"Girl"

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog

The subject of that sentence now lives with us. The dog that is.

Like the last canine object of my deep affection, she is a failed farm dog. A long-coated Huntaway of 15 months, her days on the farm were severely numbered when she refused to work by herself. She is quite emaciated at the moment, very timid, very quiet and intelligent. She has quickly figured out which side her bread is buttered on and doesn't arise from her blanketed bed until it is daylight. On a leash she is quite diffident and walks sedately a couple of paces behind. She cannot see cats it would appear although they can see her and have started to dance about in her view trying to get some sort of reaction. To no avail.

She has the head of a retriever with very soft fur, long well-muscled legs which are too big for her bony hips and torso. Her front legs are quite bandy which is probably down to a vitamin deficiency as a pup. Her name is "Girl". Yes, that's all.

Never having lived indoors there were a couple of unfortunate accidents the first day, worsened by the fact I overfed her because she is perpetually hungry. But day two passed without mishap as she learns that treats await those who try. Perhaps that's what she was waiting for on the farm.

Here she is after a bath to remove the cow muck accumulated over her short life, in between the toes, up the inner legs and matted in her beard. Some of the mess had to be cut away but she is very obliging. What a honey.