The Pudding Dog

* Warning, this may be a bit of an inane story, but I'm at Real Work on a Friday, which is Against The Rules, so I feel justified in my inanity.

I saw the most beautiful Pudding Dog yesterday. I have always loved Pudding Dogs, from when I was a little Shiny. It was taking it's owner for a jog. It really looked like it had done its research and was quite sure of the health benefits of jogging (which I, personally, think is a load of hoo-ey... all that jarring on your body can't possibly be good for you), and had instructed its owner to put on her best jogging kit and off they'd gone.

Pudding Dog had chosen a very specific route to take, one that ensured maximum exposure to the public, because Pudding Dog was, very obviously, quite aware of how beautiful it was. I was pleased that it had chosen that route because I got to see it, and it really was the most beautiful Pudding Dog. It looked almost like a Disney version, or a (very artistic) child's drawing.

I gushed about it to a friend of mine, who looked at me entirely blankly, almost as if I'd lost the plot. This happens relatively often to me as, quite regularly, I think I have lost the plot. This was not one of those occassions, though, so I was a bit flabbergasted, it was a simple story, no lost plottedness to it at all.

Shiny: "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Friend: "A Pudding Dog? What the fuck is a Pudding Dog?" [Said with distinct look of disdain]

Shiny: "You don't know Pudding Dogs?" [Said incredulously, in return for look of disdain]

Friend, [looking at others at the table]: "Am I alone in this? Any of you know what she's on about?"

Various mumbles and grumbles and, I swear, I heard a vague "not a cooking clue" amongst them.

Good grief. Am I really alone in knowing what Pudding Dogs are?