Burger Rings and Border Collies

6 04 2010

I witnessed something today that made my blood boil. It was a random act of physical cruelty that kicked off the day in bad style. I saw a lady beat her dog unnecessarily. Sure, no biggie in the scheme of things but the first day back at work after a long weekend means I get all punchy and shouty at even the smallest incidents. Let me sum up the situation. I’m waiting for the bus. I’m watching a young man sitting near me eat from a bag of salty snacks. Burger Rings to be exact. A lady with a nice looking Labrador dog is nearby and the dog notices that one of the snacks has fallen from the bag onto the ground. The dog, being a dog, knows that anything on the ground is fair game and decided to get its munch on. The lady, seeing her dog acting in a purely natural dog way, reacts by giving her dog a belting and saying “No!! Bad dog!” in a loud shrill voice.

This made me angry and, to be honest,  also a bit hungry. I’ve refrained from eating salty snacks as part of a new health regime and the sight of a bag of Burger Rings made me salivate. I sure love Burger Rings. They are like the retarded cousin of Cheezels and taste like no burger I have ever eaten but I used to love munching down on a packet or two every now and then. As a child I wasn’t allowed to eat bags of mass produced salty treats. When I was hungry I was either given a Granny Smith apple, which was either floury or horrifically sour, or told a story about how tough things were in the past and how much we take food for granted these days. I didn’t mind the stories but they did nothing to quell my hunger. I would have much preferred a packet of Twisties or the like.

The first time I ate Burger Rings I went a little silly. I was given a packet at a friend’s birthday party and I snuck away and crawled into a small recess under the house to eat them in private. I gorged myself, scoffing delicious ring after delicious ring pausing only to wipe my mouth with my hand and to growl at other children who were searching for me. Perhaps it was the feeling of them exploding on my tongue or the knowledge that I was eating something forbidden that made me act this way. I have since worked out that I behave like this when I have overindulged in MSG (flavour enhancer 621). I found this out after a nasty incident at our local Chinese restaurant. Who would have thought eight MSG-laden main courses, fourteen beers and a Karaoke machine would have resulted in a short police chase and a somewhat embarrassing court case, but I digress. Let’s get off the topic of tasty snacks and onto the issue that raised my ire this morning.

My one real vice.

Dogs are omnivorous and are known for their scavenging behaviour. Dogs are also intelligent animals and respond accordingly to our tone of voice and/or body language. They do not need to be physically assaulted. There is only one occasion when giving a dog a good flogging is actually needed and that is when your life is in danger caused directly by a dog. I have been in one of these situations and what I am about to tell you is a true story. So true that I have the scars to prove it.

It was a humid Friday afternoon. I had raced home from work because my partner and I had a rather important work function to go to. It was important because there was an open bar and I wanted to drink around seventeen gin and tonics before the CEO decided to cut everyone off. This usually happens around 7:30pm because I work with a bunch of drunken reprobates who don’t know how to pace themselves. I hurtled up the driveway, threw my briefcase onto the lounge and proceeded to remove my clothes. Time was of an essence here. My partner, sensing my urgency, started getting some nice clothes out and she had already ironed my jeans. How I love this woman.

At this point in the story I would like to introduce my dog. I like agile dogs. I like a dog I can wrestle with. I don’t want to engage in some rough horseplay only to find that I have crushed our household companion to death in a re-enactment of a martial arts technique I had once seen in an action movie. With this in mind we had recently purchased a border collie puppy. She was 10 weeks old and her name was Maggie. Maggie is now 4 years old and is quite easily the best dog in the world but for a short period of her life I was extremely wary of Maggie and this story is why.

Let’s recap. There I am. I am naked in the bedroom. I’m getting shoes out and my underwear ready and I am about to have a shower. You simply cannot drink gin and tonic while smelling like a hobo’s armpit. I was running around my room playing that fun game that dog owners everywhere know called “try not to step on the dog”. My juvenile dog thought this was a pretty fucking ace game.

It was at this moment that Maggie looked up and saw something she hadn’t seen before. A scrotum. A dangling scrotum. My scrotum. Now I’m not terrifically endowed in the ball-sack region but it was a warm day and my boys were hanging a tad lower than usual. Maggie looked up, defied gravity with a huge vertical leap and with cat-like agility latched onto my scrotum. Time slowed at this point. I vividly recall exactly what happened next. I shall recount in point form:

  • I felt pain. Extreme pain.
  • I looked down and noticed I had what appeared to be a very cheerful black and white ball of fluff hanging from my scrotum.
  • The black and white ball of fluff dangling from my scrotum growled happily and shook her head from side to side.
  • The black and white ball of fluff, being only 10weeks old, had a full set of milk teeth which are less like adult dog teeth and more like that of a fully grown mako shark.
  • I punched the black and white thing in the side of the head in a reflex action only to realise very shortly afterwards that I had also managed to smash the crap out of my penis with my closed fist.
  • I fall down in a screaming, howling mess with both hands firmly clenched around my man-bits.

It was painful, to say the least, but I dare say my screams were less about the pain and more about the fact that I had just witnessed a small animal chew on my softest and most tender part of my body. I screamed like a banshee. Imagine the screams if a bus was carrying the Vienna Boys Choir through the French Alps and it had started to careen off the edge of a cliff and the boys all knew they would be falling to their death? My screams would be like that, but with less vibrato. Amazingly, my voice went up an octave when I inspected the damage and saw blood. Not a lot of blood but let’s be honest here, when you see any blood coming from your genitals you can be forgiven if you overreact a bit.

I crawled into the shower, my trembling hands grasping my mauled sack with thoughts of castration on my mind. My voice then went off the  musical scale when I turned the water on and let it wash over the wound. Did it sting? Oh yes, it sure did. It stung like a motherfucker. I looked down amid the tears and the steaming water to inspect the damage. A small tear was visible in my scrotum. Not a huge tear, but again any tear in your genitals isn’t something you just ignore. Funnily enough, after the stinging pain from the water-dousing had subsided I felt only a little discomfort. I have since found that scrotums are wonderful things and can take a lot of damage. I gingerly dabbed some disinfectant (cue more screaming and sobbing) on my wound and finished getting dressed.

I ended up going to my work function and actually used this experience to ‘hold the floor’ for a good while. I strolled (albeit gingerly) around the function room retelling this story to the amazement and laughter of my work colleagues. As well as garnering plenty of laughs it also created a great distraction during which my partner basically stripped the bar bare of all gin-related products and anything with the word ‘tonic’ written on it. Well played, my dear.

As far as I know, the poor dog who got belted for eating a tasty snack wasn’t putting anyone’s life in danger nor did it have a mouthful of genitals. Therefore, I think we can all agree that the owner’s actions were unwarranted. Sure, I have since found out that the dog is in fact a ‘helper dog’ and it is also ‘borderline diabetic’ but still, there was no need for the smack. If she’d been able to discipline her dog properly I would have been able to have that tasty Burger Ring all for myself. Finders keepers and so forth.

Don't let the cuteness fool you. She has one thing on her mind. Scrotums.




5 responses

6 04 2010

You know, that wasn’t half bad. Good work.

6 04 2010

You omitted the part where you rubbed burger rings on your sack.

7 04 2010

I seem to remember you were actually trying to train maggie in the fine art of canine rimjobs when this all went horribly wrong…

7 04 2010

Train? My good sir, dogs don’t need to be trained to lick arse. It comes naturally to them. Like scratching your nuts in public and then sniffing your fingers comes naturally to you. Unnerstan?

2 05 2014

People should wear what they want,rather than blindly follow others.
bloger http://intern.charlottenlund.innerwheel.dk/ckeditor/jeifrya.asp

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