This is tremendous! :D I've been wanting to mention Dingo Dog, for some time now. Partly, just to let his fan base know that the old sod's still going, bless him!
About equally though, because I'm so damn aware that, any day now, I may be posting his 'RIP'.
But, anyway; Here we are. February of 2019. And the dear old soul's still fucking hanging on in here! This Dog is one Truly Blessed fucker too!
For those who don't know his story? Take my word for it. This fucking Dog dodges bullets like that cunt on the roof top, in that Matrix film! Born doing it. Looks like he'll die doing it.
Latest ~ and typically James Bond level, for Dinger ~ was the first week in January. This is as close as Any fucking Dog gets. But, of course ~ for those who know ~ Dingo Dog just does this.
I've got this latest little pair of rescue's here. Ellie and Licky. Thing is, see, in December, Ellie Belly came into season. Obviously then, with the eternal pup, Balzac, about? I had to go Broadmoor on the place. Complete lock down.
Now, I mean, poor old Ding; He's so fucking old now, I figure the only fuck left in him is the one that's holding him together. His old legs are sometimes a bit shaky. His eyes don't always appear the most focused. He is one Old Dog now, bless him.
So, while I'd never leave him alone with Ellie? I was hardly concerned he'd manage anything. Doubt there'd be any pups, even if he survived the try. So, I let him stagger about, mooning over her, when he had the energy.
First week in January. It was a Friday. Ding had taken to throwing up, now and then. Just chucking up a pool of clear, watery slime. The night or so before? He'd refused his dinner. Shit wasn't looking good.
He's on tinned meat now. He likes it. Maybe he's just past crunching those lamb bones? What ever. He likes his tins. Eats three, most nights. Has, on occasion, eaten less. Even I'll go the odd night when I just don't bother to eat.
But, this friday, he hadn't eaten. He was staggering around on visibly shaking legs. He threw up a pool of clear slime, three times or more. He was whimpering. It was fucking pitiful to watch. It was time.
Knowing our local vet is so fucking useless and money driven, they won't come out for small animals, I rang Pat. Asked him if he thought the vet's would come out to put a Dog down. (This is how ye play, in Leitrim)
Pat said they wouldn't. Said his daughter, from America, was there. She'd be going back tomorrow ..... Give him half an hour .....
I knew Pat would come through! Half hour. He'd connect the little horse trailer and we'd ferry poor Dinger down the road. I have his grave stone and name plaque ready.
I sat here, watching poor Dingo Dog. Poor old sod. Had him over ten years now. Slept on the end of my bed every night of those years. Always been the most respectful Dog to who ever else came here. Always deferred to bitches. Fine with Dogs. Now .....
Five minutes; His legs shook and he whined. Ten minutes; He drank some water. Fifteen minutes; What The Fuck?!? I Know this Dog ....! Look how he's holding himself. How he's walking ....!
Twenty minutes? I'm back on the phone to Pat! Stand Down! Call it all the fuck off! Ellie Belly's fever's broke. Her Heat has ended. le Dingo Dog has regained his fucking senses! The lust crazed old nutter!
And, Ding's like:
And, tonight, he scoffed Four fucking tins of his favourite grub. Just because he felt like it. And he knew, if he ate the three. Licked the shine off his bowl. Then looked at me? What Dingo Dog wants; Dingo Dog Gets!
Venerable fucking Ding!
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