My friend Vicki was telling me the other day about the last time she worked for her mate Joel, at a sample sale near Brick Lane Market.
One day a Japanese woman came in with a cavernous Miu Miu bag (or somesuch) inside of which was perched a small Chihuahua. She proceeded to delight all and sundry by getting the dog to perform a couple of tricks, firstly: holding up her palm so her pet would give her a mini doggy hi-five, and also (this is great) putting two fingers to its head, and making a shooting sound, whereupon it would flop over as though dead, to reappear like a large eared canine Lazarus seconds later at the mouth of the bag.
Normally I dislike small dogs, but this tale has forced me to reevaluate my stance. And I know it isn't my anecdote strictly speaking, but hell this is a tale that needed telling (and Vicki doesn't have a blog).
4 comments:
I sometimes have to suppress the urge to kick small gods. Not to hurt them, you understand - just to see how far they'd go.
Like that yapping Yorkshire Terrier the Hogans(?) across the road from you used to have in Heaton Moor?
I hated that dog.
My God, well remembered. The Hogans, and their dog Tyson. Long-dead now, I'd have thought. It was so territorial it would stand in the street barking up at me when I walked INTO MY OWN BEDROOM.
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