Chapter 6
(30th May, 2000):

Princess Gráinne

Dear One and All,

This is the puppy garden dropout, calling from Bramstedt again. Oh, that pesky pup, I hear you say. But remember, "When she is good, she is very very good..." and I have to tell you about it before I get into trouble again.

This newest chapter in my book started last Thursday, when Daddy came home early. "What's he doing here so early?" I wondered. "And why does he have my car with the playpen in the back, which Mummy usually drives?" Then I was at Mummy's school and she was coming out, looking like a beast of burden. I couldn't really give her the Wheaten greeting with all those bags. Kids came to look at me and I didn't know whether I should feel like a star or an exhibition. Little did I know that this was the beginning of my modelling career. Look out, Claudia Schiffer, here I come!

When we got to Molfsee (near Kiel), Mummy said that this was the room I spent my first 8 weeks in. I didn't have the foggiest. Mummy said this was the lady that introduced my parents. Not the foggiest. Ex-mummy Schinke, remember? Nope.

Above-mentioned ex-mummy plunked me on a table like they do at Uncle Doctor's. Another shot? No, don’t tell me she's going to take a piece out of me with those scissors! There went all my beautiful black locks and now I'm a blond. That was cruel; think of all the dumb blond jokes I'll have to listen to now. Mummy and Daddy stared at me all the time.

Sunday we all piled into my playpen again and man alive, this was worth it! Fifty-five Wheatens "all in one pile", as the organizer said. Not to mention just as many Kerry Blues, twice as many Irish Terriers, and 14 Glen of Imaals.

Ex-mummy Schinke came and introduced me to someone who yanked my mouth open, looked at my teeth and said, "Wonderful!"

We walked around the field and looked at the exhibitions in their crates or being trimmed in their tents. I had a chance to chat with my biological Mummy PeggySue, of whom I hadn't the foggiest, and my Aunt Queen Anne.

A very handsome male went by and Mummy asked his name. Charley. There isn't a Charley on the program. His real name is Cheerful Challenger. Oh! It's Gráinne's Dad! Now that's a man with poise - and friendly, too.

Then one of the leading breeders pointed to me and said, "That must be one of Frau Schinke's pups; they're always so pretty." That made me so proud that I helped myself to a bone from the tent where Mum bought me a new leather choker so that my silky locks wouldn't be damaged any more and two pairs of scissors with funny edges. Mum made me take the bone back and apologize. Dad scolded and said he didn't want to get thrown out of the festival for shoplifting. The judges were both real Irishmen. Mum eavesdropped while the Wheaten/Imaal judge was dictating about one of the Wheatens: neck too short. She rushed back to Dad to report, "It's a good thing we don't want to show Gráinne; if someone told me her neck was too short, I'd spit in his eye." Mother Peggy Sue was third of 17 female models. Auntie Annie didn’t place because Frau Schinke was so tired she could hardly trot with her. A great time was had by all.

Next day Dad called to see if Schinkes got home safely in the orcane that swept across Northern Germany. She reported having received a number of compliments about - get this - ME! Now she wants my folks to show me, pledged to do the show trimming and teach us all what to do. Well, said Daddy. Well, said Mummy. Mummy cooked me hamburger and rice to stop my hunger strike. They put a table up in the car port and we're practicing the hairdresser bit. Gráinne is a princess. But you can skip the "Your Highness" stuff and don't have to kiss my paw because you knew me when I was just plain "Gráinne na Dun na nGall".

Love, slurp,

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