Some incidentals to start with: My Mistress, She Who Adores Me, is always telling everyone that Labrador intestines are the most robust in the world and should be thoroughly and scientifically investigated. Why? Because these studies would help find the answer of resistance to the most violent of indigestions or accidental poisoning.
I have to admit that the odd good old vomit has always been my answer to all that life can throw at me in the way of my rather disgusting, yet splendidly greedy eating habits. People tend to forget that we are like the newly overweight and no longer nomadic North American Red Indians*, in that we, like them, no longer have to search and forage endlessly all winter long in the icy and inhospitable weather of, in my ancestors case, Labrador of the Far Northern reaches of, um l’m not quite sure of its exact geographic location, can anyone help me out here?? Canada?
Anyway here we are, and I am, in the warmer climes of Europe. We remain nevertheless programmed to instinctively be always on the lookout for the slightest morsel which will add to our fat reserves. To cope with and to survive long cold winters in the land of our Sires of yesteryears. Subsequently we eat copiously and, some would say, greedily the slightest tit-bit which comes within our range whether it is our allotted meal time or not. (The indigenous** North Americans have given it the marvellous term “snacking.”) Thus, whether I have just eaten 5 minutes ago a huge meal of meat and veg and juices, the instinctive need is to carry on snacking. That is before She Who Adores Me yells and yanks me away from whatever delectation I have had the good sense to sniff out and attempt to devour without it touching either side of my mouth. Does she not realise that I may not get to eat again until the spring when the snow melts? Who could argue with the Labradorean logic of it all? Well, I ask you, who?
To tell you a little about myself is to impart that my breeding is ancient and impeccable. Simply tons of my nearest ancestors have come from Queen Elizabeth 2’s own breeding lines (Sandringham). Thus I have the most robust hips, quarters and a rather fab, though I say it myself, sprinter’s backside. (Oh you know, muscular and round). To the utter delight of She Who Adores Me, who has been a racehorse owner and knows a good rear end when presented with one i.e. mine! My cousins are various shades of black, yellow and chocolate. I am of a deep black. I started life in Wales, with my sister Mason. Oh by the way I’m called Fortnum. I do apologise most profusely for not introducing myself to you. And your name is?. . .
Excerpt from THE LIFE OF FORTNUM (LABRADOR, FEMALE AND GORGEOUS) by Deborah Camp-Simpson
- * Political incorrectness from Fortnum.
** Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Good girl.
Images: Dog Biscuit by Tommy Kronkvist, “BlackLab2009” by Erikeltic at English Wikipedia.