What's in a Name?

She came as Bella, but it's just not a name I could live with. It's too fluffy, too pretty-pretty, too Mummy's Little Princess. She's not a bit like that, no delicate tutu-wearing poodle, and I'd never own a dog like that. Kitty and I ran through every name that sounded like Bella, and I briefly considered Beulah, for ironic, "peel me a grape" reasons if nothing else. Then this morning when I walked her I found myself calling her Sasha, and that felt right. And immediately she answered to the new name. I think it's the bi-syllabic sound and the 'a' on the end. Anyway, it's a relief because I know you can't mess with these things.

Well, she may not be Mummy's Little Princess, but she is Mummy's Little Preciousy Wechiousy Babykins. And I've got to stop being so soppy. At our first puppy training class tonight it was pointed out to me that I'm not meant to meet her every demand, to make her life perpetual bliss, but get her behaviour to suit me, and as quickly as possible. So I have to cool it a bit, praise her for doing as I ask her to (er, tell her to, see what I mean?) but not be OTT when she does what she should be doing. It's all going really well. This morning we had a fabulous walk in hot sunshine through the fields. Sasha tried to catch every insect flying by, and tried to eat every bit of rabbit poo and worse. At one point I decided to let her off the lead, and she promptly flew around in a figure of eight, just brushing my legs every time, crazily circling and recircling me in the long grass, then flopping down at my feet before doing it again. Back on the lead again, we had to sit under a tree to cool off before heading back up the hill.

Sasha in her new smart (not pink) harness and collar

Here she is, the little dote. I'm just the smallest bit fond of her now, and can't imagine the house without her.