Saturday 22 January 2011

The following blog entry contains material that some readers may find offensive.  Don't bark that I didn't warn you.  JHS.

I...

I mean, I...

I just... It's just that I can't... I cannot... begin to...

(come on, Stafford, get a hold of yourself).  Right.  I'm barkless - utterly barkless.  I mean, seriously, this time.

I have struggled with the burden of this for almost a fortnight.  Two weeks, this has been pressing upon me, and I have tortured myself about how I could account for my silence - for I am an HONEST dog.  If 'twere the mere fact that I couldn't be bothered to post an entry, I would account for myself.  But THIS?  Oh no.  Oh no, no, no.

To set the scene, then.  Fizzy was on heat. Or, as Ewan put it, it was Fizzy's "potato time" (see this entry: http://jasper-thedogsblog.blogspot.com/2008/11/monday-10-november-2008.html for an explanation).

I was snoozing 'neath my partner's desk at work when I heard the approach of the vehicle belonging to the partner of Ewan and Fizzy.

Ambling out into the yard, I greeted my friends in the time-honoured fashion.  All seemed well.  Later that day, however, Ewan did something I have never seen him do before: he dropped his stick at the height of the game.  I ran up to him.
"Are you OK?!" I yelped, almost in a panic.
"I's a bit tired, Jazz.  Bit tired I is." replied Ewan, yawning.  But he soon seemed to recover.
The next day was the same.  The day after was even worse.  I began to grow afraid for my most stupid, yet most cherished, friend.  He seemed drained; almost in a permanent state of exhaustion.  I began to fear the worst - that Ewan was succumbing to a terrible bodily sickness...

Merely twenty-four hours later, I was sniffing around the boundaries of the yard for errant weasels, when I heard a most peculiar, alien sound.  My ears suggested that it emanated from Ewan.

"Oooffff, ooffff, ooffff, ooffff..." it went.  I was instantly alarmed.  An accompanying sound from Fizzy was heard.

"Errrrrehh!  Errrrrrrrrrehhhhhh!" I heard her cry.  I raced to join her, to witness the passing of my best friend Ewan.

Oh.  Oh, dear G*d in Heaven, NO!!!!!!!

I...
I mean, I...
I just...
It's just that I can't... I cannot... begin to...

Ewan was neither dead nor dying.  In fact, he was very much alive.

He and Fizzy were - well and truly - locked into "The Tie That Binds".

I feel PHYSICALLY SICK.   If you wish to share this feeling, highlight with your mouse-left-button/cursor the space below.

Tie - This term is used to describe the swelling near the base of the dog's penis that temporarily binds the dog to the bitch during intercourse. As the swelling develops, the bitch's muscles clamp down around it to hold the organ in place. This helps insure proper delivery of semen, and though not completely necessary for producing a litter, it does increase the chance for fertilization.


Yes.  It's true.

I strode away in utter disgust, feeling the undigested remnants of my breakfast welling up within my belly.

Some time later, I was following the trail of a cheeky stoat.  I pursued the scent as far as the narrow space behind the wood-shed, where I bumped into Ewan, who looked wide-eyed and desperate.

"Shhh!" hissed Ewan, desperately, "She mustn't find me!"

Eh?

"Ewan," I barked, firmly, "WHAT is going on?"
"It's Fizzy's Potato Time!" whimpered Ewan.
"I gathered that." I replied.  "What's the problem?!  You've been 'done' - you can't make pups with her - why are you hiding?!"  I had decided against mentioning that I'd seen him and Fizzy engaged in the Deed of Darkness.

"Well, she-" began Ewan, before he saw Fizzy some distance away, looking for him. "Ohhh, cover for me Jazz!" he pleaded, before scuttling away to another hiding place.  I trotted out from behind the shed and intercepted Fizzy's approach.

"Alright Jazz?" muttered Fizzy, distractedly, looking everywhere about her.  "I thought Ewan might be over here somewhere?"
"Sorry Fizz," I replied, shaking my head, "I haven't seen him for ages.  Have you looked in the workshop?"  I felt a bit guilty for telling a lie, but I felt that I really had to defend Ewan - I'd never seen him looking quite so unsettled before, plus he'd been my friend longer than Fizzy had.  As I cautiously made my own escape, I could feel Fizzy's sharp dark eyes boring into my departing self.
"Actually,"  I heard her say in an odd tone of bark, "Jasper...?"  She caught up with me in an instant.  I eyed her nervously.  "You've always thought I was pretty, haven't you...?"

Oh poo.  I knew what it meant when ladies used that tone and I was having none of it.  Escape was my only option.  I pretended I hadn't heard her.
"Oh, is that the stoat I was chasing?!" I said, lifting up my snout and sniffing the air so violently that I almost hyperventilated.  I fled into the woods without a bark or a backwards glance.

Later, after I had summoned the courage to creep back unseen, I sought out Ewan (still hiding) and got the truth out of him.

I won't insult you by repeating him ad verbatim.  In a nutshell, then.  In normal times, Fizzy and Ewan shared a basket but when Fizzy was in season Ewan always retreated, alone, to his own basket for the duration.  One fateful day Fizzy asked Ewan if he wanted to "learn a new game".  Ever eager for fun, Ewan willingly agreed.  And that was the beginning of his present troubles.  Initially delighted with this new source of merriment, the novelty soon wore off for my ever-baffled chum when it rapidly became apparent that Fizzy had something of an addiction problem.  No matter where Ewan dragged his basket, so that he could have an untroubled night's sleep, Fizzy sought him out and smacked him around the head until he capitulated.

Before I could express my sympathy, we heard the nearby clattering of Fizzy's claws.  I shoved Ewan out of his temporary refuge, madly looking around for yet another place of concealment.  Just in time, my eyes alighted upon one of the few sites where Fizzy would not think of looking for us - and one where our scents would be conveniently masked.

Ewan and I spent the rest of the day squashed together extremely uncomfortably in the tiny space between the wall and the workplace septic-tank.  We both got the most fearful cramps, but didn't dare move or even squeak with pain, in case Fizzy found us.

"What a tangled web we weave..." I grunted, trying not to think about the pins-and-needles sensations in my paws.
"Jazz!" hissed Ewan, "Fizzy isn't a spider!"
"Oh, shut up Ewan!" I muttered irritably.  But it was too late.  Ewan had collapsed against me and fallen fast asleep.

That was NOT one of the best days of my life thus far.  Happily for Ewan, his partner is giving thought to having Fizzy spayed.

More Evolution next time!


Good night.