Third Time Lucky? (Part Two)

Ok. First things first: If ye've just, somehow, fell into here from god knows where and are reading this as the first ever post ye've read on this Blog? Just do us all a favour and fuck off. Ok?

No offence, but; Ye obviously just haven't the mind set for following A to B to C. And I'm liable to talk in terms of " A (1), " B (ii) " and shit like that. Scary? Fine. " YouTube " will, probably, be more your thing.


Still here? Great! So; I've called for a taxi .....

Turns out it's Steve's son who picks me up. No matter. He's a seemingly nice young man and we're soon bowling down the road to my turning. Steve 'Jnr' saying things that I'm trying to hear. Me, probably, shouting disconnected rubbish back. It's hard, holding a 'Conversation', when ye so deaf ye can barely here ye damn self!

So, we're discussing various, local, matters as best we can. Noels place looms up. He and his nocturnal activities with a pick axe are still making us both chuckle. And now here's my track .....

And something small, white and hopeful looking is in the headlights! I'm skinning a fag as ye read that. Now I'll crash on through the rest of the story, just as it went off. Before I have to go pass out. And a nights kip will lose the sharpness of the event.

So; Just as the headlights are sweeping off the road and into my track, they're picking up this little, white thing. Dashing along, trying to stay in the light. (I'm having to pause, between typing this. The memory's too fresh and painful)

I've straight away recognised it as a tiny little Jack Russell. A bitch. Quite old and, it looked to me, not a million years from having whelped. And this dear little thing was obviously desperately happy to see us. Ye know how all this, and more, just slams into ye mind in what seems like a split second? And so I'm yelling at my man there to pull over.

He does. And I'm trying to find the door handle. I do. And the door pops open. And here's this tremulous, but ecstatic little loo tube of white wagginess, rush creeping towards the light of the interior of the motor. Poor little mite was obviously lost. Very confused and afraid. Just begging for someone to save her and put her little mind at rest, that she was still loved.

As I remember 'Steve Jnr' matter of factly stating; " She's obviously just been Dropped Off. ". Meaning; Some cunt had just taken the little Dog for a drive between one town and the next. Some way along that road, he'd opened the door and encouraged the little fucker to jump out, for a walk and some fun with Dads. Then just slammed the fucking door shut and driven on!

And I blew it. As I opened the fucking door. As this poor, desperate little Dog thought Dad had come back for her. As she rushed, low on her belly, begging forgiveness for what ever she must have done, to have been treated so heartlessly as to be left, alone and confused on a dark road side;

I said, " Come on, my sweetheart ..... " And, even as I realised she was likely about to jump into my lap, I reached out to save her the effort, and us a second. I touched the scruff of her neck with my finger tips - and she bolted!

Off up the road she went. No collar ~ or I'd have snatched at that, and to hell if she'd have latched onto me, in panic and shock. I've had that before and can handle it. No; She shot off into the tantalisingly 'Light' darkness of a quarter moon lit country road. I could hear her barking back at me. Standing wide. Spooked. Backing off.

I followed her little barks. But, it was useless. As much as I tried to spot, or Hear where she was coming from, so she was obviously seeing me and retreating. Only thing I could do was race back to the taxi and ask that he run me home, best part of a mile down the track, so I could grab a lamp and then be dropped back to the road, to look for her.

No good, obviously. I made sure he had my number, in case he spotted her in the opposite direction, as he returned to town. I walked half a mile, scanning the fields, hedges and farm yards. Nothing. She was gone.

And, the heart breaker is: I knew then that, as we'd driven down here and back up, with a light, some other motor had come along. Small 'Jack Russels' are popular enough here right now. £75 - 100 popular, for pups. But this had struck us both as an older bitch. Perhaps recently whelped. And someone had " Dropped her off " ? Worthless then, as a money machine.

And the happy, 'Lucky' person who thought they'd just happened upon a little gold mine will soon enough be finding that out. Then she'll be put in a sack and slung into a river. It's the Irish Way. So I'm learning.

Catch a mink in a cage? Shooting it in the face, there and then, offends the native sense of 'Fair and Free Law of Quarry'. But; Chuck a contained creature into a drinking trough? My friends and neighbours consider that The Norm.

FFS, people; I've not come here to preach to these people how they should live. Their parents knew better that I ever could how that's done here. But, I just wish I could think of a way of getting the message out there:

There's a place ye can 'Drop Off' a Dog. No questions. No pack drill. No 'Government' involvement.

Damn!


" Third Time Lucky " bit? I'll explain that, later.