Crufts is over for another year, and wowee there was a lot of cute doggos borking wasn’t there? Look at the fluffy critters bounding about and jumping over things and running through tubes and getting brushed on podiums. Fawn over the silky winner that looked like a big wig; hark at the scrunchy faces and desperately imagine booping every single one of them on the nose; put your hands on your face, stick your bottom lip out and aww at the adorable little morsels and imagine eating them, imagine eating their tiny fragile heads.
The cuteness stakes are high with Crufts, but one particular hound blew the others out of the kennel this year – nobody stood a chance against the following display of frenzied brilliance:
Careening about like, well, a dog on heat, this incy wincy good boy absolutely destroys his run with a frantic and erratic show of charming nonsense. I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun as this Jack Russell, and I’ve been to Thorpe Park AND a Wetherspoon’s in the same day.
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