Every year in late August, the Clydesdale Horse Show comes to Duthie Park.
Early arrivals were being spiffed up as Gail and I walked around the park on Saturday morning.
We stopped by one particularly handsome fellow.
He was standing still as a statue while his owners gave his feet a good scrub.
Let me tell you I would never have permitted that. Gail asked if she could take a photo. The hoof scrubbers cheerfully assented, then one of them spotted me.
"A foxy! You don't see so many of them these days. My parents had a wire haired fox terrier on our farm. Killed everything that moved, it did. Hens, rats, mice, all the cats, every single one of them. Aye, that he did. Cats, chicken, rats, the lot. What's your one called? Bertie? I can see Bertie's paying attention".
You bet. I was SO impressed. Wow! Respect to that farm fox terrier.
Was it really necessary for Gail, in best embarrassing parent mode, to reply with this:
"Oh yes, Bertie's always alert. But the only creature he's killed so far is a vibrating toy hamster. Ha ha".
So NOT funny.
