Nell: That second photo of Harriet is most unflattering.
Me: It’s an action shot.
Nell: You can’t just go around posting that.
Me: Harriet doesn’t mind. She’s an outdoorsy sort of animal.
Nell: What’s that got to do with anything?
Me: She’s not obsessed with her looks, like some.
Nell: I hope you’re not referring to me.
Me: Of course not. You’re a classic beauty and you know it.
Nell: I suppose my friend Dorothy can be a little vain, but a lot of the Salcombe setters are, to be honest.
Me: Gladys has her moments.
Nell: She’s a Pomeranian. It’s the hair.
Me: And so does Princess.
Nell: Anyone who continuously claps themselves has a problem, if you ask me.
Me: It’s a seal thing.
Nell: Sir Roger Blubbery doesn’t do it.
Me: True.
Nell: I’m afraid David might be getting a little carried away with all the publicity he’s been receiving over this Best Mayor competition.
Me: My darling Big Brave Beautiful Boy just loves attention.
Nell: He has a rider now, you know.
Me: I know he’s the size of a small pony but I wouldn’t put a jockey on his back.
Nell: No, a rider as in a set of requirements when he’s performing. Like a pop star.
Me: Seriously? What is it?
Nell: Bacon, obviously, and Yorkshire puddings with gravy.
Me: I’m not sure gravy is a good idea.
Nell: Exactly what I said. The bacon needs to be in a sandwich, too.
Me: What would your rider be?
Nell: I’m a lady Labrador of simple tastes. A pot of Earl Grey, a selection of sandwiches, crusts off, some scones with jam and cream and a slice of Victoria sponge should suffice.
Me: You’ve thought about that, haven’t you?
Nell: Hasn’t everyone?
Me: Yes. Sorry.
