Canine Capers & Theatrical Triumphs

Last week, my dear readers, was what one might charitably describe as "a bit much." It involved a dizzying, ear-splitting, and frankly, quite athletic stint with the redoubtable Laura of LS DRAMA WORKSHOPS. Flashbulbs popped and the air thrummed with high-energy singing and dancing – a whole theatrical hurricane, if you will. That particular saga, a tale surely deserving of its own blog post (perhaps even a modestly sized paperback, given the sheer volume of dramatic incident), I shall save for a future, less frazzled moment.

Today, however, was a positively serene affair by comparison. Picture this: a gentle amble, a tranquil scene. My companion for this photographic endeavour was Smudge, my neighbour's dog, a creature of — shall we say — considerable life experience. The dance shoes, the high kicks, the decibel-shattering vocal acrobatics were firmly banished. In their place, a much more leisurely stroll to the local field, followed by a period of dignified repose. A period, I must confess, I find increasingly relatable in my own advancing years.

Now, Smudge, for all his admirable chill, clearly hadn't perused the entire "Good Boy Model Instructions." The sitting and even lying down parts? Mastered without a single quibble. A true professional in the art of canine indolence. But directing his gaze anywhere near the camera? Oh, that was a bridge too far, a frontier he was clearly unwilling to cross.

And so, dear reader, I found myself in a rather undignified tableau: a photographer of a certain vintage, prostrate upon the verdant grass, emitting a cacophony of barks, meows, and various other unseemly noises in a desperate bid to capture the attention of an equally mature canine. Smudge, meanwhile, remained as steadfastly determined not to make eye contact as a seasoned London commuter on the Underground during rush hour. It became, to the immense delight and barely concealed sniggers of numerous passers-by, a battle of wills.

I am pleased to report (if one can be pleased with public self-abasement) that the tide eventually turned in my favour. It may not be direct, soul-piercing eye contact, but it is, at the very least, in the general vicinity of the lens. And for that, I am unequivocally counting it as a win. A small victory, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, but a victory nonetheless.