Rag .....

 " So, ye gonna keep him? " I asked Dean O', as the tiny little 'Jack Russell' pinged effortlessly from the floor, under the arm of his chair, and onto Dean's lap.

 " Dunno. I guess so. " He replied. Without a trace of commitment.

 Now, the little Dog was back on the floor again. This time it had fetched its rag, from some where. And was furiously dry humping it. Dean O' and I looked on, impassively.

 I tried again: " What ye gonna call it? " (Shaggedy, shaggedy, shag at this old piece of rag the damn thing had got from somewhere) " Dunno. " said Dean O'. Lost in a world of his own concerns.

 " 'Rag' would seem a natural. " I suggested. Automatically weighing the short, sharp, commanding sound of such a word. Along with the properness of the link before us.

 " Dunno. " Said Dean O' .....


 That had been the Friday night. On Thursday, Dean had turned up at my place, wanting to tell me about 'what had been dumped on his doorstep that morning. 

  He'd shown me something, on his phone. But, without my glasses, I could only make out that it was a Dog. Looked like a corgi cross. Seemed biggish for a terrier.

 He said he'd been lounging in his bed and had heard a vehicle pulling up outside. He'd noted it. But, thought little of it. Apparently, motors do this. They'll pull over to let another pass, what ever. Tyres on Dean O's gravel isn't a cause to leap out of bed and run to the window.

 Thus he wasn't exactly expecting to find a fucking Dog creeping out of his shed when he opened the back door! But, yep. That's what happened. So, quite probably, the tyres were someone 'Dropping Off' their unwanted Dog.

 Give Dean O' his due. He saw the fucker was a bit messed up. Had a nasty ~ and quite big ~ patch of scabby skin over its shoulders and neck. So, the first thing he did was to scoop the little shit up and take him to the vet.

 Of course, the vet's saw Dean O' coming! Sixty odd euro's of an unemployed guys bank account later, the Dog was diagnosed as having no micro chip and a nasty case of Dermatitis. For which he was proscribed a course of anti biotics, FFS!

  Dean said he could smell oil on the little fuckers fur. He'd probably got under a motor then. Got smeared and it set his skin off. Then, some prick must've figured the Dog looked bad, running round all scabby. Bad reflection on himself. But, not worth paying to have sorted. And not having a fucking clue himself .....

 Anyway, that was Thursday. I met this actually tiny little Jack Russelly thing, Friday.  Monday morning, Dean O's tyres were crunching on My gravel. Only, Dean had the common courtesy to let me know He was 'Dropping Off' his unwanted Dog.

  Seems the little shit wanted to get on Dean O's bed of a night. And Dean's not like me. He finds the thought of Anything getting on his bed loathsome. Three nights of whining and screaming had did it for him. So, I opened my gate and " Rag " came to join us, here at the funny farm. FFS. 

 Dean dropped those anti bio's on top of my micro wave. Said something about the dosage. They're still there. Only dose Rag got from me was a Douse. I chained the fucker up and hit him with a high pressure hose jet.

 Next day, his shoulders and neck had transformed from gray black scab to pink, clean skin. As I look at him now? The hairs growing through so well, I reckon Dean O' would think I'd swapped Dogs. Anti Biotics, for fuck sake! The thieving bastards!

 Well anyway, that's Rag's story. Pest absolutely fucking worships him. And their nightly massacre is patently the high light of both their days. They like their walk. They like their food. But they just Love their (long) after dinner dust up!

What the fuck am I doing here ....?!