Dingo Dog, RIP.

   Well, he's gone. Figure he lost his pulse a few hours ago. Laying there, out in the sun. Gasping. Tongue sticking out. Couldn't seem to take the water I was offering him.

 

  Choices? Put a shotgun to his head. Make a noise that would scare my other Dogs. Make a fucking god awful mess that would be there for ever.

 

  Drag him off to a vet's? Saturday. Local, " We don't come out for Dogs, Any day! " shit house is shut.

 

   Arrange a taxi to the 'Emergency' place? Next county away? He wouldn't have lasted that trip.

 

  Nope. Just left him there, for nature to take its course. Which it did. It's been obviously coming for months now.

 

  But, each night, he's wanted his grub. I've given it. He's ate it. Anywhere between two or five cans. I've gladly fed him as much as he'd eat.

 

  Cans. Lately, " Chum ". He seemed to prefer soft, tinned meat to raw lamb. He got offered both. Ate both, in part. Up till last night. Ate it then.

 

  One less for dinner, tonight. He's in the wheel barrow. Down in the stables. Pat's coming, Monday, to dig the hole I'm simply no longer physically capable of digging.

 

  Oh! I can sweep up the saw dust though. Last year or two, le Ding had taken to ~ when ever the feeling came upon him ~ drinking a bit much water. Then honking it up on the floor here.

 

  Mopping up water / slime from a concrete floor gets old. I reverted to what my Dad showed me. Gave this place over to a kennel. Strewed saw dust everywhere. Easier.

 

  And now, he's gone. Shit will move forward around here. Balzac will, Tonight, become the Room Dog. Faaark!

 

  Tomorrow, I'll likely have to remind myself that it's Him, stretched out, or curled up on my futon. Not Dinger. Ding's gone. Fuck.

 

  le Ding always slept on the foot. On top of the quilt. Funny Dog. Never once was able to convince him to sneak inside and join the pile of who ever else was snuggling there.

 

  That's enough. I've got to figure out the new feeding regimen now. Ding always ate his grub in the kitchen. Balzac in his cage. Sausage on the futon.

 

  Tonight, what? I don't know. And I've got to figure it.

 

  " Valentino " ~ Kev? Thank you, mate. I kept my fucking promise. I swore to ye, I'd give Dingo Dog the best fucking life he could hope for.

 

  Twelve? Thirteen years old? That Dog never, in my presence, knew a cold, hungry, lonely day. Never had a fucking hand raised against him. Barely a day he wasn't actually told he was loved.

 

Still is. But, it's dinner time now. For the ones left. And how the Fuck am I going to work this new feeding regimen out?

 

  I never thought of This. Shit!

 

  Miss ye, Ding! Now, finally, the fucking tears!

 

le Ding Lives ....!

  I've just joined a Pest Control place, by invitation of an old mate. Turns out there's more old faces there than a fucking grave yard! Thus, I'm having a whale of a time and shaking many hands.  It's fucking Great, frankly. And I must sort out where Lloydy's got to!

  But, anyway, yeah; 'Matters' said something about This place. Don't think he was the only one. I've also had people from else where nudging me. Basically asking where I've got to. What I've been up to.

  Simple and honest truth? No where and fuck all! It really Is / Has Been That fucking simple! I've been quietly living my quiet life. Nothing's happened that I felt anyone would be vaguely interested in hearing about. So, obviously, I haven't said shit.

  Then, today, sitting here, minding my own business, reading some bollocks on THL, probably, I heard a nail scrape on render. I looked down, beside my chair. And my fucking heart so swelled with love ..... I took this picture:

    There he fucking is, look! Bless him! He'd crept in. Laid down next to Dad. And he was scratching the wall in his sleep. Look at his furry, pointy ears! God, I Love this fucking Dog!!!

  I just wanted to let ye know; Yes. le Ding. Dingo Dog, is Still going strong! God knows how old he must be, by now. I must have had him, what? Ten fucking years, by now?

  He's absolutely the sweetest, most wonderful natured, endearing Dog I've ever fucking had! 

   Yes, I've had Dogs that were (Are) complete little extensions of my very soul. Dogs who people referred to way above and beyond that guy on the lead. I have a photo of one of my Dogs here, Virtually a fucking shrine!

  But, le Ding is the one who torments Pestical, when the devil is in him. Who sniffs the hole in the door, as he wanders in here. Who is, and has been, the general, quiet, innocent, harmless presence about this place, virtually since I can remember. I fucking Worship him! 

  " Valentino "; When you explained, on THL, that " Dingo " needed homing, I PM'd you and told ye I'd like him. I told ye straight; He wouldn't be seeing a load of 'work', with me. But, that he'd be taken care of. 

  Frankly? My strongest vibe there was that I wouldn't be 'getting rid of' him, once he'd " Jacked " against his fourteenth fox, in a night, or what ever shit gives those little wankers a hard on about their Dogs.

  Ding ding could, obviously, destroy dinky, fragile boned little foxes, all day and night. So fucking what? The very sight of him has kept my gate clear, for Years now. Far bigger things than little foxes give this strange, vibe throwing Dog a wide berth. 

  This post is, really, going out to you, mate. In the hope that ye still out there. And doing well. And, at least, any where as happy as le Ding is. 

  He's just sighed, and shifted position on my futon. Tonight, he'll stalk about on it, till he finds just the right spot. Then, he'll lay down, on my legs, as he does ~ and has done ~ every night. 

  What I'm trying to convey here, mate ~ and I So hope you, or someone who can get this to ye is reading this ~ ..... My absolute and Eternal, heart felt Thanks for trusting me. 

  You saved le Ding, Twice. Thank You. Third time? I guess he Really hit the fucking jackpot. But, so, it seems, did I.

For Those Who May Remember " Dingo " .....

  Relax! 
 

  Just wanted to show ye; The old bugger's still around. With me. And loved to bits! 

  He's currently curled up in Niggies bed. le Dings choice. Plenty of room on my mattress. le Ding decided he wanted to be beside me. Here he is, look, as I type this:

    There he is then. Just so ye know. Enjoying every minute of the life I swore I'd give him. le Ding.

  Oh, and how cool is that, eh? I can sign my Dog off ~ tongue in cheek ~ to the Council, as a fucking Dingo! They don't care. 

  See; Here? The way it is is ..... Ye pretty much have what ever fucking Dog ye like. Ye control it.

   Poodle or 'Hungarian Man Eater'; Fine. You have it. You handle it. 'Else, YOU sort out what ever shit storm it fucking causes.

 How cool is that?

Dingo's Elbows .....

  They must be taken care of. See; I know that some people  come here who knew le Ding personally, in his past life. And they care about him too. Because Dingo Dog's the sort of Dog who can be very endearing.

 So, I thought it was high time I gave him a mention. Just so's you all know he's as happy, healthy and quite perfectly insane as ever he's been. Insane since he got here, anyway. I have that way with Dogs .....

 Sleeps on the end of my bed, once I turn in. Will never get under the quilt, like the Orange Dog. She likes snuggling up for a night long cuddle. le Ding just lays on my legs.

 He likes to run about, on his own legs, too. During the day. I'd like to get more film of him doing that. But, the battery in my camera's fucked. Fully charged, it'll still barely last long enough for me to grab a hasty snap shot.

 It's these evenings though, see? I'm sat here. The Sausage (Orange Dog) likes to sleep on my bed. Niggy has his own bed, right beside me here. With le Dinger though? One can never tell.

 He might go and join the Sausage. He might not. He might spend a bit of time there. Then decide, perhaps, that Nigger's getting more than his fair share of being near to Dad. 

 That's when he'll come and lay beside me too. Only, he's on the cold, concrete floor. Can't be good for his elbows. 

 And ye don't think I'd put up with that, do ye? Not fucking likely! Went into town the other day. Fucking sort this out ....!

le Ding ~ Elbows Safe Now

 

  le Dingo's a very much loved Dog.

Niggy The Hero ....!

 Having woken up, yesterday, in ultra light sensitive eyeball agony? I'm afraid all bets were off! Sod the cow shed wall. That'd get sorted another time. Frankly? I just glanced at the horses. Put Dingo and Rats on their chains and high tailed into town. 

 A visit to the Doctors. An eye patch. Some eye stuff. A full course of anti biotics. And a stern warning that, if the eye isn't getting better by the morning? I damn well head straight to Sligo and show A & E the letter in my pocket. 

 That, or I stand to lose the fucking eye!!! 

  Thankfully, the eye drop stuff is patently fantastic gear in itself. Because the guys in the pub said they were seeing improvements every time I lifted the patch for them to have another look at it. 

 And, as I type this? It now feels just a little tender and sore. It's not weeping a river any more either. Which is good. Because it means I can easier tell ye about Niggy. le Ding's ~ and my ~ hero of the day.


 Came home in the taxi and was greeted, at first, by relative silence. Most strange. But, I was listening out for Orange Dog, more than anything. Rats was yapping. That was fine. But, I wasn't hearing Orange Dog.

 Then she kicked off. Obviously just been fast asleep in here, as befits her age and station. All was well. le Ding, I noticed, was round behind his house. The end of his chain pointing in that direction. Nigger was ..... Where was Niggy?

 And, come to that; What was keeping Dingo Dog? Why hadn't he reappeared instantly, to shout for his dinner? What the ....?!

  I couldn't believe the state of the split link which was all that was left of le Ding's elaborate chain set up. How the fuck could he possibly have wrenched That open. Past all those swivels and the J.C. Conner 'T Bar' Shock Spring'

  No time to stand about thinking. I rang Eddie. le Ding always made a bee line up west. Eddie hadn't seen him. Cool. Meant he was probably caught up, somewhere between our properties.

 I crawled into the upper ditch and emerged to walk to Eddie's. Even checked Noel's sheds, beyond. Nothing. No sign. But, if he wasn't snagged on his way there. And he wasn't there. Where had he gone and where was he now?

 As I short cutted back down through Pat's Hill Meadows, I was desperately surveying the vast landscape. Thinking of road traffic. Zealous farmers with shotguns. Dingo Dog caught up somewhere. Out of sight and helpless.

 Back here and I stopped, to regain my composure and bearings. 'Plan A' had flopped. I needed to figure out Plan B. And quickly. So, slow down. Calm down. Think:

 le Ding was gone. Somewhere. Finding him was the objective. Got that.

 Orange Dog had been asleep. Nothing does, or ever should, concern the Orange Dog. Fine.

 Niggy. Where was Niggy, when I came home? He took a minute to respond to my calls. What was keeping him?

 Nig's a Black Labrador. He has the nose of a Field Trial Champion. Of course! " Niggy? Where's Ding, Ding?! Show me! "

 And off he went! Round the side of the cottage. Under that offensive hedge that nearly took my eye out ..... I figured he was heading for Eddie's field and on up to his place. Thus I made a dash for the back gate. To watch where he went.

 He never emerged. I peered into the bushes surrounding 'The Ditch' and caught glimpses of both black and yellow fur! Heard a whimper and called out to let le Ding know I was coming .....

 And that's why Niggy Dog is a Hero. It was only then I noticed the earth smear across the top of his muzzle too. Don't know what he'd been up to. But, he's never had that before. 

 I figure he'd been trying to somehow unhitch le Ding's chain. The chain which, mercifully, had acted like a trappers drag. Caught up in the first obstruction Dinger tried to pass through and held him there. 'Safely'. He hadn't got ten yards.

 And, if it weren't for Niggy showing me where le Ding was hidden? I'd have spent god alone knows how many hours, circling this place for miles around. Searching, phoning, praying ..... 

In my stress I'd never have thought to check that stupid little clump of bushes. I'd have been patrolling ditches far and wide.

 But, Niggy came through for us. Little Hero!

Brothers In Arms

         

Dogs; Expensive Fukka's!

le Ding; Laughing at me ~ Must think I'm a cunt!

I know that some of you reading this will know that I have " le Ding " with me. Originally known as " Dingo ", because that's really about as much as one can say about the damn thing; That he looks like a Dingo. But, I'm a bastard for settling on damn silly names for my creatures. Thus the poor bastard now gets referred to as " le Ding ". He actually answers best to " Ding, Ding " though; He'd be great fun at a fuckin' boxing match then!

Just to quickly recap on Ding's chequered career then, for those without a clue: Dingaling Dog was bred by a cunt. The guy was a cunt because he bred him, then considered he had no use for him! Sadly, while it's fine and dandy to shoot Dogs, we aren't allowed to shoot pricks like that. But, Happily, Ding got lucky. " Valantino ", of THL Forum, heard about him and took him home.

Trouble being there that Val' was already stocked up with fine Dogs. He didn't need another one so looked around for a permanent home for this one. Seems some cousin took a shine to and custody of the Dog. Great. Great, that is, till Val' finds himself in the area some months later and drops by to visit his old mate, Dingo Dog.

And that's when the story broke, on THL. Val' showed us the photo he took. My fuckin' eyes are burning at the memory of that damn photo and, if I don't just plough through this bit, I'll break down.

Poor fucking Dog was on a short chain, tied to an empty kennel box and surrounded by his own shit. His coat was disgusting and the poor little bastard was cowering, obviously expecting more of what he'd learned he'd get when a human came near him.

Val' unhooked him and put him in the motor, there and then. The rest is history. He still didn't need this mad mutt, but no way was he staying with the second rank cunt he'd known in his short life. So he asked, on THL, who would like a ~ by now fully recovered and back to his old self ~ happy go lucky, nutty as a fruit cake, bouncing bundle of energy who could only really be described as looking for all the world like a Dingo.

That must've been about a year ago now. He's made my own life more " Interesting " ever since! Life, with le Ding, has been a constant effort of wondering what he was doing. Dreading what he might be doing. Then finding out what he was Actually doing ~ and trying to devise a way of stopping him doing it again!

Ding' spent some quality time around horses, when he was with Val'. Thus he now has it imprinted in his tiny little mind that horses are great fun. Happily, my own one and my insane donkey are too laid back or insane to worry much about the bouncing yellow peril either. So they're fine with him.

However, le Ding can't seem to differentiate between horses, donkeys and cattle! Now, surely to god, if there was ever an animal put on this earth good for Nothing but doing away with and eating, it must be the Cow. I mean, what do they do? They stand about in fields. They trample far more good grass than they actually eat. They shit all over the place. They churn up mud. They try to get our Dogs shot. Then, finally, we kill the useless fuckers and eat their sorry corpses. Good fucking riddance!

And Ding has this thing about them. He figures they too are great fun to be around. Thus he tries to have a bit of craic with them. Maybe torment them a little, as he does the donkey. Ye've seen " Boratt in USA " ? Well, it's just like when he goes after Pamela Anderson, with his sack; Fucking mindless air head racing off towards the next county, udders bouncing as it bellows like the cunt that it is!

You ever seen an Irish cattle farmer who's just seen that go off? I have. I don't Ever want to see it again! And the cattle are due to be released any day now. Time I took the hint. Le Ding needs keeping under control.

Now, this Dog can jump about anything that gets between him and where he thinks it'd be good to get to. He also has this child like propensity to just wander off and get into mischief. I can't watch him every second of every day. I can't keep him locked up, in doors or in a pen. That'd be cruel. He's a fit little fucker and likes to run about. I Do chain him to a kennel box, when I have to go into town ~ he goes into Destruct Mode within five minutes, if left in here unattended. But, no way is he living his life on an eight foot chain either.

So, having had some experience in these things, I've sat here and pondered. I've looked out at the hundred and thirty plus yard length of the Home Acre, out there. I figured it out: I'd give him a 'Running Lead' set up. Length of the field. He can belt up and down it and torment the 'horses' when ever they get near. Lay around in the sun. Hide in his box, during rain. Scare the living crap out of anyone who comes near my top gate. Sorted!

And, with that simple enough solution in mind, I rolled into town today. Got lucky in the third and last store. They had a drum of just the right thickness of steel rope.Great! Without a thought or a care, I noted that it contained 200 yards ~ perfect. I'll be running him diagonally across the field later. Give the land a break and him a different view of things. Sauntered up to the counter and breezily enquired as to how much this entire drum was about to cost me.

I almost fucking shit myself!!!

Ye looking at a cool £300's worth of safe and happy Dog!