Archive for the 'Around the garden' Category

Dogsitting

Grandad March 23rd, 2008

thatdog

Wouldye?  Woodya?  Wooja?  I don’t know how to spell the fecker’s name.

We’re ‘babysitting’ That Dog at the moment.

He is half a ton of brainlessness.  He is a twit, a moron, a Homer Simpson.  He is also immensely powerful.

When he is in the garden, he plays with rocks.  Our lawn is decorated with boulders.  He could outclass a JCB.  I think one of his ancestors built Newgrange or Stonehenge.

When he is indoors, he isn’t allowed rocks, so he plays with bits of paper or old leaves instead.

He’ll stand and look at a bit of paper for ages.  Eventually, he will pick it up and spit it on my lap.  I am supposed to throw an old leaf?

I got really tired of him yesterday.  I had to demolish a wall he had built in the garden. 

I sent him out to play on the road.

The inevitable happened - A racing SUV; the sound of screeching tyres; the crash.

Half an hour later, That Dog came wandering up the lane quietly chewing the side panel off a Discovery.

I went out to have a look.  He had destroyed the car.  It was covered in toothmarks and slobber.  He had chewed it completely out of shape.

I like That Dog.

But I’ll have to think of a new name.

A turd on legs

Grandad March 14th, 2008

I just had a knock on my door.

But I had better explain something first.

The builders next door apparently opened up an old septic tank yesterday.  For those of you who are not familiar with these delightful things, they are large underground tanks that contain vast quantities of human shit.  Bacteria eat the shit, and the relatively clear waste then soaks away.  The bacteria form a scum on the surface, so they are usually relatively odourless.

After taking the lid off the septic tank, the builders buggered off.

Back to the knock on the door.

There was a bloke there, and he was filthy.  Not only that, but he stank to high heaven.

"Is your dog around," he asked.

At that moment, Sandy came running around the side of the house.  She took one sniff, yelped, and ran back around to the back garden again.  I wanted to do the same.

Apparently, this bloke had just fished a dog out of the septic tank.  It had fallen in at some stage, and was creating a stink.  Literally.

They hauled it out and it ran away.

I took pity on the bloke and hosed him down.

But in the meantime, there is a dog on the loose.  And he is nothing more than a mobile human turd on legs.  He is dripping shit.

Presumably, he has run home for comfort.

So if you happen to find a very large shit licking itself on your bed, or your best couch, don’t be alarmed.

It’s your dog underneath.

Valentines orgy

Grandad February 14th, 2008

Traditionally we have a party here on February the 14th.  Our Valentines Party.

Couples come from miles around to Head Rambles Manor.

It is a day of unadulterated sex.  Couples shag their brains out in a free and easy, first come, first served orgy of copulation.

It makes quite a racket, and I’m sure the neighbours have noticed.

The party happened this day last year, and the same day the year before.

This year was different.  They came two weeks ago.  I didn’t hear them this year which is unusual.  I didn’t even see them.  I know the party was held though.

The following morning, the pond was full of frog spawn.

And the sparks flew

Grandad February 13th, 2008

Just a little update on this morning……

The electricians came, and were all cheerful.  They were only going to cut us off for four hours.

I showed them my new arms shipment that arrived this morning.

They said they’d have our power back in half an hour.

They were very nice blokes.  They never noticed the little bit of work I’d done last night.   I was chatting to one of them at one stage and he asked if I was going outside the gate.  I said I wasn’t, and he said it was just as well as there was a huge pile of poo there.  I said I knew, because it’s there every morning, and that I thought it was the postman.

I thought I had better do my civic duty though, so I picked up the poo [both piles - they were soft, sticky and very smelly], and fecked them into the neighbour’s garden.  But I was then left with a bit of paper covered in shit.  So I set fire to it, and dropped it with all the other rubbish.

The power came back, half an hour later.  I went out to thank the men.  That’s when I saw the blaze!  Flames were shooting twenty feet in the air, and my rubbish pile which I had been sentimentally collecting for the last couple of years was now blanketing the county in a thick pall of smoke.  It smelt lovely. Obviously my little piece of shit paper had set the lot off.  I don’t know what the postman ate last night but it was the most flammable poo I had ever seen.

All my lights are on now.  Two aircraft have already tried to land here, in spite of the pall of smoke.

I think I’ll dedicate today to John Gormless.

In search of Sandy’s hole

Grandad January 12th, 2008

Our Sandy has a hole and she keeps climbing through it.

I keep blocking it up but she just makes a new one.

Our Sandy is very intelligent.  She is computer literate, she reads a lot [she likes the Irish Times, and Margaret Forster], she has a wicked sense of humour and frankly would outclass Bertie or Dubya at any quiz show, even if they acted as a team.

There is one thing she is ignorant about though, and that is traffic.  She can cope with anything else, but she doesn’t understand the concept of being run over.  If the gets onto the main road, she will happily amble up the middle of it while cars miss her by inches.

I live on a lane, as you know.  If you go up the lane, you will find the house where Fizz lives.  Fizz is a little white terrier, and is Sandy’s friend.  Sandy likes to visit her friends and so she keeps getting out.

Unfortunately, if you go down the lane, you come to the main road which is full of lunatic drivers, boy racers, exploding buses and women drivers.  It is a damned dangerous place if you’re not careful.  And Sandy isn’t.  And she goes down there sometimes.

I would love to leave the gate open so Sandy could visit Fizz anytime she liked, but I can’t take the chance.  I don’t want her to end up as a long smear on the main road, because I love her.

sandy1
Not a very good photo

Our boundary is very long.  It mostly consists of hedging and trees and I like that.  I hate concrete walls.  They are too suburban for the countryside.  But hedges and trees are damned difficult to seal off against a determined dog, so I spend my time filling in gaps with bits of wire netting.

I have to go out now and re-fence a stretch in the middle of a clump of bushes, because that is where she keeps getting out now.

It’s a right pain in the hole.

Do I need bigger cock?

Grandad November 12th, 2007

I received an e-mail on Saturday night.

It wasn’t a very long mail but it got me worried.

What it said was "You know you want a bigger cock, don’t waste anymore time"

Now, I never even thought about the size of my cock.  Did size matter?  I began to fret.

The Doctor called yesterday, as we were to head up for some practice shooting up the valley. I told him about the mail.  He offered to help.

He said he didn’t think size mattered either. He asked to see it, so I showed him my cock.

"That looks like a fine specimen" he said. "I’ve seen one or two bigger ones all right, but that is definitely on the large size"

"Thank you" says I.

"Nice colour" says he.

"Thank you" says I.

He looked at it from all angles.  He looked at it from a distance and he looked at it from close up.

"If I had a cock like that, I’d be very happy" he said.  "It looks extremely healthy.  Does it do everything it’s supposed to do?"

"It does" says I.

"In that case, I wouldn’t worry" he said.

Great news.  I could stop worrying.

The cock then flew up onto the shed roof and crowed lustily.

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