Niggy Is Gone.....

  I'm so fucking pissed ~ literally drunk ~ I can't see myself typing a word of fucking sense for a day or three.

He's already in the ground. Up in my grave yard. He'll have his grave stone, with its plaque, soon.

  I never thought I'd be using his, before the others I have lined up here. 

My, much mentioned, neighbor  and friend, Pat, has been an absolute fucking Angel. Throughout. 

I've written that in the hope that his kids may, one day, come across it. Recognise it. And, maybe, get some inkling of the standard of man their Father is / was. 

  Right now though? I've got to go into mourning. 

Evil Little Dog Found A Bone .....

  The other day this was. Nice, sunny day. Promise of Spring. Just before it turned into fucking Alaska ....!

  Anyway, yeah. I looked out there and saw Evil Little Dog, my Jack Russell, digging around with something by the fence line.

  " What ye got there, Evil Little Dog? Show me. "

  'Got a bone, Dad. I found it. Now I'm gonna gnaw this mother fucker like there's no tomorrow!'

  Well, I've got a look at that bone and wondered. Frankly. It wasn't ye standard bit of rib bone. Nor was it a leg bone. Sort of shit a person might throw to a Dog. And an Evil Little Dog find and steal.

  My grave yard Did cross my mind, to be honest. But, I bury my Dogs deep enough that nothing in its right mind would be digging that far, now, for old bones.

   I don't think Evil Little Dog would bother.  She vanishes, night and day. She's allowed to. Because she's too small to seriously bother a cow. And she's ~ obviously ~ too fucking small to fence in.

  Anyway, she had this bone. Up to her. But, I told her how I needed her indoors now. All of them in. I had shit to do. She could bring her bone and shit would have to sort itself out.

  I dropped her in here, with the others. I had work to do, other side of the door.  I'd hear, if hell broke out. Four Dogs? One bone? 

  Know what? I had to come in here, at some point. Grab something I needed out there. And Pesticle's showing me the bone she now has. Happily chewing and sucking on it. Not a care in the world.
Evil Little Dog's now in her box. Snugly snoozing.

  Maybe half an hour later, I'm back in here again. And there's le fucking Dinger. Mouthing a somewhat reduced bit of bone. Only, he drops it, down the back of the bed,

  Niggie Dog tries to help le Ding dig it out. But, that's not gonna happen. So, I reach under the pallet and fetch this spitty lump of bone out.

  " Here ye go, Dingo Dog. " I say. " I reckon ye've about had ye share of this. Let's let the Nigger have his share. "  And I gave the lump to Niggie. (Munch, munch, munch)

  See what I'm saying there? No claims of Dog Trainer. Let alone 'Dog fucking Whisperer'.  This lot really has fuck all to do with me. It's my Dogs.

  Left to themselves, look, my two ridiculously disparate bitches ~ an American Bulldog and a Jack Russell. And the Dingo Dog and Nigger. They've just sorted their shit out.


  How about I introduce them to the concept of " God " ? For fuck sake ..... See what happens then.

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

         

Silent Night .....

  It is here, anyway. Because, I've just finished tapping out an email to an old mate of mine.

 So, I'm sat here, with my slippers on. Dogs all flaked out around me. Door cracked open, allowing that constant, steady air flow to the stove. Keeps that Carbon Monoxide alarm happy ~ the Dogs and me alive.

 Then, I've felt it. Almost as much sensed it. A sensation like someone gently, yet steadily drawing a silken ribbon across the back of my ankle.

 Just momentary. But, it was enough. That was an air movement .....

Everything's gone into slow motion. Air movement? A door to the outside must have been opened, to allow that breath. Silently too. The Dogs hadn't heard or reacted to anything. These boys were good then .....

 I deliberately kept my eyes on the screen in front of me. Using my peripheral vision to watch the door. As my hand slid toward the pistol grip. One way or another, this was gonna be over in seconds.

 No good relying on my hearing. My Dogs are my ears. I gave myself up to Zanshin. That 'relaxed' state of awareness which allows one to perceive ones enemies in the surrounding environment .....

  And that's how I came to recognise Nigger .....

LMAO! As I'd sat, absorbed in watching my " Sopranos ", so Niggy had figured he was warm enough in his bed and had, gently and unobtrusively as he does most things in life, slipped in to lay quietly at my feet.

  On the cooler floor. In the dark. Black Dog. And the soft fucker had silently sighed ..... against the back of my ankle.

 For fuck sake ....! :D


 

Can't Keep A Good Ding' Down .....

I so love le Ding! Apart from his divine, furry ears, which lend him such character even when he's having a kip ..... 

And his mad habit of being 'Untouchable' ~ crazy fucker'll walk all over me, to greet me, when I wake up. But, rub his head in return? He'll as likely growl at me!

 Quite insane then. As all my Dogs are. I make them that way! LMAO! It's not difficult. I'm their only social stimulus and I unconsciously reward strange behaviour. Makes my little team more interesting as individuals.

 le Ding though has had to learn not to fuck off. He'd be shot ~ and bring all manner of hell upon all of us too ~ if he ran off and got amongst the cattle, obviously. 

 As much as that though, he once developed a taste for dashing off, at the first opportunity, and racing off up to The Idiots place.

 Vanished for two or three days, last winter. I'd about given up on him. Then The Idiot called to say he was up there. Seems he'd been found 'laying dead' on a mound of snow one morning.

 Idiot did something like approaching the 'Dead, starving' Ding and le Ding demonstrated that he had other ideas. Jumped up off the warm compost heap he'd been having a lovely kip on. Probably gnashed his teeth and fucked off out of reach. Sound Dog!

 Anyway, that was last winter. I've been working on his head since. Now? Now, every night, I let the four of them out, last thing. Chain Dog waits in her cage, of course. But, the fucked up four all get to pile out the door and piss all over the place out there.

 No leads. No telling much. I just take the opportunity to shine the CluLite about. See if there's anything to fetch a gun for. Then they generally go back in, of their own volition, when they're done.

 Once The Orange Dog goes back in ~ she's always last, because she's oldest and has more to do, more slowly ~ I send them all into their rooms.

 That's to say, I usher them into the back room. Then I join them in there and send Orange Dog into the Back back room. I lock her in there. Two locked doors between her and Chain Dog, see? Then I let Chain Dog out and so on.

 Tonight though my guts fucked me up, even as the Dogs were out there. I'd counted the first three back in here. So, I shut the back door and raced a photo finish to the ditch.

 All done, head cleared, I came back in here, fetching The Orange Dog with me. Nigger and Rats were fucking around in the kitchen. No Dingo.

 I checked in here. Chain Dog in her cage. No Dingo. My heart gave a lurch. Had I counted him back in here? Or, in my distraction, had he slipped away in the shadows ~ as he's so good at doing ~ and gone off in search of adventure?!

 One last thought: Had I shut the door to the back rooms ....? I strode over and looked. Door open! Dark room beyond ..... Please, god ....!

 I switched the light on and grinned like a cunt! There's le Ding. On his window sill. Peering round the wall as much as to say; " OK, Dad? You gonna put Orange Dog in her room now? ".

 Fucking bless him! Damn Dog's So good, he not only brings himself in, after his night time piss, but, he even knows to go into the back room and sit up in his window sill, where he likes to be. 

 And there he'd sat, look. All on his own. In the dark. For five minutes. Untold. I wasn't even in the fucking building!

 I'd like to scrub his ears and kiss his furry head for him. But, he'd probably take my face off A Dog made in my own image then ..... Quite mad.

A Moment With The Dogs .....

 Was vaguely aware of some movement there. The distinctive rhythm of lapping confirmed it. Orange Dog had got up from my bed and gone to the bucket of fresh water for a drink.
  
  That action caused me to glance over my shoulder, just as Rats went over to see what Orange was up to. Rats glancing up to meet my eye. " Just checking on The Sausage, Dad. "

 I glanced, in passing, at le Ding. Seemingly fast asleep in the bed. But, he was aware of all that was happening here and gave a tight wag of his tail to let me know he knew.

 I looked over at Niggy. He sort of looked back at me. Through the heavy film of a 'sleeping' Dogs eye. He was probably dreaming of the Orange Dog going for a drink of water. Rats checking what she was doing. le Ding knowing. Me glancing around, to check. 

 Now The Sausage is back on my bed. Fast asleep. le Ding has since got out of 'The Bed'. Nigg's got in. Then, Nigger's got out of the bed and gone to My bed. Rats, who'd sat scratching, has gone to join Nig'. le Ding is snoozing, on the floor, beside me. I haven't even looked at Chain Dog. Fast asleep in her bed. In her cage. Snoring like a tank.

 Soap? Who needs it, when ye've got Dogs?!
 

Dogs; Who'd Have 'Em?!

Took my lot for their usual, daily stroll today. Le Ding, being a proven dasher and cow botherer, I have to keep on a retractable lead and under strict eyeball and verbal command at every other second.

Nigger? He simply will not enter a field with a cow in it. Must be genetic to his breeding? Only, obedience to recall certainly doesn't seem to have been bred in and, till I get a bloody whistle, there's not a great deal I can do to train it in either.

So it was that today, as with probably more than half the days, he dashed at the last leg of our walk and was last seen flying down under a gate and out of sight. Bastard. Completely ignores me calling him too.

Well anyway, I don't usually worry about it too much. Because, unlike le Ding, I pretty well know he won't get up to anything that'll bring hell to my door.

Only, today? After two hours of waiting for the prodigal to return, I realised how I couldn't focus on anything. I had a pile of dread deep in the pit of my stomach. And I was generally sitting here stressing out on 'roids.

I was imagining all sorts of things, whilst recognising the futility of a search. So many banks, ditches and creases in the ground out there, it'd be pitch black before I'd aimlessly wandered a couple of acres.

Eventually, I decided I Had To 'Do Something'. I was loathe to go away, lest he reappeared and found me missing. Or worse, trailed me up to the road. Because I'd decided to go up there and have a word with Pat. It's all I could think of to do.

So, Screaming at the others to stay there and for fuck sake For Once do as they're fucking told, I squeezed out the door, threw my jacket on and, almost shaking with stress and dread ~ it was really sinking in how fond I am of this little bastard ~ I closed the gate and headed out up the track.

One plaintive and pointless call of " Nigger ....? " as I scanned the sweeping basin of ground down towards the river and beyond. He likes that river .....

Then, as my gaze levelled ahead, a movement caught my eye in the top field beside the track. Bastard!!! There he fucking was! Nose down. Tail wagging. Running carefully one way, then another in little, measured bursts.

'My' hare lives in that field. Fucker was obviously scenting her. And, for all I know, the single minded fuck head may well have been up there, trying to unravel that damn scent for the last two hours! The Dog's fucking mental!


Or, is that me? I mean; I keep the fukka's .....

Dogs Taking The Piss .....

Twist! Gottcha already, see? Because ye never, in a million years, expected what's to follow!

I'm sort of taking it, really, that ye very presence here sort of denotes a Dog connection in ye life. I'm a total Dog Fiend myself. Dogs are what it's all about, to me. They come first and foremost. Simple as that.

People don't think on the level that Dogs do. Dogs don't think like people do. Dogs just Do. I like Dogs.

So; Ever pissed around a Dog ~ then Not told it to fuck off, as it tries to do what Dogs Do? It's interesting.

See, I have no loo. Not in doors. Up stairs. Provisionally allocated, like the most of ye. So I shit into the nearest ditch. And, when in here ~ at night ~ I piss into a gallon bottle. Saves me fucking off out to the ditch, just to piss.

And, guess what? My Dogs consider a it privilege to lick my dick 'clean'! How fucked up is that?

Well; Not at all fucked up, if ye understand Dogs. Not that I'm claiming, for a minute, to understand these furry headed creatures. I just like 'em. A Lot.

And there's a bit of nonsense that needs saying. I've noticed how I can sit here, have a piss into my 'bottle'. And then, having put my dick away, le Ding will still uncurl himself and come over here. I even have to unzip again, just so he can 'Do His (Self Appointed) Duty'.

'Best' of all? I've noticed how Nigger Dog ~ by nature, as much or more so than by designation, about bottom of the pile here ~ will hang around, Longing to serve that momentary role. Just like when I take my boots off. That is Definitely and always has been le Ding's role; To lick my feet clean.

I ever try to interfere with this hierarchy? I just Know I'll have a fucking Dog Fight on my hands. Two Dogs battling it out? Over possession of my dick?! ..... Listen, mate; Not while it's still exposed and potentially between them~ I can assure ye!


But, there ye go. Something else to read about. Now I'm fucking off. Back sooner ;-)

Sorry if it turned into another longer than expected one!

Nigger's First Retrieve .....

Five minutes ago. Well, it sort of started ten minutes ago. I was just emerging from my ditch and noticed Nig Nig nosing around in a certain corner on my perimeter. I wondered what he was up to. But, then he moved away and so did I. Moment forgotten.

Just got back in here and am arranging that last post. Gazing out at my magpies as the photo loads. Along comes Nigger. Thankfully, I spotted the bastard, out the window, before he decided to bring it in here!

Ye've guessed it, haven't ye? Fucking great dead rat!!!

Just what the fucking hell's going on around here???

Nigger Does It Again ....!

Damn Dog just seems to get better! :D

The other night ~ last night? ~ I seem to remember him pawing one of my mouse boxes around, in my kitchen. I have these special little boxes. They contain a mouse trap and a slot in the top of the box discreetly alerts ye to when the trap's been fired.

Only, I haven't had any mice in this place for about a year now and, to be honest with ye? Those boxes have kind of become almost 'invisible' to me.

So, I've been busy with some DIY out there lately. I'd have been distracted and just told Nigger to leave the box alone. Then gone back to thinking of timber and screws.

Tonight though, I'd about finished my own, latest burst of activity when Dean O' turned up to do a bit more DIFD ('Do It For Ditch'). He's setting up my new sink and shower. Only, I think it was when Dean lost sight of his tape measure and I was looking about for that that I spotted this mouse box, moved slightly away from its usual spot.

Then I realised it had fired. Oh ..... It happens to all Rat Catchers. Something comes up and ..... and, one day, ye inevitably have to check a trap, knowing it should've been checked long ago! I was explaining this to Dean O', even as I took out my key and popped the lid on the box. Bracing myself, with curled lip, to look inside.

Yeppers. There was fur in there. Brown fur. A House Mouse. Only, to my surprise and delight, it was fresh as a daisy! And that's when I remembered calling Nig Nig off this box, only yesterday. Bugger had scented the fresh mouse in there and was curious to get at what it was :-)

If he, like all my other Dogs, had ignored that faint smell? It may have been god knows how long before I'd noticed and opened that damn thing! Urgh! Been there before!

I threw the body into my compost bin. Then had second thoughts as I realised what a treat it'd make for my magpie. I was just about to go fetch it though when I remembered how I've had recent take in the Rat Box (baited) down in the horse pen. I'd looked for rat tracks or any other sign. Found none and put it down to concrete and low levels of activity.

Now I have other ideas. I'll put some mouse boxes down there too, tomorrow. In fact, I'll saturate my entire damn compound now. Because, even as I stood there, in my kitchen, chatting to Dean about all this; Bugger me if I didn't see, through the open door, a mouse dash across my gate way!

They're back. Let the fun begin!

Nigger: One - le Ding: One Behind The Ear! LOL!

Calm down sillys! le Ding, along with the rest of them, has just been out for a 'Sort Out' and is now back in his bed, groaning with contentment, as he does. Bless him!

No, it's just that today, on our daily walk up the track, an interesting little even occurred which has since actually 'sunk in' rather better and so revealed a little story I thought worth the telling here.

Up by my top gate, see, there's a little bit of rougher ground, just behind my top hedge. This is only a piddling little strip of ground, between the hedge and the track between two gates. However, it's still a little haven for anything not wishing to dodge stupid cattle so much as it would out on the open fields. Sort of place a fox might lay up. Ye know the sort.

So anyway; Nigger and Rats have shown an expectable bit of interest in this spot. Rats is a fuckin nuisance! If Anyone's going to lead one of my other Dogs off on a high adventure, it'll be rats! Get them shot, whilst she offers too small and nippy a target? Fucking charming! And, today, she invited Nigger to join her in the dance of death.

Off they've gone, straight down off the track and into Pat's lower fields. Nothing to bad there, because the cattle were no where to be seen and I could actually see quite a way from the track. I was especially unconcerned as they were, at first, simply sniffing around that little patch of scrubbier ground there. Then they moved out into the half acre field of juncus and it was actually quite nice to imagine Nig Nig was actually 'Working' the ground with some purpose and intent.

But, when they shot off down through the lower gate, thus entering a span of endless acres, virtually all of it out of sight behind hedges, unless they reappeared a mile away, near those distant sheep ....! Buggers both ignored my calls too. It was getting a bit tense making!

So, there's me, stood at this gate, gumming at my bottom lip. Orange Dog doing who knows what ~ probably just standing around with me. (We're both so clapped out now, standing around suits us fine). le Ding I have on an extending lead. I never lock it, so he's free to shoot off in all directions for a fair old way too. Seems he was just standing, watching too though.

Frankly, I'm so concentrated on my growing anxiety that two of my Dogs are off loose, disobeying me, and in plain sight of anyone around the rim of the basin ..... Oh! Fuck me! Look at that hare!

Sure enough, here she comes, straight through the lower gate the Unholy Allience have gone through. Right out of the field they're 'working'. She's come up the track, not rushing by any means. I observed and noted her almost fox like 'russet' fur as she quickly loped up the track. She probably noticed us lot, about fifteen foot or so before 'our' gate, and turned gently in her course. Past us she went and skipped on through a hedge gate and into the field beyond.

With that, I returned my attention to the two lead magnets below who, soon afterwards, reappeared and rejoined us. Wet, panting and pleased with themselves. Home we went and no more was said about the matter. Dogs will, after all, be Dogs. (Naughty Dogs! LOL!)


Now, let's try that again, shall we? Supposing I'm some prick with 'Issues'. So I feel the need to carry a Big, scarey Gun everywhere with me. And I see everything which might try to get away from me as a challenge to my 'manhood'.

First off; Two of my Dogs go galavanting. That could pan out either way. A/ I might take offence at their being too preoccupied to 'Hear' my commands. Thus I could very well shoot them as soon as they presented a target of themselves. Some Would!

B/ I might have stood there, kneading my own zip as I drooled over the prospect of them actually being 'working'. And, can ye imagine 'my' ecstacy when that little hare had come loping up the track there? I could've blown her fucking head clean off. Then I could've taken close up pictures of the carnage I'd wreaked and shown them on THL. " Hare, Head Shot With 12 Bore At Five Yards! (Pre Ban) "

Of course, with that attitude governing my pond life like responses; Is it not entirely feasible that I'd then have remembered le Ding there? He hadn't even made his presence known to me, throughout. Hadn't shot off after the clearly visible hare. Hadn't even whimpered. In fact, he must've just stood there beside me and watched her pass. Just as Orange Dog and I had done.

Dingo Dog's a Dog in his prime. Lean. Fit. Sharp as a razor. He saw that hare. He knew her for what she was. He could've ripped that lead from my hand, cleared that gate and been after her like a rush of wind. But he didn't. Because I never gave him any indication that I required him to. Good Dog!

But how about our alter character there? I wonder how many of That sort, in that circumstance, would have beaten le Ding round the head as useless, for not giving chase. Then dragged him home and put 'One Behind His Ear'. Another 'useless fucking cull'. And have been on his way to pick up his umpteenth Dog in a year or two tonight?


Nothing left to prove, me, see? Been there. Done all that. That hare's out there now, biting grass stems. My Dogs are sleeping around me. Good Dogs, the lot of them. They don't need to do anything to bolster my ego. I need no social crutches. Just the love and companionship of my good Dogs.

And I don't think this lot are proving bad Dogs. Nigger and Rats scented, searched for and pushed out that hare to perfection ~ she was their only concern. le Ding did exactly what I always bid of him on our walks; " Don't Dash, Ding! " Even confronted with a passing hare, Ding didn't dash. Orange Dog and I? We couldn't go 'Voom!' if ye stuck fifty thousand volts up our arses!

We're older now. We just like to watch.

Nigger's Tale .....

Nigger. He's a Name. Not a Number. Though I only ever knew of him as " 4737 " on Louth County Council Dog Pounds web site. I came to find him thanks to " Sam ", the guy ye may have seen Commenting on here. Sam's big on championing the Rescue of Dogs. But, he puts his money where his mouth is. The guy Rescues, Fosters, Looks After, Breaks His Own Damn Heart Over as many Dogs as he can possibly manage. An Unsung Hero.

Sam had long since starting sliding URLs across the table at me. Just 'Something to take a look at'. I don't think he ever directly mentioned any particular Dog. Most of them made my heart bleed anyway. And I knew most of them would be dead in a week or so too.

But, what can I do? I have land, sure. I have enough land that I could build a huge fucking paddock and stick maybe twenty Dogs in it. I could likely keep them fed too. But, it'd be little more than a benign Concentration Camp for Dogs.

See; I'd be able to go in there twice, maybe three times a day? I'd pick up all their shit. I'd check and refresh their water bowls. I'd dole out their food, once a day. And they'd become basically a feral, contained pack. They'd sort their own social structure out. Maybe some would even die in the process? I'd drag the carcass out and sling it in a certain place I know of.

Is that any way to keep Dogs? I don't think so. Besides which, I'm only using that scenario as an example. Fact is; Constructing such an enclosure would cost me tens of thousands of pounds. I just haven't got that sort of money. What good, to Dogs, is an acre of land if they can't be contained within it? So, there we are.

Anyway; I must've mentioned to Sam how I had this feel for a rough, rangier, 'Black Lab' sort of Dog. Only, Sam would certainly know I simply won't have shit to do with castrated Dogs. So, then he sent me a few links to Dog Pounds (as very much different from 'Dog Rescues, in the main) where they really couldn't give a shit about letting Dogs go out with their balls still on. Just as long as the poor Dogs went out on their own four feet.

And that's how I discovered " Dog, Ref # 4737. Black Lab ~ Stray. Louth Dog Pound. " and decided he'd be worth my taking a chance on.

I e mailed them and stated my interest. Their " Tommy " shot me back, saying he was a great little Dog and his owners would probably be in to collect him. Him being a Stray, rather than a Handed In By Owner.

Well, I asked that I at least be granted first refusal, should it not happen. Then, after midnight on the day he was due for release, I mailed again. Could I have him now? Still Tommy held out. He told me; If 4737 wasn't claimed by closing time That day ..... He was giving this Dog one extra day.

Next day, I e mailed Tommy to say I wanted the Dog. Within an hour, I phoned him to say I was in a taxi and on my way. " A Taxi?! " Virtually screamed an astonished Tommy. " From Leitrim?!? ". Err ... Yes, Tommy. Two hundred mile round trip. In a taxi. To buy a Dog some cunt's 'Dropped Off' along a road some where. About an eight hour journey. I have no problem with that. Oh but, Tommy? Ye just don't know who ye dealing with here, do ye? This is Ditch Shitter. A man simply not given to fucking about!

Steve Flynn, one of my most regular Taxi's, probably learned more about my past than many people here will ever know, on that seemingly endless drive. Four fucking hours. And the Irish Love to ask questions and then just drink in the answers. Thus I had to provide most of the in car entertainment. By the time we reached Louth, even I'd ran out of things to say. I'd covered about thirty years of my life!

But, here we were. And there, one had to surmise, was 4737. There was this bald headed guy in the compound. Goatee beard and bouncy, black Lab' type Dog. " Fit looking Dog ..... " Commented Steve.

Well, Tommy let us in and was back inside with 4737 even before the automated gates had fully opened. I was lighting a roll up even before Steve was out of the motor! Then Tommy came back out to find me and I got a good look at the guy. Ye know when ye take just one look at someone and Know they're a good person? I really must look up Louth County Council and send them a note to say what a Good Egg they have in that man. I'm perfectly serious.

And there was 4737. He could barely take his eyes off Tommy. His tail never stopped wagging. This Dog Adored the guy! Then I was signing things. No worries! One thing was a Dog License ~ Saved me buying one next time I hit town. I Always license All my Dogs. The other was the Micro Chip Receipt, for the micro chip Tommy popped into 4737, right there and then. Scanning the Dog, to show me it was there and working.

Then, after a truly enjoyable chat about things of obviously mutual interest, it was time to open the door of the motor and invite 4737 to hop in the back. In he got. I managed to get in the front, without letting go of the collar and lead I'd brought with me. We were off. Homeward bound.

I don't think we were even out those gates before I turned, grinning into 4737's happily panting face, and said; " Well, Nigger, my love ..... "

Know what? Nigger just sat, laid, stood, good as gold. Good Four Hours! Not a fucking peep, whinge, whine, piss, shit, puke or fart out of him. Dog was a solid little angel, all the way home. And, when I got him here? I led him round for a sniffing, pissing session. Popped him on a chain. Watched him drink his fill of water. Took him into a back room and locked him there. Let the others out, to sniff his piss and piss on it. Put them away. Chained him up again, in sight of the window ..... Fucked off for Four More Hours! (I had business and this had, unavoidably clashed)

Back I came, midnight and gone. This is how I handled it: I let The Orange Dog out. She gave him a cursory glance and ignored him. I muzzled le Ding and Nigger. Brought le Ding out on a lead. Nigger cringed a bit. Ding tried a spot of high stepping and nose shoving. A firm " Oy! " from me told him that wasn't the idea.

Fifteen minutes later, after I'd spray disinfected. Mopped ..... God Dammit! ..... Done the same again! Gentle slap and a firm word. (Nigger should, by now, be getting the idea that he Does Not piss mark each outstanding object in my kitchen!) And we all came in here.

Nigger crashed out at my feet. le Ding settled down close by. Orange Dog went for a kip on my bed. Chain Dog ....? Well; Chain Dog's a bit of a sociopath. We don't care what Chain Dog's doing. It still means she'll kill them all, let out of there and given half a chance to!

Know what? I woke up today; Nigger still fast asleep, right where my feet had been all night. Dingo Dog fast asleep in his bed, two foot away from Nigger. Orange Dog in my arms and a fucking great grin on my face!

Right now, about thirty hours later as I write? Still like an explosion in a Dog factory. Dogs strewn all over the place. And Peace!

This is why I gave up the Bull breeds. Adore them as I do; I like more than one Dog around the place ;-)

My New Dog .....

Anyone remember the film, " The Dambusters " I do. Brought up on it. Guy Gibson, the chief RAF man who was to lead the attack on the Dam in question, using Barnes Wallace's purpose designed " Bouncing Bomb " had a Black Labrador, in real life. He called it " Nigger " and so I grew up knowing the Dog to be called. " Hullo, Nigger, old boy! " is probably the one line from that film that's always stuck with me.

Of course, that was the mid fifties. Now they've been talking of doing a mega millions remake of the film. Good luck to them. Only, it seems that No Way are they calling the Dog that outrageous name. They stopped using it some years ago, actually.

"Dam Busters was made in the early 1950s and you can imagine it was probably perfectly normal in the 1950s, but no one would dream of calling a dog by that name now. What we are sensitive to is viewers being offended by it,"

Quite so, of course. Wouldn't do. 'People' might be offended. Can't use That name.

No. Call Gypsys " Dirty Stinking Gypo's " and " Thieving Fucking Pikies " ? Fair play to ye. But allow a Dog, from nearly a century ago to retain his name on film? Outrage! " No one would dream of calling a Dog by that name now. "

Fuck 'em! Here's my new Dog:

" NIGGER "

Went and got him from a Dog Pound, yesterday. He'd been picked up as a 'Stray'. No history. No name. No one came foreward to claim him. (He'd been, as it's known here, " Dropped Off ". Taken for a ride in a motor. Let out the door. Sped away from)

No one seems to criticise that sort of thing here. Sure as hell, no one raises an eyebrow when I tell them what I've called him.

" No one would dream ..... " ? Hadn't fucking figured for 'Ditch Shitter', had they?! LOL! Fuck 'em!