Läste Chairman of the Kennel Clubb, Ronnie Irvings ledare, The Kennel Gazette och tar mig friheten att citerar några stycken:
"In some countries there has for many years been greater intervention from breed societies or from the central kennel authority as to the selection of breeding stock. In recent years there has been increasing pressure on kennel clubs from various quarters, to introduce restrictions and to impose rules on all breeders as to what they can and cannot do.

In some countries dogs and bitches cannot be bred from unless a ‘breed committee;’ has authorised both the use of the dogs involved and the particular combination of dog and bitch requested. In other countries, an increasing number these days, compulsion is applied when it comes to health testing and other screening requirements.

It has always been the view of the Kennel Club that these restrictions should be kept to a minimum. The KC’s view is that as much reliable information as possible should be provided to breeders, so that they themselves may make their own decisions – aware of the strengths and weaknesses of the individual dogs concerned. The view is that the many decisions of individual breeders are likely to be more sensible and less dangerous than the alternative – namely the single decision of a committee of breeders.

We are also aware of certain countries where a limit is being set for the maximum number of registered progeny which any particular stud dog is allowed to produce. And in other countries consideration is being given to stipulating mathematical maximum ‘coefficients of in-breeding’ which are to be allowed for any permitted mating. These moves are being made in order to respond to criticism from outsiders that dogs are too ‘in-bred’. Such views are very often expressed by people who understand very little of the aims and objectives of serious dog breeders. In my view, to lay down crude rules of this kind is insulting to the intelligence of most experienced and responsible dog breeders and can only be described as being the complete antithesis of the whole ethos of what good dog breeding should be all about."
"But for experienced and proven skilful breeders, restrictions on the maximum number of progeny from any one sire and insistence on maximum permitted coefficients of inbreeding are very blunt instruments, They cut right across what we in Britain think is the way to breed animals. It is to be hoped that we in this country never find ourselves having to force established and proven successful breeders to take up that approach to the breeding of pedigree dogs! "
Tänk så stor skillnad det kan vara!

Watch today´s up-dates http://skotte.bloggagratis.se/Not to be missed!

My hair grow beautifully in the summer, especially the impressive beard that I acquired sometime after my forth months of age. Each evening, when we watch telly, I have my coat brushed and my beard combed. The moustasches, which come (presumably) from heredity and my own excellent metabolism, are not only handsome features which add dignity to my appearance. They are perfect to disguise any interesting objects that one detects during out-doors excursions. Prefereably findings which, in my experience, are Loudly Forbidden. When caught at fait accompli, one then retires to a safe distance, to admire the Language of Granny, who speaks fluent Angry-Saxon on these occasions.





Last evening I sniffed around an euonymus patch behind the barn. One prefered to stay out of sight when being summoned. Granny´s cries of "Viggo" became increasingly frantic, as she imagined the very worst. When discoveded, it is wise to wag one´s tail brightly, to show that it was an Amusing Joke. I hurried indoors, bringing with me a deceased bird, or at least parts of it, well hidden in my beard. Granny was not quite delighted, and interred the remains in the wastebasket.

To be a Scottish Terrier on Vacation is to be Philosophical, so I get along fine with everybody here. I even don´t mind posing on wet grass... The Garden today was a wonderful place, full of sunshine and greenery. Granny was in good spirits, not expecting to see any more rain for some time, and not yet tired by the warm weather. After a while we went indoors to keep Granny company at Work. This means she sits limply in front of the computer, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether the Great Swedish Novel will occur to her. Nothing emerged from the computer, so I yawned and retired to my basket for a nap.







Today is the start of the Olympic Games, an event I pay no attention to, because no Scottish Terrier has ever won it. The Games occur in China, which is a faraway place. Granny says it is crowded, but full of interest for Enthusiasts. I should like to disguise myself as an Enthusiast! I reckon we all gather in front of the telly tonight to see what it´s all about.

Today we witnessed a miracle - Sunshine! We all went out in the garden to celebrate.

One´s Place of Sojurn in the country is not entirely a Gladsome thing. It also affords endless opportunities for seasonal misadventures. Such as Bad Weather. Yes, we City-folks too experience bad weather at occasion. One is blown hurriedly along the windswept pavements. My Mom holds the plaid umbrella squarly over her own head, leaving those of us most in need of water-wings to sink and float as best as we can.




In the Country, however, bad weather is overwhelmingly Bad. We all are forced to go out-doors and have to endure ploughing though endless fields of soaked grass and wet bushes to do one´s Inevitable Duty... only to be collect afterwards and being Dryed. One concludes that the whole performance has a purely Ritual significance. "Come here, little Hottentot", remarks Granny in falsely bright tones, reaching for the once-navy-blue towel. Dry again, I retire behind the nearest basket, to imagine what it would be like if I were of the size of a Tibetan Mastiff, with suitable fangs and paws as big as dessert plates. There would be fewer references, one suspects, to "Little" and Hottentots"!




Talking about fangs - yesterday I dropped the last of my puppy-teeth, an impressive canine tooth. Granny picked it up to save it for Mom to see when she returns. Sign of Adult-hood? I welcome that! I´m sick to my teeth (excuse the pun!) of being treated like a Stuffed Toy. Exit the Pup, enter the Scottish Gentleman!

Today I´m going to write about the Inmates of Camp Country. First a few words about US - the Honoured Guests. I, the undersigned MacViggo, is a genuine Scottish and all the same. Thus opposite to Good Old Uncle Uno, my dear Cohabitant, who is not to be recognizable after stepping over the Ulvus threshold. Some call of Nature? Uno thinks he´s Top Dog and acts like a rabied wolf, dribbling and making a lot of noise. It´s quite trying, I say. Granny says he reminds her of the films where Hitler was on stage. Luckily the embarrassement only lasts for a day or so. Gerda and Gunvald are peasant dogs and quite tolerable. They are even good enough to play with me. We have had a lot of good plays, like Chasing. Peasant dogs have an advantage here because they have longer legs. Bad luck! I make up for it by rugbytackles by the lilac-hedge. This effected with good speed can result in a Hit and a Whimper. Respect! Otherwise I get intangled in the hedge, worse luck!




The other peasant dogs ignore me, so I ignore them back. Smallest of the inmates is a Tibetan Spaniel. Unfortunately she believes that the Kitchen, where all interesting happenings happens to happen, belongs to her! As soon as I set my paws inside the kitchen-door, she tunes up, sounding like a rubber duck in Purgatory. At times it is difficult to maintain an attitude of Lofty Indifference and Highland Deafness when Tibetan ephithets are being hurled over one´s head.




Last night there was heavy rain and a Storm! It was quite exciting really. The whole garden is covered with water. In the morning we all went out to see all the little frogs and the earthworms, who have surfaced to applaud the deluge.