Hello! I’m Ollie and I’m a Yorkshire Terrier. Sometimes I go by my full name – Oliver – but only when I’ve been a little naughty. I’d tell you my age - but it’s never wise to disclose too much information – so Ivy says anyway.
I guess I should introduce you to Ivy. She’s my partner in life, in business and in crime. We don’t generally do much crime, but Ivy’s definitely carried out some crimes against fashion in her time. I try not to say too much. It’s not her fault she’s not as dapper as I am.
Fortunately, my natural good looks mean I often pass for a much younger dog about town. I guess I just got lucky with the genes and I’m a really fussy eater. More a connoisseur than an amateur when it comes to food – unlike Ivy she’ll eat pretty much anything. My taste buds are far more refined. It's true I’ve a weakness for artisan cheese – but I’m no hipster – although I do have an enviable beard.
Most admirers comment on how big I am for a Yorkie. I find this somewhat offensive. How would you like it if I walked up to you and mentioned your size? Of course, I’ve got used to people conversing with Ivy about me. And as the great literary giant, Oscar Wilde, once said “there’s only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that’s not being talked about.”. Just like Wildie – as he’s known to his chums - I consider myself to be a bit of a dandy. A witty observer of social norms. Intellectually at my peak. A consummate charmer and a breaker of hearts. All in all, a damn good catch!
It’s true us Yorkies come in all shapes and sizes. I’m what they call “standard” – although there’s very little that’s standard about me – or Ivy for that matter. She’s as crazy as a coconut.
To be honest, I definitely have my paws full, running a flower shop and keeping Ivy on track. Some of the eagle-eyed amongst you may have spotted that I am the Floral Director at Ollie & Ivy Flowers. Ivy works here with me as my glamorous assistant. At times, she’s pretty useful really and to give her credit, one must remember that behind every successful pooch, is a successful woman. I do occasionally allow her to bask in the floral glory with me. You’ve gotta keep the workers happy! So I’m told, anyway.
You may be wondering how I came to be a florist. Well, I wasn’t always this paws on in life. For the first few years I was pretty much a kept canine. But a few years ago Ivy decided it was time I earned a living and so off we went to live in France and train in floristry.
We lived in the tiniest apartment. I was less impressed with the space if I’m honest, but this was the very epicentre of Paris. The city of lights! The capital of love! The place where dogs get to go everywhere – except the parks – go figure! We lived (and loved) there long enough to learn the tricks of our floral trade and then we packed our cheese box, swapped it for a horse box and came back to Blighty.
You’ll hear more about our floral shenanigans in France and at home, as I continue to journal my way through the British land and cityscapes in my travelling flower shop. So make sure you sign up for my weekly posts where I disclose to you - dear floral doggy chums – our escapades and adventures on both sides of the Channel.