You throw yourself down into the deep, padded comfort of the chesterfield to sip the sherry which has been proferred. As you sip, deep in thought, something warm shifts on the sofa next to you. There is a grunt, an eye opens. A lazy kick to your leg is followed by a resumption of contented snoring. Peering about in the pleasant gloom you make out more snoozing forms. The place is littered with terriers, sprawled over armchairs, blocking the doors and hogging the fire.
It dawns on you that you have entered a canine parallel universe. The slightly scruffy ambiance has evolved over many years to perfectly suit the requirements of clubbable terriers in need of a pied a terre in town.
Give those portraits a closer look. Aristocratic, they certainly are but what about those ears, that fine profile?
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