Seiko; 'My' Pheasant .....

" Seiko " ls 'my' pheasant. I called him that because I found ye could set ye watch by him, when he'd come wandering down the track for his feed of the bird seed I put out there. 

  He's been turning up for, must be the best part of a year, now? He found himself a hen bird and brought her up here too. For months now though, he's been a dead regular fixture.

  He really winds Balzac up, for some reason! Just about anything can be out on that track, eating the seed. Balzac ignores them.

  I now get Collared Dove, Magpie, Gray Crow, Rook, Jackdaw ..... Balzac couldn't give a toss. But, the moment he spies Seiko? He's up at the gate, yelling a torrent of abuse at him!

  Funniest thing ever was a week or so ago. I'm stood here, watching Seiko stroll down the track. Taking his own sweet time. Balzac, meanwhile, has jumped up to sit on the inside window sill.

  Balzac's watching me, stood there sipping my tea. I'm watching Seiko, now pecking away at the seed bait. Lovely, sunny day. All is good. 

  Then, Balzac happened to turn his head and glance out the window. I've Never seen a Dog do something so funny in all my life!

  It's very hard to explain it, in words. But, to me, it was plain as day even from watching the back of Balzac's massive, empty head.

  One moment, he was an over grown puppy, sitting with his dad. Not a care in the world. Then, as he turned his gaze and saw Seiko? It was like a massive jolt hit him! Like a truck smacking into a wall at the speed of light.

  I could feel his eyes pop out of his head. Hear the vehemently spat " Cunt!!! " exploding from his clenched teeth! 

  Then, he was gone! A rush of wind as he flashed out the door, only to reappear smashing against the gate as he reared up and screamed his death threats and hatred at Seiko.

  I was Crippled with laughter! Balzac absolutely fucking Despises that one, solitary bird! God alone knows why!

  Evil Little Dog seems to take or leave Seiko. Guess it depends on how she's feeling? Once in a while, she'll chase him away. 

  Yet, yesterday, I watched her sitting, watching the doves eat. Right up close to them. She's venal. Balzac has a strong, true, pathological hatred of only Seiko.

  But, anyway; November 1st the the start of the cock pheasant season, here. It's quite the thing for the lads of the Gun Clubs to get out and try to bag a cock or two.

  I've been in the pub, in the evening, when wet and wind blown guys have come in, shaking their jackets and presenting their best bags. 

 The competition, locally, is to get the longest tail feather. That's probably based on a notion of taking out the oldest birds. Allowing vigorous, younger ones a place.

  What ever. I was born and raised around Field Sports. Couple of years back, I watched a pair of blokes wandering, behind a happy Black Lab, other side of the cut. 

  Glorious, sunny day. Three friends in good company. I envied them and wished them well. 

 I'd always hoped that my mate, Seiko, would be alright though. He obviously lives this side of the cut. On Pat's land. And, his cattle still being out? Pat wouldn't have Anybody firing near them!

   Friday though, I Did hear two shots. I'm so deaf, I can't tell even rough direction, let alone distance. But, I tried to tell myself to keep smiling.

   Just some lads, out for the traditional stroll. Seiko sticks close to here. Field of cattle, just down there. Near Seiko's spot. Pat would go fucking ballistic if anyone fired near them.

  Seiko didn't appear, for his feed, or to cause Balzac apoplexy that day though.

  I never saw him on Saturday, either. That was fucking disturbing! Come Sunday? I was, quite frankly, fucking miserable. No Seiko. And I was realising I'd probably heard the shots that killed him. 

  No amount of corvids made me smile since ~ despite my having plans for them. I'm quietly fucking gagging to get some of Them ringed! (As the rooster said, in the joke older than me: " Let them settle! ")

  So, yeah; Here I was, today. Monday. Sipping my tea and gazing out up the track.  Miserable as fuck about my mate, Seiko.

  Tell ye what? When that big ball of iridescent copper and black appeared in my vision, wandering down the track, to get his share of the free scoff? In Dis Fucking Scribable!!!  

le Ding, And His Fourth Can ....!

  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!

The Hole ....! (Part One)

  Lads; I've happened upon a hole. I've had a life time of getting up close and personal with holes. Every size. Every sort. Everywhere. 

  This one left me mind blown. Nothing about it screamed, 'The Obvious'. And, the best bit is? I could genuinely, seriously do with a far younger person to come and look at my hole. I don't know how much more I can take, at my age.

  Here's the story. In full, graphic detail. It's Not for the hobbyist. This shit's for my fellow, hardened pro's. Or, maybe those with a certain predilection? Use ye discretion, before proceeding ..... 

  So, I'm in my ditch, the other day. One I live my handle by. Dropping my guts onto what will now, steadily ~ unless we have a flash monsoon / flood ~ become my very own, 'Summer Manure Heap'.

  My ditch forms one side of the boundary of my property. It's My ditch. I can sit above it and shit into it. Only, if I climb out of it, on the other side? I'm on my neighbors land. And, these days? With this new lot? That ain't gonna fucking happen!

  So, forgive the detailed lead up. (Fuck me; If ye didn't Like detailed, lengthy shit? Ye wouldn't be here! Yeah?) There I am, doing what I'm there for. Suddenly, Balzac appears, in the compound side. Spots Dad. Starts trying to get to me! 

  Well, Balzac's only a fraction of what he'll grow to be, yet. And, being a brand new pup of just eight weeks? He barely knows his own name yet. He certainly doesn't understand shit like;

  " Balzac! Fuck off! Stay there! ..... NO! Don't slip through that fucking stock fencing!!! "

  " OMFG!!! Balzac! Don't Get Down There!!!!!  Ye'll be in shit as I shit all over ye! "

  " Where the fuck are ye?! Please Fucking God! Don't sneak round the back. Jump in the ditch and get amongst it from That direction!!! "

  And, all this time, this completely unpredictable puppy is scooting about the small space. No collar. No recall. No sense of what's going on. And I'm trying to finish what I came there for.

  Amazing! Did the work. Finished the paper work. Had somehow managed, by voice alone, to keep this scatter brained, excited pup out of the ditch! Fastened my belt and bent over to grab him .......... And saw, with abject horror, my glasses slip from my shirt pocket .....

 Now, a bit of 'engineering' fact about my ditch. This is all relevant, I promise you: My property is all on a slope. The ditch runs Down along the border. My actual 'Out House' is built straddling the ditch. The ditch, directly beneath the concrete structure, is itself lined with concrete.

  Think of a six and half foot tall tower block. With a car park below it. Open back and front. And, to the front, there's a concrete tunnel. The rain water flows down, from the back. Washes what ever's on the concrete, car parking, base. Takes it through that tunnel .....

  And there, due to a natural, down hill, lowering of the land. No doubt aided by a century or two of dropping waters effect, it's formed a small, deep pool. I call it my 'Cesspit'. Because, basically, Everything that plops down into that tends to 'be' there, till it's broken up and fed further down the ditch .....

  And my fucking glasses dropped, like an Olympic fucking medalist,  straight in there!!!!!

  Let's take a break here. It's late. I've other distractions. Ye've had enough to plough through. I just wanted to give ye an ~ maybe all too real? ~ picture of the environment we're dealing with here.

  In Part Two, for those who stick with it ~ hopefully those of experience, who can follow what ever clues I may be throwing up here. I'll explain the mission to retrieve my glasses.

  And how That led to my discovering this absolutely Intriguing fucking hole!

Balzacs Beginings .....

Balzac ~ CúConnacht

  When I went and bought him. 'Yesterday', amidst an extremely warm and very family based welcome, I was given a vet's certificate of his first jabs. And This .....

  Of Course, I smiled my understanding and gratitude at this, one more, gesture and sure sign that these were Genuine people. 

  Pocketed the bag. And, eventually, was back in the jeep, with Tommy. Heading home, to feed my Dogs. Late ~ with all the excitement and business of the day.

  Thus, I never did think to photograph Balzac, at eight weeks old, sampling what I consider his first ever Dog Food. As long as I'm alive? He'll never again taste those carcinogenic pellets of recycled, cancer ridden Dogs. 

  The shit they call " Nuts " here. Mutts nuts, guts and the fucking drugs pumped into them before they died?!  " All In One Dog Food "? More like All Dogs In One Dogs Food! FFS!

  No. Balzac has landed on his feet, of course. In the last twenty hours, he's emptied himself of the, now, usual half ton of putty coloured. Putty consitencied, foul crap I see on the streets of town ~ and the main track here.

  No vet will ever need to 'Express His anal glands'. Or 'Descale His teeth'! He now eats Lumps of Fresh, Raw, Human Grade, Lamb Ribs and Belly Skin. No bowls necessary! LOL!

  And, how does that taste, Balzac?

 " I Like This, Dad! "

   My Dogs learn, from the off, that they need to be able to bite and smash flesh and bone just to survive from day to day. 

Sleepers.

Nigger, RIP. Long Live Balzac!!!!!

If I made up the shit I'm about to tell ye? Ye'd be ~ justifiably ~ saying; " Shut up, ye prick! You hallucinating? Or just think We're all completely fucking stupid?! "

  When Did Niggy die? .......... No. I'm sorry. I really, absolutely haven't got a fucking clue! Come to that? What the fuck Day is it, today?!  I fucking swear to ye; Put a gun to Pesticles head and I Genuinely wouldn't have the vaguest notion. I Genuinely Don't Know!

  All I know is; Things got bad here. I finally lost poor Niggy. He was in the ground that same day. I posted here. People sympathized. I lost control of the place .....  Maybe I just 'Lost Control, completely? I've really no idea.

  I just remember last night / early hours of this morning. Laying there, on my futon. Arm around the sleeping Pesticle. And all I can think about is a Dog. I Need another Dog!

   Maybe it's that four is my magick number? Maybe I was just sick of glancing round for 'The other one'. when I let them out. Missing. 

  And, I'm fucking laying there, and all I can think of is a free ad's site. I'd pondered Pounds. Local one are a bunch of cunts. That's why I went all the way to Louth, for Niggy.  Not really in the financial position go go taxiing around the fucking country again.

  Couldn't sleep. Just laying there. Staring through the ceiling. A Dog. A Dog. A fucking Dog ....!

  Pesticle woke up. She seemed ready to get up. So I did. God knows what the time was. I never even glanced at the clock. Turned the machine on. Fuck THL, the Irish Forum. What I term as 'Reading the Papers' 

  I Literally googled straight to the free ad's. Dogs. Connaught. Started scrolling through page after page of Cockapoo's. Cavichons. Collies. Collies. Collies! Fucking Collies!!!!! Swiftly diverted my eyes from any Black Lab types .....

  And then, I found him! What A Fucking Dog!!! Eleven month old " Crossbred ". Few miles from here. No price. Described as " Watchful, but playful. "

  Fantastic looking creature! Had a Lot of that Husky thing going on. TALL, Rangy, Long legs ....!  But; They were as thick as mine!!!

  He reminded me of le Ding. My beloved ~ sadly Not so fucking spring chicken now! 'Secret Weapon'.  Same, pointy ears. That Malinois  thing going on, with the head and face. But .....

  Absolutely Stunning creature! Those Legs! Like fucking tree trunks! The legs of a Bear!

  And the fucking Skull on him!!! It was like someone had taken a boulder, Then just added these pointy ears. A pair of sweet eyes. And stuck a pointy muzzle on the front. To make a Dogs face out of it. 

  But, fuck me! What a Dog!!! 'Thanks for all the calls. Only after six.'  I could barely believe he'd still be available. I figured I'd have to wait till 18:01 to call. 

  I scrolled on. Thinking about that absolute specimen of a Dog. Then, I read what I'd honestly and genuinely never believed I'd Ever fucking see in print! le Dingo's breeding!!! Some cunt had actually gone and fucking repeated the crossing that produced my Legendary Dog!!!

  And there were Two fucking males available. Eight weeks old!!! I swear to fucking god; I was shaking!

  And, that's where is all sort of got 'emotional'! My mind was absolutely Ravaging itself! I wanted a Dog. Not an eight week pup, FFS! And that Beast of a thing ....! These pups favoured the cut of the bitch too. Le Ding favours the sire .....

  I went out and rung some late starling chicks. I had a sly beer. I rang my Boss and babbled, and enthused, and back peddled, and ran shit past the both of us. All the time, looking at that Animal, which one could have called " Bodie ".

  And this pair of identical, two month old babies. One of which could possibly become " Balzac ". The continuation of, quite simply, one of the finest Dogs I've ever owned. Quite possibly the Last one I'll ever own!

  It was those legs that finally did it. And that subtly massive, fucking head. It was Very subtle! Crafty as fuck. If ye didn't know ye Dogs inside out? That thing might well have seemed like a Husky / Malamute / Fuck Knows, to ye.

  Naah. I cracked it! Fucking Akita in that mix! Jap or Yank? They're both all over here now. And That fucking thing was likely half bred. Husky / Akita? Very possibly! 

  And ye think I'd be bringing an eleven month old speed freak, crossed with a psychotic schizo anywhere Near this happy fucking house?! No! Slow and ageing Ding. Soft as a marshmallow Pesticle? Fuck knows about Evil Little Dog!

But, I'd soon be burying Another fucking Dog here. Before shooting the one coming up the chain at me. And dumping the cunt in the ditch!

  Let That fucker get flogged on as somebody else's problem. This is mine:

  Getting to grips with the cuteness overload which is sleeping under my desk!!!

  That's " Balzac "! Expect to soon be sick and fucking tired of the photo's, films and reports on him! 

  If I weren't a more level headed type? Shit like this would possibly have me wondering if there really Are Gods out there!