Spud-U-Like

Or rather spud-your-wife-liked. Before heading to puppy school last night I harvested our first potato crop from the garden. All four of them. Sal cooked, mashed and ate the spuds and assures me they were very tasty. Leaving not one mouthful for hubby, I will have to take her word for that. Pah!

Rowlf, when the centre of attention, was a superstar at puppy school. The classroom has chairs arranged around the room and one by one owner and mutt goes front and centre to run through some drill or other. Last night was "stay." Up we walked and down he sat. He gazed up into my eyes, moving not a muscle as I said stay and showed the flattened palm of control. I took a couple of steps backwards. His eyes never left mine, he sat, he gazed, the crowd gasped...I slowly walked back to my angelic puppy, still gazing up at me, still staying in the manner of a Crufts winner. I gave him a food treat that, if could have, he would have asked if it was OK to eat. I was amazed. The trainers were amazed. The other owners were, on the inside, going wild. How could I have trained Rowlf SO perfectly? We walked slowly back to our seat, proud father and son. And he proceeded to go back to being the right little bastard he'd been from the start of, and continued to be for the remainder of, the class.