Celtic Celebration

I forgot to take my camera! Aargh!! *facepalm*


On Saturday, I took the dogs to the Celtic Celebration in Belfast, Maine, to participate in their Celtic dog breeds demonstration. Although the morning was a soggy one, the location was beautiful, right on the waterfront. When we arrived, "FERG 'N SONS" were playing for the small crowd who were staying dry under the big tent. They are a terrific bagpipe and drum trio from Unity, Maine, consisting of Kathy Van Deventer and her two sons, Josef and Joel. Although I loved the music, Elli and Ian weren't too sure about it; the bag pipes were a little loud for those huge ears. Joy's Collie, Alice, "sang" along with the music. Must be the Scots in her. The Welsh apparently have no use for musical instruments that sound like geese being slaughtered. Or maybe having an orgasm.


After the music ended, the dogs started gathering for the demo. Representing the Celts were an Irish Wolfhound, three Collies, three Pembroke Welsh Corgis, a West Highland White Terrier (sporting a jaunty kilt and balmoral), three Bearded Collies, a Border Collie, two Golden Retrievers, and my two Cardigan Welsh Corgis. Of course, the British can never resist interfering with the Celts: one Jack Russell Terrier came for the demo as well.

Dogs and people were all well-behaved and had a good time. Lots of folks came over to the grooming table to greet the Cardis and ask questions. Elli greeted everyone with a customary face-kiss and demonstrated a complete lack of anything whatsoever resembling manners. Ian was his usual gentlemanly self, accepting the attention with dignity and grace. Needless to say, only HE went up on stage with me!

I'd love to share with you all the details of my 2-minute talk on the Cardigan Welsh Corgi, but unfortunately the pants-shitting terror engendered by any form of public speaking gave me instant PTSD and rendered me an amnesiac. I think I might have said something about them proving they are not small dogs, just big dogs with no legs, everytime they run into you, and maybe mentioned that they need a job to do or they'll make up their own -- interior decorating and wood craving being two of the most popular -- but it's mostly a blur. Some of the questions asked included: how long do they live, how much does he weigh, why are their legs so short, etc. We were also able to demonstrate side-by-side the differences between a Cardi and a Pem.

In addition to musical performances and other demonstrations, the festival offered food and craft vendors. (Though I am a little perplexed by the prominently placed "Thai Food" cart.) It was a great time, and I hope to go next year. Maybe by then I can speak in front of people without feeling and sounding like a complete head case.

Yes, Citizens of Rockport, #@$% actually does happen

Ever wonder what goes on at those quaint, New England, small-town town meetings? Budget discussion? Road repairs? Whether to add a traffic light at the intersection of Park and Main? Not exactly. On Monday night, the town of Rockport, Maine devoted considerable time to a heated discussion about... *drumroll please*... dog poop.

as villagesoup.com reports:
"The matter of dog waste surfaced as public works crews battled over the winter to dispose of it. Beveridge has suggested the town establish a "carry-in, carry-out" policy. On May 27, Beveridge informed Town Manager Robert Peabody in a descriptive memo titled "Sticky Issue" that it would make more sense to take the burden of dog feces removal off the taxpayer and put it where it belongs, 'on the dog owner.'"

Now, let me just say that I am ALL about responsible dog ownership. I always clean up after my dogs, I keep them leashed when in public (yes, even at the beach, where other not-so-civic-minded individuals ignore the sign and let their dogs run loose), and I don't turn them out of doors to roam the neighborhood like all the OTHER folks on my cul-de-sac. I've even picked up after other people's dogs when they've left evidence of their passing along the Rockland boardwalk. So I'm in no way suggesting that dog owners should abdicate all responsibility for things that fall off of or out of their dogs. And I'm delighted that a municipality has seen fit (until now, anyway) to provide a receptacle for the sole purpose of encouraging folks to do the right thing by cleaning up after their pets.

BUT.

If the town removes the waste receptacles, what exactly do they think the average, responsible dog owner is going to do? They're going to do one of two things:

1) bag the waste and throw it in the nearest trash receptacle. Makes sense to me. No mess on the ground to be stepped in, it's out of sight, out of mind. But according to the Maine Department of Environmental Protection, dog waste "should be transported, via a department-licensed category on a nonhazardous waste transporter to a special waste disposal facility, such as Waste Management in Norridgewock." This could be accomplished if the waste remains in its own designated receptacle, but not if it becomes intermingled with all the other trash collected in municipal cans;

2) leave it where it is. I'd like to think that the folks who normally scoop wouldn't opt for this one, but if they are suddenly faced with no place to put the waste once it's scooped, I fear it's the option most will take.

The town thinks it will solve that dilemma by implementing a "carry in, carry out" policy, such as the state parks have for picnickers. Really? Well, it was actually the dog who carried it in, but I'm pretty sure HE isn't going to carry it back out. How exactly is that supposed to work? Your dog leaves his calling card. You take out your baggy and pick it up and... uh oh. You've still got to run to the bank and drop off that envelope at the post office, and you really should pick up some fresh vegetables at the market to go with the pork chops tonight... Gee, I guess you'll just have to carry your little bag o'joy with you. I mean, THAT'LL be a big hit with the other patrons, eh?

Yeah, probably not. Soooooooooo, you pick it up and... put it in your car? Your locked, sealed, really WARM car? Um, no. Just... no. How's that "carry in, carry out" policy working for ya, Rockport?

If the town doesn't want to deal with hauling the waste around in big buckets and making special arrangements to dispose of it, how about installing some industrial-size doggy dooley systems in the areas that currently have waste containers? Then the Public Works department would just need to check on the systems and add enzymes periodically, rather than transporting big ole buckets-o-crap.

What's that? That would cost money? You don't think the taxpayers should have to pay for those?

Well, guess what: I pay taxes. And you know what I hate paying for? Other people's kids to go to school. No, seriously. I don't have kids. I don't want kids. I don't want to pay for OTHER people's kids. But that's what I'm doing every year when I pay my property taxes, and I don't hear anyone suggesting that we should "take the burden of education off the taxpayer and put it where it belongs, 'on the child owner.'" We all pay for things with our taxes that we would prefer not to spend money on, because it's in the best interests of the public.

Isn't it also in the best interests of the public to make it possible for pet owners to continue to act responsibly?

My GPS flunked Geography 101

So, if you were headed to Essex Junction, Vermont from Warren, Maine, would you take I-95 into Massachusetts? No? You wouldn't? My Magellan GPS unit would. >:-/



I know, I know -- never blindly follow the GPS. Why? Because they're evil. Nevermind the Terminator movies. Forget the Matrix. Don't give the Cybermen of Doctor Who fame another thought. The machines that will bring about the downfall of Man are sitting on our dashboards and bobbing along, seemingly innocuous, in the backpacks of our Boy Scouts. Seriously. Remember this when we're all driving like lemmings off of high cliffs into oceans and ravines, rambling down the dirt roads of in-breeder-laden enclaves in Washington County, or being shunted into the Boston -- Boston MASSACHUSETTS, people!! -- late afternoon traffic. Evil, I tell you.



And it's not bad enough that I'M apparently functionally retarded. My mother -- who has been to a resort in Vermont that is within 40 MILES of Essex Junction, mind you -- waits until we pass a sign that says "Boston....23 Miles" before saying, "You know, this isn't how your father and I went to Vermont. We never came into Massachusetts. We were never on the Interstate at all."



o_0



Way to speak up there, Mom. [Legal disclaimer: Let's assume, for purposes of this post, that I DON'T become a rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth, regressed-to-adolescence head-case whenever my poor mother says anything that could even remotely be construed as criticism. Because... yeah. But anyway...]



Fortunately, I DID have the presence of mind to at least throw the (woefully unglanced-at) atlas into the car while I was packing, so I had her take a look at it, as SURELY Essex Junction must be right on the border of Vermont and Massachusetts. I mean, modern technology must of course be vastly superior to my mother's memories of a trip she took twenty years ago.



http://maps.yahoo.com/;_ylc=X3oDMTExNmIycG51BF9TAzI3MTYxNDkEc2VjA2ZwLWJ1dHRvbgRzbGsDbGluaw--#mvt=m&lat=43.871769&lon=-72.451218&zoom=9&q1=vermont



Please note where Essex Junction is. Then please also note where the Vermont-Massachusetts border is. One thing will be immediately clear to those of you who, unlike me, bother to look at the map: these two places are not remotely close to one another.



So, lesson learned the hard way: When driving to a state you've never been to, it might be a good idea to at least GLANCE at the map before blithely hopping into the car and setting forth. The gas tank will appreciate it, as will the dogs in the crates, and their bladders and rumbling bellies. Do not, under any circumstance, assume that your GPS unit knows what it's talking about, or that it in any way has your best interests at heart. It doesn't. It wants you to die a horrible, fiery death as it plummets you into a box canyon or whisks you into the 43,642 mile-per-hour cluster-#%&$ free-for-all that is driving in Boston.



Evil.

Puppy Evaluation continued: Elli at 8 1/2 months

Yesterday, the sun actually came out for about 4.5 seconds! Not one to waste an opportunity, I whipped out the grooming table and grabbed the camera for another photo op. Elli was less than impressed, but the endeavor DID involve cheese, so she forebore.

Front at 8 1/2 months:

For comparison, here's her front at 6 months:

Although her rib cage is still not shaped quite correctly, her chest HAS dropped some and she looks a little less like a tube. The shape of the white on her chest doesn't do her any favors -- she looks lopsided, like one shoulder sticks out further than the other.

Rear at 8 1/2 months:

...and at 6 months:

I can see where her haunches are more muscled, but otherwise her rear is pretty comparable.

Show side at 8 1/2 months:

And at 6 months:

I DEFINITELY see a difference here. She looks as though she's gained some length, the sternum comes out further in front, the chest has dropped some, and her neck has filled out nicely. If only she hadn't stuck her tongue out just then...

Right side at 8 1/2 months:

And 6 months:
MUCH better!! Straighter topline, better silhouette, more substance, just overall vast improvement.

Overall, I'm feeling much better about what I'm seeing. However, what the photo doesn't show is that Elli is still quite small. Balanced, but small. Her littermate is easily half again as big. I'm also not sure about her movement. She looks good going, but in front it looks like she's throwing a leg to the outside as she moves, probably a result of her elbows being quite close in.

I think where I'm coming down is that she is probably a decent foundation to build on (assuming she passes her health tests, natch). She'll need a stud with more bone and a tip-top front. And preferably a good tailset, as Elli's is a little high. Does anyone have any recommendations for a blue merle stud answering that description?

Comments? Am I way off-base?

Grooming or "Grooming"?

Okay, so, here is where I possibly stir some shit (or, you know, would stir some shit if anyone were actually reading this blog, which it doesn't appear they are. But hey, I've never minded talking to myself, so...

I have heard some Cardigan Welsh Corgi folks refer to "grooming fluffies" to take into the show ring. "Fluffies" are Cardis that carry a longer-than-desirable coat. What is desirable? Well, let's take a look at the AKC Standard, as written by the CWCCA:

"Medium length but dense as it is double."

All right class, everyone take out your rulers and find where it's marked "medium". What? Your ruler doesn't say that? It just has a bunch of numbers? Huh. Well, what would you guess is medium, then? Six inches is the midway mark on your typical 12-inch ruler. Go ahead: try to show a Cardi with a 6-inch long coat. (I wanna watch.) So what is "medium length" then? An inch? Two inches? Three? Well, since all the standard says is "medium", I guess that's up to the judge.

"Outer hairs slightly harsh in texture; never wiry, curly or silky. Lies relatively smooth and is weather resistant. The insulating undercoat is short, soft and thick. A correct coat has short hair on ears, head, the legs; medium hair on body; and slightly longer, thicker hair in ruff, on the backs of the thighs to form "pants," and on the underside of the tail."

Ah, okay; so we have "short", "medium" and "slightly longer" hair. That clears it right up!

"The coat should not be so exaggerated as to appear fluffy."

*gasp* They said the F-word! So, "fluffy" is an exaggerated coat. One that is... not short. Or medium. When you say exaggerated, how much is that? You can't say, exactly? Hey, I know! It's like porn: you can't really describe it, but you know it when you see it.

So what's the big deal? If the coat is too long, why not cut it and make it the right length before you go into the ring?

"Trimming is not allowed except to tidy feet and, if desired, remove whiskers."

Oh!!!!!! So when you say you're going to groom your fluffy for the show ring, you mean you're just going to give it a bath and brush it out and tidy its feet and hope the judge doesn't take out his ruler and measure the hair, which extends somewhat past "medium" on the ruler. Right?

No? Why not?

"A distinctly long or fluffy coat is an extremely serious fault."

Oh wow dude. Bummer. So, how exactly were you going to "groom" your fluffy?

But your fluffy has the best reach-and-drive you've seen in 20 years. His front is to die for, his earset is perfection, his tailset makes you weep tears of joy and gives fairies their wings. He's smart as a whip, and his lovely temperament charms everyone who meets him. His topline is so awesome that when the sun hits it, you see a little sparkle and hear that little "ting". With all this, why should something so superfluous as the length of his hair and those little whispies on his perfectly-set ears keep him out of the show ring? Why can't you just whip out the shears and "tidy" the coat a little so it's the right length?

Um, because the Standard says so: "Trimming is not allowed except to tidy feet and, if desired, remove whiskers."

And yet, it seems to be fairly commonly known and accepted that some fluffies are "groomed" and shown. I mean, really -- should an otherwise sound, typey dog be kept out of the show ring just because of a longer-than-desired coat? Does the existence of fluffies in a line signal the end of life on earth as we know it? Does it somehow break one of the biblical seals and thereby usher in the apocalypse? Of course not. But the Standard is explicit: "Trimming is not allowed except to tidy feet and, if desired, remove whiskers... A distinctly long or fluffy coat is an extremely serious fault."

So: If you "groom" your (otherwise) perfect Cardi and take him into the show ring, aren't you...

cheating?

In the garden

Aaagh! Step AWAY from the calculator!!!

What. The. Hell. was I thinking?!

There I was, updating Ian's show record to include the PVKC shows last weekend. Looking through the judges I've shown to and the comments I made about each to remind me of the experience the next time I see their names on a premium list. (Do I enter one dog? Both? Do I spend hours grooming or do a quick spit-and-polish? Do I wear a top and some slacks or put on the shortest skirt and deepest V-neck I can find? Or do I take one glance at the premium list and run screaming?)

And then this idea struck me. How many ribbons are there really in that seemingly bottomless stack of purple-and-whites? How many times was Ian robbed? How many times was it a toss-up, and how many times was he simply beaten by a better dog?

How much money have I spent on entry fees?

Even as the right half of my brain was screaming, "Stop!! Don't do it!!" the left side of my brain was instructing my right hand to pick up the calculator and add up the numbers. The neuron had already fired. My inner dogsport enthusiast cringed in horror as the number went up... and up... and up...

o_0

I. Did Not. Need to know that. At all. Like, ever. And this wasn't even considering gas and food and hotels and dog toys and omigod-I-have-to-have-that-brush and the grooming table arm that I forgot on the top of the car while I was packing and lost as I was flying down the interstate. No, that was just the entry fees. I so did not need to know that.

More importantly, my husband DOES NOT NEED to know.

Eep.

Go snails!! and other stuff...

Woo! I got email confirmation that my entries for the Vermont cluster made it to MB-F in time, despite my not mailing them until Monday afternoon with a Wednesday noon closing date. Go snails!!

And speaking of snails, I think their cousins the slugs are mutating or something. I swear, I have never seen slugs the size of the ones on my front steps this morning. I think they may have been casing the joint. And while on yard patrol/clean-up duty, I bagged what I THOUGHT was a dog dropping, only to glance down and see it crawling back out of the bag. Imagine my dismay.

Anyone need rain? We have some here for you. Almost two solid weeks of rain, drizzle, fog, and lower-then-normal temperatures. What's up with that? Can we get a little of the heat wave the rest of the country is experiencing? Please? I'm molding! And while I recognize that the vegetable garden does in fact need rain, I think it may also need to -- oh, I don't know -- see the SUN on occasion! Yeesh.

Ian had a great obedience class last night. Four retrieves on the flat, two over the high jump, and every single time he grabbed the dumbbell correctly and held it until I took it. Yay, progress!!!! He also did a nice drop on the recall. His front was horrid, but then they usually are. Ian has made it abundantly clear he is not, nor will he ever be, an OTCH dog. Now, if we can just stop cutting the corner on the broad jump, I think he will be ready to start trialing for his CDX. I'm shooting for the Saccarappa trials in September.

Hedging my bets

You know what? Bills suck. Seriously.

So, in an effort to make them go away, I'm taking a second, part-time job. In addition to the day job, I'll be working Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings. Not terribly conducive to showing dogs, but I will be going to Vermont for 3 shows in July (if my entries made it in time via snail-mail -- fingers crossed!) I should be able to attend the Maine shows and still make it to work by 3:00. That'll just leave me the Springfield cluster in November that I'll need time off for and the Cardi Nationals in April. By spring the bills should be paid off, and voila! I can go back to ONE job again!!!

Also for next spring/summer, I want to add another puppy: the blue foundation bitch I've been dreaming of. Since they are not always easy to come by, I'd better get on the ball and start talking to breeders who may be producing what I'm looking for.

Anyone got any recommendations?

Post-Show Blues (and not of the merle variety)

Two dog shows this past weekend, and not much good news to report. Ian needed only two points to finish, but he went Reserve both days. If I had a dime for every purple-and-white ribbon I've collected...

And, Miss Elli made her debut in the show ring on Saturday, in Sweeps and Puppy 6-9. I told Lori before we went into the ring that Elli would be going 4th in her class of 4. Lori assured me that, in fact, her puppy bitch would be going 4th. As it turns out, we were both right: Elli went 4th to Lori's 3rd in Sweeps, and 3rd to Lori's 4th in the regular class. The Sweeps judge pointed out that Elli needs more substance. Gee, ya think?

I won't call it a total loss, though; Elli stacked herself nicely and held the pose much better than I expected. She didn't behave quite as well gaiting (or gamboling, as the case may be) around the ring, but for her first time out she didn't do half bad. Another breeder pointed out that she has enough attitude for 20 corgis. If only she'd grow into it...

Elli's littermate, on the other hand, went Best of Breed over Specials on Saturday, and Reserve on Sunday out of the 6-9 class. Congrats to Debbie and Jessie on Ah-Leah's win! (And yep, I took the wrong puppy.) I will console myself with the fact that I honestly thought that Ah-Leah was the better of the two girls, despite assertions that Elli was the better pup. The moral(s) of the story: 1. Do not be color-blind. I wanted a black so I could breed for blues and didn't want to take an extra generation to do it by choosing the brindle puppy, so I went against my gut and chose Elli. 2. Listen to your gut. It apparently knows what it's talking about. (Unless you've just had Mexican food; then it's got OTHER things on its mind and while, very chatty, it is NOT evaluating puppies.)

Alas, all is not lost, though. Of the two girls, Elli has the far better temperament for agility and obedience competition. I can't wait until she's old enough to start training in agility. She's super-fast and can turn on a dime -- she's going to FLY around the course. And hey, she makes me laugh every single day. Can you really ask for more than that?