A fun blog of 'soft' philosophy about the life and times of a Westiepoo called Chester. Written as a prelude to a more serious novel raising the question: Who is the most bankrupt: the banker who won't whistle-blow or the chef who loses her livelihood?
On the pavement along Coventry Road, a car driver wound down his window (whether it was by turning a handle or electrics I could not tell). He had driven past us and performed a three-point-turn on Clarke Street. Thinking the driver was going to seek directions to a more exotic location, my master, Mr. A waited patiently to learn news of his inquiry. Instead, the driver advised that he had seen me in Farndon Road and followed me as a fan might track a pop star or a model of some description.
"What is his breed?" he asked Mr. A. "I need to know. I am seeking to possess a dog and he looks so lovely and soft."
Of course, Mr. A, the polite man that he is, duly obliged with his answer and the man drove off satisfied that I am the breed of his choice.
This man was not a particular inquirer. He was asking the most frequently asked question that Mr. A fields about me. Although, as a Westiepoo, I’m often referred to as a designer dog, a type of poodle hybrid, I’m often confused as my breeding cousin the Cockapoo, but I have no Cocker Spaniel, just West Highland Terrier (and poodle).
Like my neighbourly friend Mango, we Westiepoos are not recognised by the Kennel Club. We have no official breed standards for our appearance. Unlike a purebred dog our physical outcomes can be unpredictable; however, us Westiepoos show high standards of love & affection. We are also just as happy to meet a stranger as a family member.
Albeit I don't much resemble Mango, the quality that marks both Mango and myself is our soft, wavy and curly coat that is low shedding, and "tousled" fur look often attributed to terriers. We love being stroked and are never shy to initiate a pet.
Talking of softly. We've all had to be soft toward Master R recently. If it wasn't enough that his sinusitis developed into tonsillitis, he turned into this purple, rash-teenager when his penicillin prescription became allergenic. Poor boy. Slept for England for three or four days, he did. Now, at least, I didn't add to his allergies, as my fur is considered hypoallergenic, due to my little shedding and dander. There's always a silver lining though with illness, someone to pay more attention to me. Please stroke me, I am soft, honest, very Andrex soft!