Some of our Rosettes - Click on Photo to be taken to our awards album

Lament of a young lad who's gone to the dogs - by Beryl Allen

There was a time, there really was,
When I was sweet and tender,
When Show Dog meant a Disney star,
And bitch was not a gender.

I went to bed a half past ten,
I went to church on Sunday,
On Saturday I baked the beans,
And did the wash on Monday.

But the I got a certain pup,
And an erstwhile friend said "show",
And so I did and so I do
Oh! what I didnt know.

I used to dress with flair and style,
That was the life dont knock it,
Now every dress from bed to ball,
Must have a good bait pocket.

I used to have a certain air,
I wallowed in perfume,
I used to smell of 'Nuit d'amour',
Now I smell of Mr Groom

My furniture was haut decor,
My pets a tank of guppies,
Now i've furniture unstuffed,
And well adjusted puppies.

Once I spoke in pristine prose,
In dulcet tones and frail,
But now Im using language,
That would turn a sailor pale.

I was taught to be well groomed,
No matter where I went,
Now all the grooming that I do,
Is in the handlers tent.

I used to long for fur and jewels,
And a figure classed as super,
Now the thing I yearn for most,
Is a nice new pooper scooper.

I adored a man who murmured verse,
Through intimate little dinners,
But now the words I thrill to hear,
Are just three - ,best of winners'

I rise at dawn and pack the car,
The road ahead's a long one,
The one I routed on the map,
Invariably's the wrong one.

I really love this doggy life,
I would not care to change it,
But when I get that 'best in show'
I plan to rearrange it.

When my time on earth is done,
I'll go without much nudging,
Just give me a three week closing date,
And let me know who's judging.