A Bad Day For The Dog

 Posted by on August 10, 2012  Add comments
Aug 102012
 


It hasn’t been a great day for my dog although I have to concede, it has its upside for me.

I think I mentioned to you before that the dog hates the postman and the postman hates the dog, fully, reciprocally and entirely in harmony.  They hate each other and that’s that.

Or should I say, they hated each other, if you take the word postman in the abstract rather than the particular, a bit like le Roi c’est mort, vive le Roi!

What am I talking about?  Simples.  We have a new postman and guess what?  He loves dogs.  He fucking loves them. I saw him pulling up in his van today and I thought the best thing would be to go out and meet him, so that’s exactly what I did.

Howya.  Look, maybe I should introduce you to my dog.  He’s a complete bastard and the last postman hated him and it caused a lot of hassle and I was just thinking —

Stop!

What?

Bring him out.   I love dogs.

You do?  

I do.

And so I did.  I released the Hound of Satan who charged straight at the the new postman and …

And?

Well, did nothing at all apart from licking his hand.

Right. The facade begins to crumble, but things get worse for the Hound of Satan as time  moves on.

Why?

It turns out to be a simply beautiful day.  Roasting hot, with a clear sky above, so I invite my neighbour to go for a stroll.

Let’s go for a stroll, I invited, invitingly.

All right, but can we take this huge pile of wine bottles to the bottle bank on the way, please?

We sure can, but please explain to me why you’re throwing out half-full bottles of wine.  Is that not some sort of crime?

Maybe it is.  Let’s go.

And so we did.

Now, when we arrived at the bottle bank, the dogs jumped out of the car as they always do.  My friend’s dog blundered around as usual, while mine began scouring the vicinity for something to kill and what did it find?  I’ll tell you what he found.  The worst possible thing for a dog to find.   A big strong, muscular tomcat who wasn’t one bit afraid of an aggressive dog-thing.  Deal with that, MoFo.

How did the Hound of Satan deal with it?  Not very well, I’m glad to tell you.  He’s used to charging at cats that run up trees or dodge under bushes.  He is definitely not used to cats that stand their ground and say You wanna piece of me? You wanna piece of me?

This tomcat was not one tiny bit afraid.  This was one serious Alpha tomcat.  Fuck you!

He walked towards the dog.  The dog moved away.  He followed the dog and the dog looked confused.  He occcupied the dog’s personal space with absolute contempt.

Let me tell you, I would not have lightly tackled this big, strong cat.  This animal feared nothing.  After intimidating Satan, the cat jumped up on a fence and wandered away, but not too quickly, and certainly not too bothered.  The dog wandered around behind the fence as we deposited our glass in the bins, perhaps looking for trouble, but if he did, he certainly found trouble.

As we drove off, my neighbour remarked that Satan had blood on his ear.

Good, I said.  Nothing like a learning experience.

I turned to the dog.  Not so tough now, kid?

Miaow, he replied.

 

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  4 Responses to “A Bad Day For The Dog”

Comments (4)
  1.  

    Plenty of one-eyed dogs around who will attest to the ferocity of a left jab from a streetwise moggy !!

  2.  

    My uncle had a bird that he taught to speak – ‘feck the cat’ was it’s favourite.

    Uncle came home one day to a few feathers on the floor and a moggy looking very satisfied with himself. Never underestimate the cunning of those little cuties!

  3.  

    We had a cat who feared no dog. She revelled in torturing them, physically and psychologically, often lying in wait as they strolled up the street towards the house. But it was only a matter of time before these local canines got their act together. Early one morning a pack of them turned up in the front garden calling her name. She stepped out, took one look at them, and when given a choice to live out her days as a coward, or die there and then as she had lived, fighting, unrepentant and unbowed, she chose the latter, and launched herself into the centre of the pack and met her glorious end.

  4.  

    Our cat used to neatly unhinge the digs nose from the end of his face with a smart left upper-paw if he got a bit too yappy. Damn fool never did learn.
    The neighbours dog, a big German shepherd/retriever mix, has one of those radio collars and the cat knows all about radio collars. She just sits there, about a meter beyond the poor dogs invisible fence, staring. The malicious intent just oozes out of her. The poor dog, looks like a nervous wreck.

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