This is Daisy. She is a clown – though I’m not sure that’s how she earns her living. Her main income comes from being utterly adorable, and having a doting owner. Dogs have, from wolf-times, genetically engineered their humans to fall for their big cute eyes, quizzical head-tilts, and soft pawing reminders at dinner-time, and basically we do their bidding. They’re clever that way.
But back to Daisy. Here she is again, out of costume:
…an utter beauty.
And she has quite a story – aged 4, she was paralysed, came out of surgery unable to walk, and had to relearn, step by step, due to one very patient and loving owner. Daisy’s like a canine What Katy Did, a childhood favourite of mine (though a little harder to take as an adult, when I found myself regretting the lost wildness of young Katy in the maturer saint-like creature who emerges after her fall from the swing. Hey ho, we live in a cynical age.) So maybe it’s time for a remake, What Daisy Did, from couch to clowning.
Anyhow, despite my joking earlier on, Daisy does actually have a proper day job – as a registered therapy dog, working in a physiotherapy clinic. Which makes her both useful and beautiful, thus fulfilling both of William Morris’s criteria:
“If you want a golden rule that will fit everything, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”
[I might embroider this on a cushion for my own Jeffy. It will keep him on his toes.]
To work, however. And Daisy, who was a joy from silhouette to finish.
I missed the before and after shots of the magic moment when the highlight goes in the eye, and the portrait springs to life. But here she is, highlighted:
Then comes the background. I like to think the flowers in the print are daisies. And I shan’t listen to anyone telling me that they aren’t. Sometimes, you just have to believe.
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do.
One thought on “Daisy”
How lovely! Thank you for featuring my girl-