This is a video I think I took without meaning to. Some time ago I went to the launderette, or laverie as it is known, in Lamballe, exciting life I do lead. This was probably to wash Molly's bedding, but also perhaps to use the tumble dryer, a thing we don't have at home, for other stuff, I forget. I left Mol in the car, and progressively moved things from washing machine to dryer to basket to car, as you do. I parked a basket of warm dried washing in the front seat, and when I got back, Madam had curled up in it. I only had the compact Cheapcam with me, but whipped it out and took some pictures of her. Unbeknownst to me, one of these was a moving one.
Then as usual I forgot all about it as it was only on the Cheapcam, whose batteries usually run out well before I get around to downloading the photos from it. Then last week I lost the memory card from the Lumix. It's probably down the back of the sofa somewhere, where I have taken to plugging it straight into the mini computer and working with the pictures directly off it, then pulling it out again, and evidently mislaying it, when I've finished. However, I groped about down there to no avail, so I raided poor little Cheapcam's memory card to use in the other one, and that turned out to have this on it.
This is the first time I've been able to upload a video directly through Blogger, since it's very basic quality and so not too big a file, even then it was not without some difficulty, in the end exporting it whole as a clip then blogging it directly from Picasa, but I got there.
So, there you are: Garbo talks, Molly moves.
6 comments:
Sweet Mol knows a nice warm bed when it's placed before her!
"I fit perfectly in this basket."
Happiness is a warm blankie, in a snug basket. Enjoyed viewing Madame very much.
And Lucy writes! Providing the answer to a question I've raddled over (West Riding argot) for years. The ears on spanielish dogs (a genus I'm assuming Mol belongs to) have always seemed anti-evolution. Shaped to pick up burrs rather than to focus sound, although no doubt vital in evoking the "Ah, ain't she..." reaction. Here their function is to reveal signs of life, while the rest of the dog (Hey! She's a dog in a... But obviously you recognised that.) is very much committed to the status quo. Congratters (Remember than one?) on your techno-competence.
Thanks from me and Mol.
Cocker spaniel ears. Yes a design fault if ever there was one. They are set too low, fold over themselves and are covered in fur,inside and out, all of which create damp and provoke infections, to which poor Mol has been sadly prone, hence all the worry and heartbreak I have frequently aired here. As well as this if not kept combed and trimmed, they do indeed pick up dirt and burrs and other nasties. I love Mol better than my own soul and cockers are usually lovely dogs but I would not have another and would not recommend them to anyone.
So why do they have such long ears? Yes it is partly bizarre dog-breeding aesthetics, but also all breeds of dogs whose sense of smell is a priority tend to have long floppy ears and rather deep jowls (bloodhounds being the prime example), which have the effect of sweeping the scent up off the ground and intensifying it around the dog's nose. I suppose they're furry because they are colder climate dogs and it keeps them warm.
I also wonder, though I've never had this confirmed, if their having cloth ears is not an advantage around noisy guns. Indeed, Mol has never been bothered by loud sudden noises, unlike some dogs with better hearing, and the pop and flight of a champagne or similar cork brings out an atavistic urge in her to chase after the precipitating object, which is probably about the closest she'd ever get to the shooting field and the purpose of her breed, apart from inadvertently putting up the odd pheasant which makes her wildly excited and inclined to run off in pursuit, usually in the wrong direction and much too late.
I love Mol almost as much as that last droll and darting dog of a sentence. Every compound and qualifier ups the ante, until you plop down at "much too late." Indeed a fizzy bottle in the right hands.
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