Komonders, "What the hell are they?" I asked myself.
I tend to talk to myself in this way when I've made a
|Aaaaaah! This is how they start off.|
"What can they be?" Perhaps they're a group of like minded
people who go around wearing no nether garments for the hell of it
- commando with a capital K. Or is it the way Her Majesty
refers to her loyal subjects when she's got a cold?
|And this is what happens if you feed them!|
When I eventually got around to looking it up I made a wonderful
discovery. They are a breed of dogs which I have never heard of
and which, once they have had a haircut and are out of their
work fur, I could grow to love. Although Long Dogs
(lurchers, greyhounds, deeries) always have and always will
occupy the best couch in my heart.
|Please don't let him sit on me.|
They are a Hungarian national treasure although they originated
in Asia and were brought to Europe by the Cumans
through the back door of Turkey way back in the 16th century.
|Have you seen the mop anywhere?|
A Komonders sole aim in life is to guard. Livestock, property,
people - it's all one to them. They are calm, steady and
unflappable and by dint of their sheer size they simply
knock down intruders and then sit on them till someone
turns up to take charge.
|You can come out now - he's changed direction.|
Like the good old Ford motor they come in any colour so long
as it's white. They're big buggers - 30 inches to the shoulder
and are covered from tip to toe and all the bits in between
with the coolest dredlocks I've ever seen this side of South London.
|And this is what he looks like underneath all that lot.|
What more can I tell you? I'd just like to cry "I'm going in!"
and bury my face in one for an hour or two while the rest
of world spins on without me.
How nice would that be?