How we love our dogs, let us count the ways

It is no boast to say that I think my dog the best-loved of all dogs, and the most loving of all dogs, at the same time. I am, as a parent, perfectly entitled to say that. Indeed, as a parent, I can at least to this degree agree with Sting that 'every little thing she does is magic'. She is a flashy fawn female, in Boxer-speak, and she is very 'flashy' indeed: there are the white socks on each paw, there is the white geyser between her brows, there is the white on her flews, the white 'mantle' that starts in a jagged geometry on the back of her neck and sweeps round her chest like a shawl, and there is the 'paint drop' on the middle of her neck, some way back from where her ears are set. I love the Boxer colouring, in brindles as well as fawns: the interplay of brown, black, and usually white create a dog beauty that one always has eyes for. I had a neighbour once in Texas who certainly always had eyes for Chummy. Almost every time I saw him -- another parent of a flashy fawn Boxer, of about the same age -- he would exclaim: 'Chummy is so beautiful! Her white is so white!' As indeed it is. But I would adore her if she had no flash at all.