Like a terribly written book this rag will pull out all the stops to keep you reading it. As every bad movie has a sequel so do we.
Regular punters will remember that I was telling you a story about a dog that was impersonating a rag doll with only half its stuffing. This dog after a week was slowly having its diet increased as it gained much needed weight. It was soon putting away half a kilo a day in minced Chicken and Beef. I almost said that other meat which I know would have Maxine heading off into the bush as fast as her fat legs would carry her. So I will just call it meat.
Maxine has lost a bit of her shock over this temporary addition to the household. She may be still a bit stand-offish probably because she has realised that one night this thing might be consuming her detached left foreleg.
There was however, a discovery that whatever this hairy tapestry ate its tummy did not appear to change shape. Like Yul Brynner I called this ‘a puzzlement’. After another week the house began taking on that ‘doggy smell’, but what presented itself by the side of my bed each morning was gradually appearing like a more traditionally shaped Whippet.
There was still the problem of an excessive lack of hair on its front and over the four corner bones denoting the top of the limbs that give it propulsion. Enquiry found that there was no such thing as ‘Ashley and Martin’ for dogs. A Shane Warne look-a-like he was not going to be.
I had been contemplating some exercise, but the RSPCA advised me to go easy on him for a while. That was the best advice I’d heard as I have an intense hatred of burning kilojoules. So after another fortnight we went down to Happy Valley Crossing. That first day we just wandered around looking at the waterholes and my watching for a reaction to the thought that he might not want to get wet. His first wash in the shower recess had turned into a nightmare for both of us.
But he paddled knee deep in the water quite without restraint so that fear was quickly dispelled. Seeing no rabbits nor his attempt at anything like running he refused my fresh nibbles and instead snacked away on two chicken thigh bones that had probably lain under the park table for six months.
My immediate thought was why am I feeding him top grade raw meat and bones? I had never thought of weighing him, like building anything I do it just by using one eye, but I think he was getting a little heavier than maybe the five kilo’s that he started out being. In fact by writing this I will try to get him onto a set of scales just out of interest...........an amazing 102 kilos. (I couldn’t make out where the decimal stop was while holding him up on the scales.)
The next day was hot enough to brave the chilly depths of the water at the Crossing, so with a towel in one hand and a tempting bone in the other we headed down there.
Naturally I had to go in first to test how safe it was. To allay any fears in the dog that the Creature from the Black Lagoon really lived here. I was only halfway across when I heard it.
“He so loveth his lord and master that he did taketh a leap of faith unto the waters”
Starting out like a paddle-wheeler with only half it’s blades, white water spewing skyward, he eventually settled down into a sleek swimming machine, or a torpedo heading straight for the white whale it thought was ‘Master’. He clung to me like a limpet until we got to the far side where he needed some assistance to scale the mountain out of the water. Maybe to me it was a bit of a hill, to him it might well have been the White Cliffs of Dover.
His original owner had trained him well, as he turned out to be the most polite and gentle dog I’ve ever accompanied. He would take no food unless it was clearly offered to him and he was so gentle with taking food that one night he couldn’t even break the stork off a cherry when I offered it to him. I had to break it myself and hand feed him the cherry.
One must apologise for the seemingly splendiferous writing but I have been absorbing the seemingly contradictory books written by Mark Twain and God lately. Even without using that word -
‘supercalafragalisticexpialadoshus’
I’ve managed to fill another bloody page.
Translated that means you’ll have to wait another month for the rest of it.
Regular punters will remember that I was telling you a story about a dog that was impersonating a rag doll with only half its stuffing. This dog after a week was slowly having its diet increased as it gained much needed weight. It was soon putting away half a kilo a day in minced Chicken and Beef. I almost said that other meat which I know would have Maxine heading off into the bush as fast as her fat legs would carry her. So I will just call it meat.
Maxine has lost a bit of her shock over this temporary addition to the household. She may be still a bit stand-offish probably because she has realised that one night this thing might be consuming her detached left foreleg.
There was however, a discovery that whatever this hairy tapestry ate its tummy did not appear to change shape. Like Yul Brynner I called this ‘a puzzlement’. After another week the house began taking on that ‘doggy smell’, but what presented itself by the side of my bed each morning was gradually appearing like a more traditionally shaped Whippet.
There was still the problem of an excessive lack of hair on its front and over the four corner bones denoting the top of the limbs that give it propulsion. Enquiry found that there was no such thing as ‘Ashley and Martin’ for dogs. A Shane Warne look-a-like he was not going to be.
I had been contemplating some exercise, but the RSPCA advised me to go easy on him for a while. That was the best advice I’d heard as I have an intense hatred of burning kilojoules. So after another fortnight we went down to Happy Valley Crossing. That first day we just wandered around looking at the waterholes and my watching for a reaction to the thought that he might not want to get wet. His first wash in the shower recess had turned into a nightmare for both of us.
But he paddled knee deep in the water quite without restraint so that fear was quickly dispelled. Seeing no rabbits nor his attempt at anything like running he refused my fresh nibbles and instead snacked away on two chicken thigh bones that had probably lain under the park table for six months.
My immediate thought was why am I feeding him top grade raw meat and bones? I had never thought of weighing him, like building anything I do it just by using one eye, but I think he was getting a little heavier than maybe the five kilo’s that he started out being. In fact by writing this I will try to get him onto a set of scales just out of interest...........an amazing 102 kilos. (I couldn’t make out where the decimal stop was while holding him up on the scales.)
The next day was hot enough to brave the chilly depths of the water at the Crossing, so with a towel in one hand and a tempting bone in the other we headed down there.
Naturally I had to go in first to test how safe it was. To allay any fears in the dog that the Creature from the Black Lagoon really lived here. I was only halfway across when I heard it.
“He so loveth his lord and master that he did taketh a leap of faith unto the waters”
Starting out like a paddle-wheeler with only half it’s blades, white water spewing skyward, he eventually settled down into a sleek swimming machine, or a torpedo heading straight for the white whale it thought was ‘Master’. He clung to me like a limpet until we got to the far side where he needed some assistance to scale the mountain out of the water. Maybe to me it was a bit of a hill, to him it might well have been the White Cliffs of Dover.
His original owner had trained him well, as he turned out to be the most polite and gentle dog I’ve ever accompanied. He would take no food unless it was clearly offered to him and he was so gentle with taking food that one night he couldn’t even break the stork off a cherry when I offered it to him. I had to break it myself and hand feed him the cherry.
One must apologise for the seemingly splendiferous writing but I have been absorbing the seemingly contradictory books written by Mark Twain and God lately. Even without using that word -
‘supercalafragalisticexpialadoshus’
I’ve managed to fill another bloody page.
Translated that means you’ll have to wait another month for the rest of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment