Sunday, 6 March 2011

Sunday 6 March 2011

At last the wretched saga of my home improvements is at an end.  My partner and I have spent much of this weekend in restoring our house to some semblance of order.  Photographs will be posted, when all is once more as it should be.

For the time being, I sense (from those of you kind enough to comment on my previous post) a certain keenness to learn the truth behind my recent spanked bottom.  Sometimes, dear reader, it concerns me to learn that, however much care I take in producing intelligent prose for the delectation and edification of the great minds of our time (including, obviously, your good self), my most popular postings invariably involve me in getting in some manner hurt, punished, detected in mischief, or hoodwinked by an evil predator.  Perhaps my life would be easier if I simply posted a variety of clips of me falling over, banging my head on stuff, being pecked by a pheasant, etc...  But my partner says that it is good for me to post accounts of my various mishaps.  She says I should find it to be a cathartic process.  Well, I don't know about that.  AND my partner's emergency Vodka supply had been placed well and truly out of paws' reach.  Grrrowl...

That barked, however, I cannot deny you the sorry relation of my late misdemeanour. 

For several days prior to the incident I had been quietly slipping away from my partner in order to investigate a most delightful and intriguing scent.  My nasal talent told me that a recently-deceased deer was not too far away - and a big 'un at that.  On my third foray, whilst my partner was occupied in playing football with clot-headed doggy-chum Ewan, I actually found it.  Big, fresh and deliciously meaty.  On the previous two occasions I had returned to my partner's side after her calls.  Not so on THIS day.  I had a whole flank of fresh venison all to myself - and suddenly I found myself to be terribly hard-of-hearing.  I wasted no time in getting to work on my prize, ignoring the increasingly angry calls and whistles of my partner (which, of course, I could not hear). 

Hearing an approaching soft tread through the woods, I glanced up to see Ewan carefully putting his football down at the edge of a moss-covered tree trunk.  He padded over.

"Jasper, your mummy is calling for you."  he said, all wide-eye earnest innocence.  "You need to go back to her."
"My mummy is NOT calling for me." I replied, irritably.  "And the reason for that is that I am a pure-blooded Staffordshire Bull Terrier."
"Yes, but..."
"That means that my father was a Staffordshire Bull Terrier - "
"Oh, yes, but..."
"And my mother was a Staffordshire Bull Terrier.  I must therefore conclude that it is my human companion to which you refer - and she is NOT my mummy.  We are equal.  She is my partner.  And SHE can take a running jump."

Ewan could not have looked more shocked if I had suddenly struck a match and set fire to his whiskers.  I don't think he had ever brushed up against the concept of disrespect before.  I don't even think the word "disrespect" was in his vocabulary (actually, there are a vast number of words and concepts not in Ewan's vocabulary - but let us not pursue that further).

"Yes... anyway..." mumbled Ewan, recovering himself, "Your mummy is calling for you and you have to go back."
I was just about to invite Ewan, in the time-honoured fashion, to occupy himself elsewhere when I was suddenly hauled off the deer by the scruff of my neck and flinched as my bottom received a short, sharp smack.  Ewan politely averted his eyes, although I could see he was still peeping at the proceedings from the corner of one eye.
"Back to the path - now!" hissed my irate partner, "And don't you ever disobey me like that again.  You are supposed to set a GOOD example for Ewan.  I am VERY angry with you."  On and on she continued, whilst I endeavoured to look suitably contrite.  It didn't escape me that Ewan, under the guise of downloading a wee-mail, took the opportunity to help himself to a few good mouthfuls of the tasty red venison.
"Look what Ewan's doing!"  I interjected.
"Never you mind what he's doing - I'm talking to YOU!" replied my partner, crossly.  "Ewan!" she called, turning around, "Stop it; we're going back to the path.  Go and get your football!"  Ewan eagerly complied, dashing off to fetch his ball and then rejoining us as we picked our way back to the path.
"Little creep." I muttered under my breath, ignoring him as we returned through the woods.  Ewan suddenly sidled up to me.
"Jasper!" he murmured, his voice muffled by the ball he held in his mouth, "That was MEAT back there!  We should go back to eat it."
"Oh, bl**dy h*ll, well done, Lassie,"  I hissed at him.  "If only I was as quick thinking..."
"Shhh!" whispered Ewan, "I'll distract your mummy and then we can have the meat!"

This I had to see.

Ewan began dancing about like a loon, dropping the ball, and jumping madly in front of my partner.
"What on Earth...?!" she said to herself.  I began to wonder if Ewan's tactics might actually work and I slunk behind a large Yew tree, trying to evaluate the best possible method of doubling-back on my partner and returning to my feast.  Unhappily, my partner was on the watch for just such a manoeuvre and clocked me straight away.
"Pack it in - the pair of you!" she ordered.  "Both of you back to the path - now!!!"  Ewan meekly retrieved his football and trudged, shame-faced, back to the path.
"Sorry Jazz." he mumbled.
"'S'alright Ewan."  I sighed.  It wasn't his fault, after all.

It was not the spanked bottom that irked me so, nor even the fact that I was denied the succulent flesh of the deer.  Oh no.  It was the fact that Ewan had witnessed the whole.  And that was the worst of the entire piece.

Suffice it to say that I have been impeccably-behaved ever since.  That should lull my partner into a false sense of security until the next tasty deer falls to the ground,  hehehehe...

Good night.
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