Reasons I Hate You.

I hate dog shows. Or I don't so much hate dog shows as I hate the people who put their dogs in shows (almost like you can't hate the small children in pageants as much as you hate their pushy stage parents). Anyway. The world's most prestigious dog show was apparently on at Madison Square Garden yesterday. Or something. Look, I don't know when, I'm no fortune.... telling... woman. Anyway. You have no idea the kind of crowd that was there. There were about a million people. And my exaggeration is minor. And when a fluffly spaniel won the competition they all went wild. It was like a U2 concert. Or what I imagine a U2 concert would be like - many middle aged, frantic women, screaming and grasping their chests in shock and awe.
Poor, poor Bono. What must he be faced with???
Okay, so I'm getting off the topic. But I really hate dog shows. My friend (let's call her "Louella") (I guess I don't really need to keep her identity a secret, as she's not an intrinsic part of this story, but "Louella"is endless fun to say). So anyway, the hypothetical "Louella" and I went to the Melbourne Show last year, and watched a dog show. The whole time, we had three young dog trainers sitting behind us in vivid pastel dress suits, gossiping about the show dogs and their trainers. Things like:
"Oh my GOD. Did you see that A-FRAME!?? She is not lining up that dog AT ALL!"
"Well... I'm not sure purple is really her colour, a HEE HEE HE HEE HEE!"
"Well she has been getting better recently. Her pace and control is quite good now!"
Shut up. I hate you. "Louella" and I looked at each other confusedly. Then one of the trainers tried to climb over us, and fell over, almost crushing us.
And okay - so I can't really make a judgement about what a good dog is. My dog is relatively obese, a shade of burnt orange, at least four mix breeds of dog, who has nightmares and farts in her sleep. I am not even joking. But at least she's got guts. Or that's what we tell ourselves.
Not that I don't like pure breed dogs. My friend (let's call him "Giuseppe" or "Mr Fancy" for the purpose of this story), has a HIlarious greyhound called Meg. Meg is mostly hilarious because when "Giuseppe" takes her for a walk, her collar cannot stay on her head. This is due to the fact that Meg's head is the same width as her neck. Similarly, when Meg is excited, her legs fly everywhere on the polished wooden floor of their house and she ends up having to splay all her legs in order to keep standing.
Meg is my hero.
Anyway. The basic conclusion of this story is that A) I like some dogs B) I dislike dogshows C) I woke up this morning at 6AM and just killed a wasp with a ridiculous abundance of fly spray that may or may not have gone to my head and D) I now have to go do flute practise, excuse me.
All the best,
Anna.
P.S. I would like to clarify that Mr Fancy's previous claim that "Blue Hog" is an incorrect term for a blog is entirely false. All the cool kids are calling them Blue Hogs these days. Mr Fancy is outdated and uniformed.
P.P.S. I would also like to clarify that Mr Fancy did in fact laugh at the certain "Blue Hog" joke that someone (*cough me cough*) made.
P.P.P.S. I would also, also like to clarify that Mykill DOOMwater is incorrect, and I clearly do not rant and/or ramble, thank you very much. Sheesh.