Seriously, the three worst words in the English language, guaranteed to make me drop/throw/toss the laptop and run like aitch-ee-double hockey sticks. This time it was Bramble, the little foster boy we have right now. He got himself out somehow–our fence is like Alcatraz, so exactly where it happened is going to be a topic of much searching tomorrow–and then, thank God, just stood there howling.
Home again, inside cozy crate, eating cow innards. Again, thank God.
On the decision front, we decided to skip the North Conway shows, which was sad because a judge I really wanted an opinion from was there, and just save our pennies and our breath for Groom Expo in Hershey the next week. We’ll be talking about what to do from mid-September onward. I’ve got two bitches sitting on the “almost finished” fence and that’s ridiculous. Gotta get off my butt and get them in the ring.