" Rats "

Someone asked me, the other night, how my little mongrel 'Terrier' thing, Rats, was doing. As I assured him; She's doing fine. Here's a shot I took twenty minutes ago, just to prove it. Not much of a shot, I know. But, it's blowing wet out there, again. A most wretched and miserable day. Sort that would be seen as a harbinger of Summers end and the start of the Barren Time. Only, Summer's never began here. We've just had this since I can remember.

So, right now, Rats is on my bed, licking. Along with Orange Dog, who's doing the same. le Ding's stretched out behind this chair. Chain Dog's in her cage, fast asleep. The horses, for the record, are in the back of the cow shed, stealing hay. Magpies are in their trap ~ not comprehending what I have in store for them. Oh, don't worry; It's good. Very good.

And I'm sat here. Just checked the post. No shotgun license. No nothing, in fact. Just pissing, horrible weather and me wondering what do do with myself for the rest of the afternoon. Tell ye all a little more about Rats, I s'pose. That seems to be pretty much what I came here for.

I got Rats off a guy on THL. Smashing bloke. Turned up outside my local ~ the usual place for me meeting up with people. It simply saves the drama of them trying to find me here ~ wearing a Flek Tarn T Shirt! So, that won me over to start with! LOL!

Name was Eammon. Only, there's two Eammon's on THL. Both using handles that sound the same in ye head. I can never remember which of them this guy was. Maybe he was " EMac " and the other guy is " EammonMac "? Something like that. One of them brought my Terrier Box down for me. This one brought my Terrier.

Rats isn't actually a 'real' terrier, as it happens. Her dam was got at by a Lab or Springer, or something like that? But, as ye can see, she'd pass for a 'Lakeland / Fell' type in most peoples eyes. Eammon arranged for me to buy her off the guy who'd 'bred' her, after I'd asked for a " Useless " Dog. That is; I wanted a terrier which wouldn't lead to me digging fucking great holes to get the damn thing out of the ground. I don't Do that, as anyone who half knows me would know.

And Rats has fitted that bill admirably. I've never yet known her to show any particular interest in vanishing down any of the many badger setts round here. Even the drains don't hold much interest for her. She just likes to rush about, sniffing and dashing. all above ground though. Perfect. Thanks again, Eammon.

Is she any good? Hell, I don't know! She's simply never really had the chance to show me! Truth to tell; There's damn all around here for her to get at. And that's the truth. Since The Idiot gave up keeping his Concentration Camp of chickens, up there, there's been no rats around my ground.

The few stragglers that did turn up, I swiftly dealt with myself. Thus about the only rat Rats has ever met has been a dead one she's sniffed out. Still handy though. I don't want dead rats about the place and, if I miss one, Rats finds it for me. So she has a value.

Another of her jobs is to keep an eye on things at night. She lives outside, in her own little house - of which she's immensely and justifiably proud. It's the finest little house any Dog in Co. Leitrim has. Made it myself, with much love, care and attention to detail. Lot of people admire Rats' little house.

So, there she lives. In her little house. On her long, light chain. About as happy as a Dog can get, truth to tell. In fact, I've simply never seen Rats looking anything But full of the joys of spring. Even in this, depressing, bone chilling weather.

She'll be out there again, presently. Probably about as soon as she ~ inevitably ~ shits or pisses on my kitchen floor again. Rats is a Dog who simply Will Not be House Trained. Born outside. Lived outside. Learned concrete was a latrine. I have conrete floors. Thus she'll actually come inside to shit and piss.

And that about wraps it up for Rats, for now. Just thought I'd let ye know she's fine and happy here. And I'm happy I've got her. Most amusing little Dog.

Delivery For Mr Shitter ....?

This Is getting interesting! Get a load of this; Did I ever tell ye about how I've bought myself a shower unit and kitchen sink ensemble to absolutely fucking die for? Think I might have. Anyway. I have. Cost me a grand and a half. And that's just the two sided shower cubicle, kitchen sink, sink unit and work top. But the Shitter is a man of hidden tastes. It's well worth it.

I was told, on the day, that it'd be six weeks till delivery. So, what's that? Say 1st of June. Due mid July, I suppose? Not here yet. And, while I'm not one to fuss, I have been making enquiries. See; Some weeks ago, down at 'Deano's Bar and Grill', I reached for my phone, only to discover it was switched off. Dog must've trod on it or something?

But, that's when I found the voice mail, from the courier responsible for bringing me my goodies. Said they'd be here the Monday, could I ring them back to confirm? Well, not at 23:40 I couldn't! Though I did try. No answering machine though. Quality of their outfit shines through, eh?

Come Monday; No come my sink. I was philosophical. I was also busy. Had the builders in, making a window into a doorway for me. Might tell ye about that later on too. And so, as ye might imagine, the non confirmed, non arrival of my sink and shower sort of slid past me.

One day though I got my shit together enough to ring Home Base. I rang the number on their till receipt, as attached to my order form. Wrong number. That's to say; " Numbers beginning with those numbers have now changed to These numbers. Please dial again, subtracting that number from This number, dividing by thirteen and applying the square root of the sum to ....." Yes. Alright. You can fuck off too!

Never mind. I rang the number they gave me for their warehouse / suppliers. " Hello! Colin speaking. How may I help you? " I explained to Colin. Colin gave me a number to ring. I rang That number; " Not in Service." Great. Feeling my daily ration of exposure to brain tumour inducing mobile phones was about up for one day, I left it there.

Next day, the left side of my brain having cooled down, I rang another of their numbers. " Hello! Greg' speaking. How may I help you? "I explained to Greg'. Greg' gave me a number to ring. I told Greg' that Colin had given me that number and nothing was happening with it.

Where was I? I'm in Eire. Where Home Base is. Why? Where's my sink then? Don't know. But ring This number and they'll be able to help you. So, I rang That number and, had I not been alone here ~ indeed, had Greg' have been here? That would have been when the fight broke out!

So, leaving that one in abeyance, I got back onto trying to chase up that fucking shotgun license, with Kermit the muppet inflicted on us a our local Gard (" Yaaaaaaaaaayyyyy!!!!! ")

And this afters, as Steve was driving me back from town, I mentioned my missing sink to him. Steve's a man of many facets. Horse breeder. Taxi driver. Local 'Peoples Advocate'. He smelled a case and was onto Home Base as soon as we were parked up at my gate. Things soon became Interesting!

Lady at Home Base said; " Was it a shower surround unit? " Steve confirmmed it was. Or that was part of it. Then she dropped the blinder! " According to our records, that's been delivered and signed for ..... " Reallayyy?!? Well, Fuck ....! ".

See, Steve knows me. He knows I wouldn't be pulling his pisser about this. He sure as hell knew I hadn't been signing for any shower units, at this address. On this town land. Down this track. He also knew that there was only one other person down this ..... track ....?! He Never Would Have?!?

All at once, I'm wanting to blurt out into Steve's loud speakered phone; " The person who signed for my shower? Was he a wet lipped, stupid looking cunt who laughed at his own every fucking statement?! " . Yeppers, because there's only two of us down here. my self and The Idiot! Don't tell me that dozy cunt's gone and scribbled something on a bit of paper and took my shower?! He'd have to be Far more stupid than any of us give him credit for!

And that's where I came in here. Bummer is though, Steve rang me, even as I was writing this, to say Home Base has been back onto him. From what I can gather, they reckon the stuff's still in their warehouse. Wether they mean shower, sink, unit, the fucking lot? I don't know. But; How come 'their records showed the shower was delivered and signed for'?

What the fuck Are they playing at there? It's worse than a plot out of Soap! (And Dean O' is NOT Gay! He becomes absolutely fucking incandessent at the very suggestion. So don't make it!) Either way, it speaks volumes for Home Base, eh? I ever want to buy this sort of shit again? I'll find somewhere else.