Malamute, Co Wexford

My granddad, viewing earth's worn cogs,
Said, "Things are going to the dogs."
His granddad in his house of logs
Said, "Things are going to the dogs."
His granddad in the Flemish bogs
Said, "Things are going to the dogs."
His granddad in his old skin togs
Said, "Things are going to the dogs."
There's just one thing I have to state:
The dogs have had a good long wait.

Anon

Drove to Wexford to see the wife, child and inlaws (Sam usually spends a night or two with her mum and dad over the weekend). Beautiful spring evening, big, blurred shafts of smoky yellow sunlight falling on dark green fields patched with wiry trees.

I pulled up when I saw a dog guarding a junkyard, but there wasn't much in it. Then, a little further, I decided on impulse to check out this very odd landmark I've noticed every time I do this drive; a dummy dressed as a soldier propped atop a military-green vehicle, pointing a mock machine gun at passing traffic. I drove into the parking lot, a biggish field with a little yellow house in one corner. On closer inspection, I could see that the dummy-machine-gunner was an advertisment for paintballing. There was also a sign indicatng that wolf-pups are for sale.

The place had a good number of large, barking dogs on long chains. They looked more like Huskies to me, apart form the old white she-wolf. One of them (above) was an Alaskan Malamute, as the owner explained when he gave me a little tour. He was happy to have me take photographs, and picked up one of the Siberian wolf-pups while I took a portrait.

I took a few pictures of the Malamute in particular, who had an extraordinary face. Here's another one.