Sunday, 19 February 2012

Highly Strung

"Highly Strung" was the vet's description of me. Why? Because I howled and howled in discomfort as his lubed glove assaulted my rectal glands and anal cavity. I'd never felt so violated in my life. No one has ever used that hole as an entrance. I'm shitting spaghetti strings now due to the tightening of that orifice. 

And did he find anything. No! Everything was normal. Just a pigmentation change. I could have bitten my master for mentioning the slight discolouration of my back passage. The only thing I can say in the examination's favour was the kennel cough booster was a breeze after that. And I got treats from the vet and the lady at the reception desk, who had heard my wails through the walls. 

No picture of events though.

Thursday, 16 February 2012

"One Day a Turkey will Fly" and "Another Story"

Where else but Paisley would you come across a frozen turkey, still in its wrapping, in the middle of a pavement in February. It happened to me today. Did some angry junkie hard man awake from a drugged stupor and realise he'd missed Christmas or perhaps it was a 'not-appreciated' Valentine gift? Either way the bird was given a belated opportunity to fly through the window of a third floor tenement flat, without said window being opened first. Glass threatened to give someone a nasty cut if they ventured onto the grass, much like the behaviour of the local residents, so I didn't bother. I was more interested in the turkey.

My instincts would normally be to sneak it away in my mouth to safer territory where I could devour it undisturbed but this bird was still solid. And my master was mere feet away at the other end of an extended lead and was curious about the bird too. Would we need to share? A yank of the much shortened and now-locked lead answered that question and we bypassed the fowl. I imagined at that very moment some wide-o would pop his head out the shattered window and grunt down at us 'tae chuck it the f*** back up', a task made all the more amusing by my master's inability to understand him and his uselessness at throwing heavy objects. I don't care how good he used to be at cricket. That was a lifetime and a waistline ago. Now he can't throw to save himself. He could have tried using the ball wand but I'm sure the bird wouldn't have fitted.

That imagined scenario amused me all the way round the park. I continued the premise by having him hurl the bird building-ward, like a misreleased bowling ball, only for it to smash through another window and the man going apoplectic in rage because there was now glass in his living room and his missus would kill him if she had to clear it up. That was going to cost big time, according to his injury lawyer, whom he had on speed dial. Before I knew it we had walked all the way home and it was time for my dinner.

Another unfinished story. 

In a late evening Morrisons' car park, an hour before closing, as my master made his way from the car to the entrance, he was intercepted by an unkempt, bearded youth with appalling teeth and a horrendous odour. Even I could smell him via the slit of the open window my master had left on the rear driver's side. The stranger opened with, "I'm sorry to bother you, but the 'hing is..." to which my master, without a seconds hesitation, interjected, "No problem, apology accepted!" and strided onwards through the entrance, scooping up a basket, leaving the beggar momentarily speechless. I couldn't make out the actual terms the beggar then shouted but the security guard could and shooed him away with threats of police. 

I ducked down and prayed the youth hadn't seen me. I didn't want to form part of his savage revenge upon a society that mocked beggars when they were in need of a sugar fix (my master, not the beggar). 

So I listened but could hear nothing. Where had he gone? It was at this point I noticed the moving shadow being cast inside the car boot, where I was. Although I had sunk into the darkness below window level, when I listened my ears pricked up, like dual periscopes, and this was what was casting the shadow. Only I didn't realise this and my brain went into overdrive. I was about to be attacked! The open window! A syringe could fit through that gap. I would end up another meaningless drug death statistic and all because my master wouldn't pause to listen to a lie about needing some spare change for a bus fare or a bite to eat. That tipped me over the edge. I burst into a ferocious volley of barking which continued until I heard the clunk of the door locks unengaging. I paused to notice my master hurrying back to the car, clutching a light plastic bag, while checking his surroundings. He must have been spooked too because he didn't remonstrate me for my bad behaviour and had been gone only minutes. I like to think he was worried about me, but more likely it was his car. He didn't want any more damage done to it in that car park. But that's another story.