Dinner With The Hound of Satan

I was fighting the dog for the last piece of Chicken Rogan Josh when the phone rang.  The dog had a firm grip on my right leg, just below the knee and I was trying to kick him in the face with my left heel, but that isn’t easy when you’re hopping on one leg.

Hello? said Wrinkly Joe.

Hello, I grunted, as I swung the butt of the phone, clubbing the dog between the eyes.  He tightened his grip on my leg and his powerful neck muscles swung him from side to side as he tried to tear out a jaw-sized portion of my flesh.

What the fuck is that noise? said Wrinkly Joe’s tinny, distant voice.

That’s me fighting with the Hound of Satan, I shouted.  What do you want?

Well, said Joe.  I was wondering if there’s any chance of a bed for the night.

Bang! The cast-iron frying pan made a solid, metallic, resonating sound as it connected with the dog’s skull.

Gghhhhrrrraaaaagghhhhh!!!!!, snarled the Hound, but he still didn’t let go.

What night? I shouted.

This night, said Joe.  I’ll be visiting Limerick tonight and I thought we might go out for a few pints.

Oh for fucksake!!! I screamed gently.  Take that you fucker!!

But the dog was too quick for the meat cleaver, smartly let go of my calf and clamped onto my right ankle.  Gnnnarrroowwwwllnnnkkkk!!!, he spat.

It’s even harder to kick your own ankle than your knee.

Are you all right? Joe’s concerned, distant little voice enquired.

No, I’m fucking not, I snarled as I finally managed to knock the dog temporarily senseless with a copper kettle.

How about a pint?

OK, I said.  The lacerations on my leg were no worse than usual.

About nine?  asked Joe.

Sure, I said, picking up the piece of chicken Rogan Josh the dog had dropped.  I’ll just finish my dinner and I’ll be with you.

11 thoughts on “Dinner With The Hound of Satan

  1. I live in the midwest of the U.S. and have been enjoying your posts. My roots are in the Connemera area of Ireland although my ancestors all left Erie in the 1840’s; you probably heard about it. It was in all the papers.

  2. I laughed so hard the neighbours knocked to ask if I was ok. I must have sounded like a geyser.
    I’ve been watching too much News.

  3. chicken rogan josh?? on a monday!!!??

    did you not get the memo that we’re currently in an ”economic climate”???? would bread and stirrabout not have done ya?!!!

  4. John — Erie? I think it’s in Canada.

    Nora — Sorry.

    Craic — I’ll let the bastard loose yet. Damn right.

    Eva — I’m an excellent cook. Did you think I paid someone for the food? For fucksake!!

  5. I’m laughing away here! We’d just made the decision to get a dog when I looked at your latest blog post and thought……oh feck……what have I DONE!!!!

  6. Thanks for the laugh!!
    You’re an excellent writer, Bock; it was if I was really there…which I’m glad I wasn’t; too much Violence!!
    Prior to the 10 second floor rule and dog saliva, dinner sounded good. :)

    …If you ever want a day out for some exercise, you can play football with my Mastiff.

  7. I’ll put my cat up against his Hound of Satan any day. I’ve yet to see a cat lose to a dog. It’s the speed, y’see. Reflexes.

  8. Damn Nora, she took my line. Still, I bet my cat could kick the Hound of Satan’s ass. She’s a mean little bugger, lies around all day, looking as though she’s napping, but will take the hand off you if you go near her. Your pooch sounds like a sweetheart by comparison …

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