Meet Emma, she is seven weeks old and she’ll be living with us in another two weeks. She’s a cocker-poo.
Today we drove over to the Isle of Sheppey (yuck) to meet her and decide whether we wanted to take her. As it turned out, the owner/breeder also wanted to check us out. She’d already knocked back another possible buyer (of another puppy) because their twin kids were not doggie enough. You have to pass the ‘doggie’ test before you’re allowed to part with your money. We passed and left a deposit.
Emma will be getting her second shots next week and we shall once more venture across to the Isle of Sheppey (yuck), this time to bring her home with us.
I was going to end the post at the last paragraph but feel I really need to say something about the Isle of Sheppey (yuck) rather than be too negative. After all, it’s the only place I’ve ever seen a young (18 year old) man walking down the street dressed in a stars and stripes onsie and smoking a joint. It’s the only place I’ve talked to a tattooed woman about the fact that her giant huskies howl instead of bark whenever dogs walk by their tiny house. It’s the only time I’ve seen a housing estate clinging desperately to the fringes of an industrial estate as if fearing a slip into the Medway would purify it…somehow.
The bit of the Isle of Sheppey (yuck) we saw today was not exactly inspiring. In fact we couldn’t wait to escape. I know I’m being unfair. I don’t care. Emma is beautiful and that’s all that matters. Today.