holes

I was delighted to meet Matty this evening - 90 lbs of Anatolian Shepherd dog, sixteen months old, with a winsome and intelligent expression. That's a lot of dog to see staring at you - standing on her hind legs and gazing hungrily through the back door - as you eat a bowl of quite excellent goulash made with genuine Hungarian paprika.

So our hearts softened, and she was left back in, and banished to her person's living room, when, after a few conversational chortlings and miniature howls, she obediently and peacefully fell quiet. Or so we thought, until it was time to go home, and I rescued my scarf - and, well, let us just say that it was damp, and Distressed, and full, yes, of Holes. Draped over a lampshade it looks almost like a burkha: when not illuminated, it looks as though it's had an attack of moths with the wingspan of a vulture.

Matty is, of course, forgiven - even if she didn't try and look particularly penitent: I think she believes she may have a future as an installation artist.