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I feel that it was only after I moved to England that The Mom truly became enamoured of the Westminster Dog Show. I remember a year or two ago, when I was still in residence chez CatLady, that, on a particularly dull and gloomy day, when neither CatLady nor I had got out of our pjs all day we were searching for something – anything – even mildly diverting on TV.

As luck – or fate – would have it, the Westminster Dog show was on. We watched, and so did the cat who found it all terribly exciting. I believe I relayed this information to The Mom who used it as further reason to find CatLady suspicious: even the cat knew dogs were the superior pet.

If it were in any way possible, I would not at all find it beyond belief that The Mom might enter The Pig in this show in the coming years.

I imagine that Piggy would be taken to The Mom’s hair salon for a high-quality fluff and buff, to which Poochie was subjected twice a year. Though, as The Pig’s fur is short and quite frankly there’s not much you can do with it, I’m not entirely sure what would transpire. I imagine it would be not dissimilar to when The Mom gets her hair done.

The Mom, while clawing at her meagre locks, might say to the hairdresser, “I don’t know why it’s like this. It’s always been so fine. It’s terrible! Can’t you do something?”

To which the hairdresser would reply by simply nodding and getting out a series of round hairbrushes that The Mom could not manipulate correctly, and start teasing and clawing and volumnizing, rendering, eventually, The Mom’s hair into a half-assed replica of Marge Simpson’s towering quiff.

Piggy, under similar circumstances, may leave the salon with her beagle whorls, those strange cowlicks that she has placed around various parts of herself, flicked up and out, so as to create a sort of beagle-in-a-windtunnel effect.

The Mom would love it. The Pig, possibly less so.

Suitably arranged, they would then need to perform admirably and this is where I suspect things would fall apart quickly. Piggy does not take well to direction. She struggles, as all The Mom’s children do, with authority. She is mistress of her own domain and will not take suggestions, recommendations or otherwise. So when required to, say, prance around a track, jauntily, and at pace, Piggy, unlike the other dogs on show, would probably just sit there, looking existentially beclempt until The Mom was reduced to a pile of laughter and tears. The Mom has always been a fan of a good farce.

When it came time for the dogs to be inspected, I believe that is when The Pig would take it upon herself to run rampant around the track, showing not only her physical ability, but the fact that she is a fully sovereign state of one.

Whereupon, The Mom and The Pig would be shamed into leaving, or quite frankly, escorted off the premises having been banned from ever darkening the doors of the prestigious dog show again.

Sometimes, I think this is what occupies The Mom on days when she says nothing much really happened. With Crazy D at the gym and L’il Sis at work, The Mom and The Pig are left to their own devices and who’s to say what they really get up to? They aren’t possibly just sitting there eating soup all day. Secretly, I suspect The Mom is planning some sort of suitably ridiculous dog-based display for L’il Sis’ birthday. Piggy jumping out of a cake perhaps, or maybe something in a chorus-line of dogs under the direction of The Mom.

Honestly, if that happened, I wouldn’t for one minute be shocked or surprised.

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