Flocking dogs

like wooly pigs , spend all day snuffling the tufty grass. Brenda like then she wolf licks Valentino's throat something between a kiss and from from the very den on the wooded hiilside.The ewes think they are lambs and the "lambs say they ewes" So I have black sheep. Foe the first time I can feel the truffle grow and I have yet to learn by songs and collect my hunting money from last season. There is something that matters now more than ever to bring the picture , hunt and song together and these little wooly dogs What the truffle tells us is to not forget our Forrest it should not be a dark and gloomy place but full of life , light and us. Soon my worst fear's and I shall have a little yapping pack of Lagotto's