When I was a child we had a boxer dog. It was a fine brindle, a big, rangy animal that my mother likened in build to a racehorse. And it did love to race - bounding around the place and forever knocking everything for six. Having messily consumed its daily meat ration, its favourite place for a siesta was in the kitchen, where it would stretch out in front of the Aga. These siestas often coincided with Mother's need to use the hob. The boxer, once comfortable, would refuse to budge, so she was obliged to stretch over it in order to reach the hotplate, often with a heavy weight, hernia-inducing stew pan. Last thing at night the dog was persuaded to leave the comfort of the kitchen and go into the garden for a last 'comfort break'. Usually this would take about five minutes, but occasionally, the dog would slip away into the night, and no amount of calling or bribing with biscuits would bring it back. It would return in its own good time, usually around midnight, and make its presence known by rattling the letterbox. What the dog got up to during the missing hours was anybody's guess. One day, a neighbouring farmer paid a visit. He followed up the usual brief pleasantries with, 'So is your boxer about?' 'Just having his siesta.' Father opened the kitchen door, to reveal the dog stretched out in the usual place. Mother was reaching over the sleeping form to toast bread. The dog's tongue was protruding slightly, in readiness to catch crumbs. The farmer gave the scene a terse nod. 'Thought you'd be interested in seeing this.' He reached into his coat, and pulled out a small bundle. It was a boxer puppy. 'Oh, how sweet!' said mother, abandoning the toast to fuss over the pup. 'I didn't know you bred boxers?' 'Neither did I till this arrived.' He cast an accusing look at our dog. 'It's mother's a collie.' 'Oh,' said one of the parents, I forget now which, just that this 'oh' was somewhat more deflated than the one that went with 'how sweet'. Comparisons were made between the pup and its suspected father. There was no denying the resemblance. The same dark, dour, and frankly, stupid face. It was an unmistakeable chip off the old block. 'So I thought you'd be interested in having pick of the litter.'
There was an exchange of doubtful glances between the parents. 'Don't you want to keep him yourself? A dog like that would be good around the farm.' The response was blunt. 'Boxers were at the back of the queue when the brains were given out, and that's a fact. So if it takes after that -' he gestured at the sleeping obstacle stretched out on the kitchen floor, '- it'll never make a sheepdog, will it?' All I remember at this point was the smell of toast burning... ~ 'Boxer' was worked in pastel on fine glass paper. 'Boxer Asleep' was drawn using a 4b pencil on A4 copy paper. Visit the Animal Portraits page to view a selection of dogs, cats and horses, together with information about commissioning a painting of your pet. Comments are closed.
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Judith Key
Judith Key is a Norfolk based artist, working in watercolour and pastel. She has exhibited with the Society of Graphic Fine Artists and New English Art Club at the Mall Galleries, London. Her paintings are in collections worldwide. Categories
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May 2018
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