Apartment Antics

Yesterday was my birthday and, perhaps because I'm spoilt or perhaps because I'm content, I couldn't think of what I would like.  "What do you want?" people would ask me over and over, "there must be something..."  I was sure there was.  All year I'd spot things in shops and think "I'll ask for that for my birthday."  But, when the question came, when the moment to mention all of those little luxuries came, my mind would turn absolutely blank.

One evening, my mum called.  "How about a weekend away with us and the dogs?" she asked.
"Ideal!" I answered wholeheartedly.  Parents and dogs.  What could go wrong?

From the moment I adopted Caesar, my dad has always been on board.  He had a soft spot for the ginger mongrel before I did and still refers to him as 'my pal' whenever we visit.  A weekend away, though, would ensure that the pair were anything but 'pals' by the time we arrived home.

After a debate with my parents about bringing two cars or all travelling in one in which I had insisted that one would be better, not least because I don't like driving, it had been decided that Caesar should travel in the back with Damien and I and wearing his car harness.  The reason for this was partly because the boot of the car will only fit a small cage if all 5 seats are up and I could not put 2 dogs in there for 2 and a half hours.  Caesar, however, can usually be trusted to lie sensibly in the boot without attempting any Houdini style escapes but then there would be limited place for the cases and cool bag full of food.  It was a logistical challenge but, after some time, it appeared that the best arrangement was: Caesar in the back in car harness with Damien and I, mum and dad in the front with Sat Nav and Gemma in her small cage in the boot with the suitcases.  It was foolproof....

I set off at 4 from my house having frantically and independently packed the car.  I had Gemma in the cage, Caesar in his harness and I was pulling off the curb when he began to cry.  "Shhhh...." I told him but he wouldn't.  The crying continued all the way to my dads house 10 minutes away.  It was punctuated with howls and whimpers.  "Shhhhhhhhhh......" I tried to stay focused on the road, wincing as the sound bounced around my head.

Caesar and I travelling in the car

"Oh dear," dad said as he took over the drivers seat.  "What's all that noise about?"  Caesar ignored him and continued along his road to total annihilation of my ear drums.  Now sitting next to him, I stroked him, talked to him, shushed him, shouted at him, ignored him, begged him and eventually gave up on him.  He was not going to stop crying, it appeared, for the whole trip.  By the time we'd picked Damien and mum up from their different places of work, it appeared that the car journey would be a trial for all of us.  Dad had stopped the car while I took Caesar to the toilet, I'd tried giving him water and nothing seemed to be working.

When we arrived, after 2 and a half hours of almost unbearable noise making, Caesar turned it up a notch.  Dad pulled the car up at the apartment and Caesar began to screech.  He had seen two dogs running around on the moorland and the excitement was more than he could take.  He knocked into my face and screeched some more.  He jumped up at the windows and carried on.  Dad had his head on the steering wheel and his elbows over his head trying to drown out the noise as we sat in the car park.  It was unbearable.

On the upside, the lodge was beautiful and, relived that Caesar had eventually stopped making use of his vocal range, we were able to settle down to a nice evening meal.  Being on the Yorkshire Moors had it's advantages and we got the dogs out for a walk in the heather before the sun went down and the rain set in.

It was a tad windy on the top of the moor.  Can you tell?

After a nice evening, we turned in.  I'd brought the large crate folded up in the car and opened it up to create a bedroom for Caesar and Gemma.  I was relieved when they climbed in straight away and curled up together on the cushion bed that I'd created.  We made little fuss about going to bed and left the light on a little while until they were settled.  "Phew..." I sighed loudly as I popped my audio book on and fell asleep before I'd even heard a full sentence.

When I woke, the apartment was still in darkness.  Something had startled me though and it took a couple of minutes to realise what it was.  Caesar was now whimpering quietly in the living room.  Every few minutes, he would let out a loud bark and then begin whinnying like a horse again.  "You're joking!" I said to Damien but he was fast asleep.  I tried to turn over myself but I was awake and after a while it became apparent that Caesar had no plans to allow me to sleep again.

I checked my phone. 4:00am.  Damien was stirring now and beginning to complain.  I tiptoed to the end of the bed, slid my feet into my trainers and walked into the front of the apartment.  Daylight was beginning to filter through the darkness to the tuneless song of Caesar's whines.  "Shut up!" I told him impatiently as I slipped open the crate and let him onto the laminated floor.  I searched for his lead and slipped his head collar on.  "Thanks for this..."

It's not often that you find yourself standing on the moor at 4am.  And, although the morning was beautiful, it's not something I'd like to make a habit of.  I walked Caesar around a bit and then returned to the apartment.  Popping him back in his cage due to the 'no dogs in bedrooms' rule, I hoped that this might settle him.  In truth, if not worse, he was much the same as he had been earlier.

At 6am, after two more hours of failed sleep, I took the duvet and retreated to the front room.  Perhaps if I slept with him he might calm down, I thought.  This, as with my other theories, was not true.  I felt completely helpless.  'At least there's no one in the apartment next door,' I found myself thinking as I shuddered in the cold room under the duvet.  Caesar paced back and forth on the tiles, his claws tapping on the tiles.

Caesar at a 'dog friendly' pub - shame he decided to scare everyone by suddenly turning into a howling monster and having to be removed when he heard a puppy yapping in the bar!

I try to be patient.  I really do.  And, often, against my own judgement, I've been told that I am a patient person.  Perhaps outwardly that may be true but, inwardly, I scream at situations like this.  I lay there and felt my eyes fill.  Why was Caesar determined to spoil my birthday weekend.  It's hard to remember sometimes that, no matter what you have done for them, at the end of the day they're still just a dog.  In a sense, like a spoilt child, they will just make a fuss and carry on when they're not happy.  And, unlike children, they will never reach a point where they realise that they aren't the only being on the planet that has ever been cold/hungry/bored/tired.

I have to admit, I don't do well when I'm tired.  I don't like my eyes being sore.  I don't like feeling drained.  I was supposed to be going out walking on the moors.  Now all I felt like was having a very long nap.  Or, if that failed, crying.  Caesar nuzzled my arm under the covers and tried to climb on the leather sofa "no!" I told him sharply and turned over.  He began to cry again.

I allowed the thought of putting him in the car and leaving him there while I had a nap to wash over me like a tide of relief and then rejected it.  I couldn't do that to him as much as I felt like it...

Depressed or Grown Up?

When I adopted Caesar 2 and a half years ago, he was 2 and a half.  If you're a maths genius....or at the least know how to add up...you will realise that Caesar is now 5.

Five.  I've repeated it to myself, to friends, to Damien.  Five.  Half way to 10.  I suppose if you think about it like that though, I'm more than half way to 50.  Five.  I lay in bed one night looking at him as he lay motionless by my side.  Five years old.  That's still only young.  Isn't it?  I felt my eyes prick.  In human years, he's 35.  That's older than me.  But 35 is the new 25, right?

I didn't feel tearful about him turning 5.  Nor about the fact that, comparatively, he's lived more of his life than me, at least by the law of averages.  I felt a sudden panic that, at 2 and a half he seemed so young and how quickly our time together has passed.  How the moments have flown without my noticing.  Yet I wouldn't turn time back.  I couldn't.  I don't know how I survived the months of destruction and noise and panic.  The anxiety associated with opening my own front door to see if my house was still habitable.  To see if Caesar was harmed.  I gave everything to helping him through his difficulties.  He gave everything to learning to trust me.  And we've reached a point.  A pinnacle at which I never realised that we would find ourselves.  We have an understanding, a trust if you like; he won't destroy my house and I will always come back.  We have those moments where that balance slips; I stay out too long, he bursts a can of deodorant but it is extremely rare that we return to the destruction that was before.



Caesar now spends a lot of his time on the windowsill, watching the world go by.  On walks, he is still a nutter and he does like to bark at anything that moves whether out and about, in the house or in his favourite spying spot.

Caesar used to be one-hundred miles an hour about everything.  He would run around from noon until night, skidding, spinning, bumping, barging and generally being a nuisance.  Everybody used to complain.  He meant no harm, I w
ould tell them, but he did cause it.  He broke things, knocked things over, wrapped people up in his lead and was a pain wherever he went.

A few months ago, I stopped one night and looked at Caesar.  We were at my parents' house and he was curled up on the floor.  When did he start doing that?  The following day I took extra notice of his behaviour at home.  He was spending a lot of time lying on the window sill, watching.  Just watching.

Right now he is doing the same except for he's gotten behind the curtain so that if I hadn't seen him climb up an hour ago then I wouldn't even know he was there.  He's laid silent and still with the odd loud exhalation to remind me I'm not alone in the room.  I'm unsure what he's waiting for.

"Do you think he'd depressed?" my dad asked me.  I frowned.  I'm not sure what Caesar has to be depressed about.  He has lots of nice walks, treats, training and he sleeps every night by my side.  But I couldn't deny that he's definitely slowed down considerably.  At first, I thought he might be injured and choosing to move less to stop any pain but he seems fine while running around on walks.

Everyone had spent so long willing Caesar to calm down that, when he did, it almost seemed wrong.  This calm, placid, quiet dog is not mine.  Bring back the one that used to knock me off my feet!

Caesar keeps the wacky, loud, bustly, bumbly and clumsy version of himself locked away in a box.  It's the same box that we keep the leads and collars in in fact.  So, at least we get to see him when we attempt to go for a walk!!!!

Thanks for reading.

Caesar's Smelly Face

There's nothing quite like going back to work after a 2 week holiday.  Especially a 2 week holiday where you spent time with friends, had parties, long walks with the dogs, nice days out and so on... If I'm honest, despite the fact that, for the most part, I do love my job, it's an anticlimax.

'So you're just going to leave, is that it?'

This is only magnified by 'the eyes'.  That look when you try to leave the house.  The 'oh...so we're not going to hang out together today?' look.  The 'how could you do this to me?' look.  I lose great chunks of time when I'm at home just sitting and cuddling Caesar.  He's always warm and snuggly and he can cheer me up even when it's raining outside.  So it's really hard on that first Monday morning, at 7:15 to shut that door and walk away.

Of course, I like to think we've been through the worst with Caesar.  And we did have it pretty bad too!  We've coped with the breaking into the kitchen and eating his bodyweight in chocolate and boxes, we've had the emergency vet visit after he ate over 1kg of dog food after breaking the kitchen door, I've come home to find rooms in a state of disrepair, furniture permanently damaged, clothing ripped (my new coat did look better when it had pockets.  But, for the most part, we come home now to find the house relatively unharmed.  At worst, Caesar will pull a coat off the hook, nosey through a handbag or make a pile of my shoes on the bed but these things I can handle because I just need to think back to this...

...and I remember how lucky I am that this is over.

So when I stepped through the door on Tuesday and found the hall more or less how I'd left it, I wasn't surprised.  We don't need to worry now.  Caesar was there, as always, wagging and howling and bustling around clumsily; his way of saying 'how was your day?'

I patted him and then went into the lounge and flung myself on the sofa.  "I'm shattered!" I announced before smelling Caesar's face.  He smelt surprisingly good...as though he was wearing perfume.  "Has he had a bath?"  Damien shook his head and then bustled off to make a cup of tea.  I shrugged my shoulders and sat Caesar on my knee for a cuddle, he settled down immediately.

If I hadn't been exhausted on Tuesday night, I might have been astute enough to notice that our bedroom also smelt rather fragrant that night.  But I was too exhausted to think much and the unusual smell barely crossed my mind.  If I had been wide awake when I stumbled up to bed that night, I might also have noticed the traveling bag that was lying upturned on the floor of the bedroom but I wasn't.  I popped my audio book on, gathered the duvet around me and snuggled down with Caesar for a nice sleep.  I can't remember my head hitting the pillow.

The rest of the week went in much the same way.  Teaching is tiring at the best of times but after a break, it can really take it's toll!  My head was sore and my throat ached most nights and I lost several hours sitting and thinking in the lounge with Caesar cuddled up on my knees.  

I became human again on Saturday morning after a migraine induced early night on Friday.  Caesar, of course, turned in when I did and by 7 o'clock the next morning, we were both wide awake.  Fumbling about in the half-light I looked for something to wear and then some make up.  "Ah!  My travel bag - perhaps there's make up left in there from my visit to Sheffield," I thought and picked the bag up from the floor and looked inside.  There was only one thing in the bag....

No wonder his face smelt so good!

I'm just pleased he wasn't very very sick....

Sweet Progress

Over the past month, I've had little time to write and for this I do sincerely apologise.  The truth is that I have little to write about.  Caesar has been remarkably well behaved and sometimes I forget to celebrate that enough.  Sometimes I need to remind myself of just how bad things could be 26 months ago when I brought home a jumpy, mouthy, noisy staffy who would just about scare anyone let alone the people who had signed a form committing themselves to owning him.

He's curled up by me on the sofa right now and I feel as if he's always been there.  I don't have to worry about what he's doing because he's usually with me.  He knows where he stands when it comes to my lunch and dinner, even, occasionally, when it's left unattended.  And, by unattended, I mean more that 1m away from me - if it's in a room alone, it's anyone's!

Perhaps the biggest breakthrough I've experienced recently happened a few weekends ago on the same beach which we walked Caesar on in his early days.  The beach where, after being yelled at by a man with two handsome golden retrievers, we avoided for a good few months.  I cringe when I recall the noise that Caesar was making that day; the screeching, the wriggling, the howling as the two yellow dogs sniffed and nudged him.  "Get your dog under control," the man yelled at me from far down the beach.  I remember holding back tears as I tried to yell back an explanation.  For some reason I felt apologetic.  Apologetic for trying to walk this monster dog.

Naughty or misguided?

Back in the early days, Caesar couldn't walk within a few metres of a dog without causing a ruckus that was likely to make even the bravest of people think twice about walking past him.  People would cross the road to avoid us and I would return from most walks feeling exhausted and tearful.  Walking was not a pleasure; it was a trial.  Soon, my parents began to decline beach and forest walks and, largely, I walked alone.

"She wants me to bring Caesar," I chortled as I told Damien about the sponsored walk.  "Caesar!" I repeated, for dramatic effect.  Chris, our dog trainer, has enormous faith in Caesar and has done for a great deal longer than I have.  On our first training session, she pointed out that he was intelligent and willing to learn.  I pointed out that he was noisy and kept looking like he was going to bite people.

I lured myself to the beach that Sunday morning by convincing myself that, should Caesar maul any dogs, I would return later, alone, and do the sponsored walk with Caesar.  I had kept myself awake that night wondering what the outcome of the walk would be.  Wondering if I could trust Caesar.  I deliberated over putting his Flexi lead in the bag and then decided that it might be useful to have if we did the walk alone or held back from the other dogs.

Did I hear you say 'beach'?

Standing by the graveyard wall, looking down onto the beach, I did wonder whether it would be worth setting off alone.  However, Caesar seemed surprisingly quiet and I felt a little reassured by his almost-silence.  By the time we'd walked onto the sand it had become clear that, to some extent, the walk was not going to be easy.  Twenty off-lead dogs darted around on the sand; chasing, playing, barking and having a whale of a time.  Caesar attempted to do the same on the end of his 1m lead.  It didn't quite work.



However, after around half an hour, it began to dawn on the ginger mongrel that he wasn't going to be let off his lead.  And, after this realisation set in, he began to relax into the walk.  I won't say he walked noiselessly but he did calm down considerably and by half way through, he was running around on his Flexi lead.  I have had to become a pro at Flexi lead management as Caesar can run quite fast so needs a quick hand to stop him ploughing into people.  He didn't get close enough to many dogs but he did have a little play with a lurcher who outran him by miles as they sprinted along the beach.

Fun on the beach

The walk back went much the same and, as we wandered, I looked at Caesar sprinting back and forth and felt a little tug in my heart.  A sort of proud mother moment.  I get them every so often.  A moment where I looked down at him and wondered where that awful, naughty dog that I adopted had gone.  I think I'll keep this photo forever; the moment when I realised how far we'd come...

Caesar and I (far left) on the Sport Relief Sponsored walk

The perfect collar...

Accidents happen all of the time.  More so, it seems, when you are constantly shadowed by an oversized and needy Staffordshire Bull Terrier cross who thinks he is a miniature poodle.  I have lost count of the times that I've tripped over, been knocked over by or stood on Caesar.  This is mainly because he likes to stay as close to me as is possible.  Sometimes, he's so quiet that I don't even know he's there!  Last night, Damien and I spent ages shouting him and looking for him when it turns out he was under the table by my feet.

Accidents happen.  And, I of all people, can vouch for that fact.  I've had some strange and colourful accidents in my time.  Including the time when I trapped my head in the shower door and gave myself a fat lip by smashing my face off it when I sprayed myself with cold water.  And I've lost count of the times that Caesar has knocked me over by running into me full pelt.

However, recently, I began on an accidental adventure that I didn't see coming at all.  It all started with a shopping trip to IKEA.  The same shopping trip that led to my buying Caesar's tent.  A few minutes after choosing the tent, I paused for an unknown reason at the fabric isle.  Standing on the end of the isle was a rather nifty looking sewing machine; small, compact and colourful.  My first thought was that, for £45, I could make a nice pair of curtains for Caesar's cage.  This should make it look a little more homely and mean that it has less of an impact on the dining room.  So, I chose some red spotty material and picked up the light weight machine feeling pleased with myself.

Since discovering I could sew, I've moved up in the world!

A few days later, I finally pulled it out of it's cardboard box and rummaged around for the instructions.  I'd put off using it because I wasn't exactly sure how to and the week had afforded me little time to learn.  When I had finally followed the step-by-step guide to setting up, winding, threading and eventually sewing, I decided that a crate cover featuring a set of curtains was a little pie in the sky for my current sewing ability.  So I searched around for something else to make.  To begin with, I found a few scrap pieces of material and made a tiny cat face with sewn on button eyes.  I smiled to myself as I completed it.  Although not exactly sure what to do with the odd looking cat, I felt as though, at the least, I'd experienced a minor sewing achievement.  However, still not ready to tackle the curtains and cover, I searched about for something else.  I had a few pieces of ribbon left over from Christmas but nothing more.

OK so I'm a bit bonkers about ribbon...

It was around this time that Damien's gym bag decided to break.  It had been looking a little worse for wear for more than a short time and, finally, the rip in the top had turned into a rather large hole.  Despite his best efforts to ignore this, it wasn't long before the strap of the bag fell of completely.  Damien was about to throw the bag in the bin when a thought crossed my mind.  On this bag were webbing, straps and clips.  I'd quite fancied having a go at making a dog collar but I wasn't sure that my little machine would hack it.

A week and several trips to the haberdashery later, I'd not only made one collar; I'd made several!  And, people were asking me to make them one too.  Suddenly, I was being offered money to create these collars.  Armed with left over Christmas ribbon and off cuts from Boyes, I began making little collars.  Suddenly, the collar world was my oyster.  If there was something I fancied for Caesar; I could make it!

Hello sailor?

100% British?

.....maybe not

....surely one of these must be right?!

This led to much dithering.  I kept making collars for him and then deciding to sell them or someone might simply take a shine to them and I'd feel bad for keeping them to myself.  Sometimes, I'd choose a random collar for Caesar to model but none of them grabbed my attention.  Now that I had a choice, I wanted a collar that defined Caesar.  More than Batman and Superman.  Something that spoke out loud about him and his nature.

It's alright....but is it really me?

Finally, one evening on Facebook, I spotted a post by a friend.  It was perfect!  The ribbon showed a simple paw pattern and 2 very important and very true words.  The very collar that would define Caesar:

Rescued....Loved...

I chose yellow for the webbing because Caesar is a 'yellow dog'.  For those of you who have missed the yellow dog campaign, give the website a visit (Yellow Dog UK).

Thank you to Sue at Sue's Pet Tags  for the wonderful ribbon and support with the business start up.  Sue provides excellent pet tags made to match collars beautifully.

STOG for your dog is now officially a business.  If you would like to order a collar or discuss custom made collars, please follow the contact on the STOG website.

Test your dog's IQ...

Firstly, I apologise to anyone who has found this post and does actually want to test their dog's IQ!  Anyone who is a regular reader will know that, for the vast majority of the time, I offer completely moral-free tales of a dog who quite possibly has an undiagnosed special need.  However, this was always the aim of the blog.  To let others who find themselves in a similarly difficult situation know that they're not alone.

Wonderful and absolutely bonkers all at the same time!

When you have a dog like Caesar, the worst thing to feel is alone.  Without the support of many people telling me 'this has happened to me too,' I may well have given up on Caesar within the first few weeks of ownership based on the fact that I just didn't understand what was going on!  However, I've come to not only accept this but embrace it due to the fact that many others have let me know that they have experienced similar and sometimes worse scenarios with their own dogs.

It's bad...but it could be worse.  Right?

Last night was the first time for a while that I'd felt alone with Caesar.  It wasn't because he had done anything naughty or damaged anything or eaten anything; these things I have learnt to live with.  For a change, it was my silly behaviour that had caused him damage.

To understand my behaviour at all you first need to know this fact; Caesar likes to jump.  In the short time that I've owned him, I've seen him jump fences, walls, stair gates, chairs....and more.  His current favourite hobby is jumping on and off the coffee table in the lounge.  And, when that bores him; on and off the window sill.

Caesar likes to jump on and off of the coffee table.

Close to where we live there is a beach and on the beach there are fences that section off parts.  Parts of the fences cover about 20m in width and range from 50cm to almost 2m in height.  When walking Caesar on the beach, I used to allow him to jump over them until someone kindly pointed out that I didn't know what was on the other side - thankfully before I found out the hard way that people don't necessarily look after our beaches and leave broken glass or shards of metal lying around.  I stopped this game as soon as I realised.

Caesar LOVES the beach.

I'd always dreamed of doing a sport such as agility or flyball with Caesar and would love to see him running a course.  I'm certain he'd be great as he has a good attention span when it comes to training.  There is only one problem; other dogs.  When I last attempted to get Caesar to do flyball he abandoned the run in favour of jumping a fence and chasing after a load of other dogs.  It's not that Caesar doesn't get enough exercise or variety because I'm constantly being told that he does.  However, like a proud mother, I can never escape the feeling that he could achieve more so I'm always looking for new things to try.  Failing that, I look for safe things to jump over on walks for a bit of fun.

Caesar sitting on a wall he'd jumped onto

Yesterday, on the beach I spotted a mild looking wall.  It was waist height on me and so, at a jog, I pulled Caesar, on his flexi-lead, toward it.  I let the lead loose and kept running as we approached.  Caesar seemed to be enjoying the run and began to make headway in front.  When he reached the wall, I gave the usual "up up up!" command....

Caesar can run really fast if once he gets going.

The next thing that happened was a blur.  Caesar hit the wall with a thud travelling at quite a speed.  He had seen the wall approaching yet somehow failed to jump and just ran face first into it and then collapsed into a pile.  My first, and very unmotherly reaction, was to laugh; fancy not noticing there was a wall there.  But then, having noticed the nasty looking mark on his cheek, I suddenly felt very concerned.  How would you explain to a vet that you ran your dog flat out into a wall?!

Ouch!  How much of a bad mum do I feel?!

In summary, to test your dogs IQ level; run them full pelt towards a wall and see if they jump.  If they do they have a higher IQ than if they don't.....simple!
And, since I'm now far too aware of legal mumbo jumbo that I shouldn't be bothered about, please do not do the above...it was a joke!

For Crufts sake!

Last week I made possibly the most brave decision of my life so far.  No, unlike the friends I was talking to the previous weekend, I didn't jet off to Australia alone for months or decide to use the deposit for my house in order to leave work and travel the world.  I booked myself a train ticket to Birmingham.

Uh oh...she's packing!

If you ask Google to define 'brave' this is what it will tell you:
Brave (adj) ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.

If you had to pick an adjective to describe me, it wouldn't be 'brave'.  Perhaps 'anxious'.  My dad used to call me 'windy' but I had to stop him because I was worried that people might take that the wrong way.  Worried.  Always worried about something or other.

One of my many phobias....bees!

For most people jumping on a train to somewhere a few hours away may seem like a walk in the park but for me it required bravery.  Firstly, I'm not a keen lover of trains.  That, though, is the least of my troubles.  I'm also worried about travelling alone and I don't much like getting in taxis alone either.

However, one of my worst fears is missing out on something amazing because I was too frightened to do it.  And this was the reason I boarded a train, alone, one evening at 5:05pm.  The train would arrive at Birmingham over 3 hours later and from there I would climb aboard a smaller train to Birmingham International Airport.

Thankfully, the reason for this was not because I needed to catch a plane - perhaps I'm not yet brave enough to go that far and certainly not alone.  The reason was that, for the first time in my life, I was going to Crufts.  And, I was going with some online friends from the lovely Staffies R Us.

Nearly ended up with another dog after this little angel jumped up to give me a kiss!

There's something about being a member of a close-knit forum.  It feels like meeting some kind of extended family.  People who you feel extremely connected to but, at first, you're not exactly sure who is who.  I ended up finding myself asking "what's your dog called?" in order to recognise each person.  Caesar got a few smiles and his blog was mentioned too.

By the morning of the show, I was thrilled that I had made the trip and could not wait to begin exploring.  For anyone who has somehow managed to avoid ever hearing about Crufts; it's the world's largest dog show.  And, around the hotel there were many nationalities of people and dogs staying to attend.  I'd watched the show on television since being a child when dad and I would tune in just in time to see the weekend showings and I'd always wondered what it would be like to attend.

The show itself was amazing and I couldn't believe that it only cost £18 to enter!  It's impossible not to spend the first few hours in absolute bewilderment.  I've never seen so many dog products and stalls or breeds of dog or dog sports all in one place.  There were so many rings and halls and stalls that getting lost was virtually inevitable but it was like being lost in an dog lovers Disney Land.  I was gobsmacked by the crowds of people and some of the amazing sights that could be seen around the National Exhibition Centre.

...And I thought they were called 'sheep!' 

By 4 o'clock, I had just about stopped gawping and got into some serious shopping.  Here are Caesar's goodies:

Sheep fleece!

Union Jack Polar Collar

Leather Staffordshire Knot Collar

Who has been to Crufts?  Share your experience in the comments section.