This is Oakley, an English Setter of some maturity (obviously it would be extremely rude of me to tell you just how mature). She is a very particular lady and her melancholy expression is born from years of having to put up with her unfortunate circumstances, those being the fact that her people have simply no idea how to look after her. For some reason she is nightly removed from her comfort on the sofa to sleep in the kitchen while they go upstairs, imagine! The food is dreadful beyond belief but luckily the children often take their eyes of their plates As for the toilet arrangements, they are frankly shocking. These people have no appreciation of just how strong Oakley's pelvic floor is and inspite of her protestations that doesn't need to go they drag her out in some appallingly wet conditions.
However, the greatest insult? They won't let her play with the Kidsilk Haze. Oakley loves the Kidsilk Haze, she likens it to the affect of Catnip on those foolish four legged moggie, nuisance neighbours next door. She just can't resist. Oooh the fluffiness, an unattended ball is impossible to ignore, impossible not to toss it in the air, and then frisk like a puppie in the unravelledness of it all. Fully knitted Kidsilk Haze is equally alluring, Oakley thought it was very kind of her people to knit the River stole in Dewberry for her enjoyment, there was not need to block it but she appreciates the effort, oh it was such fun to grab it in her teeth and shake, shake, shake it. So why is no one speaking to her now and do they think she really gives a darn?