This morning, Squid disappeared into the bushes with her friend Harvey (who is, incidentally, the only slender golden retriever I have ever met). Several minutes of rustling and rootle-tootling later, she emerged. If a dog could say "TA-DAH!!!" and make an entrance accompanied by bugles and showers of glittery confetti, should would have... because she trotted up with three quarters of a full-size baguette in her mouth. It was longer than she was. She was so very pleased with herself. I congratulated her on her derring-do and swapped it for a standard-sized dog snack. As I was dumping it in the bin, we ran into two tiny white yappy things (ugh. Are these even considered dogs?) and as Squid prepared to rumble them, their owner tried to call them away. "Dallas, Dior, come here!" she tinkled. DALLAS. DIOR.

Harvey's owners and I thought up some similar pairs of names.

Calvin and Chanel. Gucci and Prada. Dolce and Gabbana. Louis and Vuitton.

Just the other day, the Curmudgeon and I were discussing a hypothetical second puppy (don't fret, it's not happening... truly) and what it would be called. Squid Too was ruled out. But would a second one have a similarly salty name? Barnacle? Cuttlefish? Lamprey? Groper?

Incidentally, I reached 7000 hits overnight. My wee little stats machine lists a whole bunch of visitors who are complete strangers to me. Who ARE you people? Really, this blog is quite dull and limited, given that I don't mention anything about my work, and I (generally) keep details that aren't mine to discuss under wraps... I just bang on about my dog, mostly. What's the appeal? C'arn, show yourselves.