dog on a plane

The best friend, Ms Rational Self-Determinism, has finally got her puppy. He's a 12-week-old Great Dane, black, with a little white rivulet going down his chest. He is SO silky and lovely, it is hard to describe, with giant paws and a giant, but long and noble, face. When he sits down his haunches wrinkle up delightfully.

He's the only dog I've ever met who had to be flown in specially. Most people go to the pound to get their pup; but oh no, my girl went to Heathrow for hers! He is apparently, though emphatically not a Scotty, Scots. When he grows up he may well have a bit of a burr. It cost a shocking sum to fly him down, too. And it had to be put off, because the first time he was too nervous.

She's called him Prince Myshkin, which is of course the name of the title character in Dostoyevsky's novel, The Idiot, which I happen to know her reading group recently discussed.

Ms RS-D tells me: "He's a dog of average intelligence."