed. Siiiiigh. I know she’s a nursing mum and everything but . . . ^^^
^ I would have failed to stay awake till noon. But I might have been curled up in crate with hellhounds by about eight-thirty.
^^ Since there are upper limits about the NUMBER OF ROASTING CHICKENS I’M WILLING TO BUY, and because I’m not entirely stupid, I now hold back a few crumbs of chicken for these purposes. I wouldn’t put it past hellhounds to count, but I only started doing this after they began their latest incursion of nonsense so they have only themselves to blame.
Like we’re playing by the same rules.
^^^ ALL RIGHT. I’LL SAY IT. IT WOULD BE VERY NICE TO HAVE A DOG THAT EATS. SIIIIIIIIIIGH.
I was thinking, last night, at mmph o’clock, as we had our Late Hurtle, that this would be the answer to having . . . a dog, rrrrmph, like a bull terrier, like any of the fighting breeds. I love bullies and Staffies, but I wouldn’t dare have one because I’d be too worried about its bred-in-the-bone fighting instincts: I imagine I could get my point across about who gets to tell whom to sit and pick its feet up to have its harness put on, but what about all the morons out there with their aggressive off lead dogs? It’s like I had to drive slower in my little red MGB+ because if you’re driving a red sportscar you’re an automatic malfeasant and the copper will be writing the ticket before he even looks at the radar read out. If the hellhounds do some snapping and snarling (at a dog that attacked them first) they’re just being testy. If a bull terrier snaps and snarls it’s a dangerous brute because everyone knows bull terriers are vicious killers.
So the obvious answer is hurtles after midnight when there’s no one else around.++
What a good thing all four of the puppies are ALREADY SOLD.
+ This was in Maine in the days of 55 mph.
++ Although even this is not a perfect system, especially Friday and Saturday nights. We were ambling gently homewards this past Saturday, and a group of three young people who clearly Had the Drink Taken were ambling, also gently, toward us. I wouldn’t want to risk my life on it, but generally speaking I feel I can tell when a group of drunks is menacing, and these were not. I was, however, amused, when the one nearest me swerved away from his mates to walk toward me (and hellhounds) with his arms outstretched, saying, “I’m ready!” “No, you’re not,” I said, not breaking stride, and neglected to add that the paucity of illumination from the streetlights was preserving his dignity from the revelation that he was making overtures to a woman old enough to be his grandmother.
** I retweeted this earlier^, and it made me laugh and laugh: @DwightGarner: Hard to walk three dogs without looking as if you’re training for the Doofus Iditarod.
And speaking of the joys of Twitter, this: http://exp.lore.com/post/29915445613/dog-topography-from-the-1973-childrens from @brainpicker
^ This is a Twitter verb, for those of you sensible people who stay far, far away from the silliness.
*** Of course this particular puppy thing included extensive doubled-ended geysering from both hellhounds, which is more traumatic—as well as more expensive—than the standard.
† Begin as You Mean to Go On. I have finished two pairs of leg-warmers and am—astonishingly—about to finish my first Secret Project. I produced the first pair of leg warmers more or less per the recipe, I mean the pattern. The second pair is adapted to the fact that it’s the wrong gauge wool (and they came out fine). The first Secret Project is adapted (I hope) to its eventual possessor. First Cardi is adapted to me, because I want it short not long—except for the sleeves, which I want longer, and (on advice from some wise friend or other) I’m knitting the first few cuff rows on smaller needles so they don’t frelling bell the way they do in the photo.
I could never cook to a recipe either.
†† And I suppose it’s JUST CONCEIVABLE I might go up again . . . when more of their eyes are open and walking involves getting the belly off the ground . . . with a spare battery for Pooka so I can listen on the train while I knit.
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