Monday, 1 August 2011

A Bit of Slap and Tickle

Hector, at the age of eleven, is in his autumn years now.  You might be forgiven for thinking that with age one would see a temperance of shall we say the less socially acceptable aspects of his behaviour.  Whilst I no longer have the need to rugby tackle him every time he heads for an unsuspecting visiting agility judges legs (do I really have to tell you his intentions upon getting there?!) I do have to utilise the eyes in the back of the head routine, laced heavily with a dose of telepathic foresight.  Even then, the old bugger still indulges in handing out lessons in humility and humiliation when least expected

 Summer has paid us a fleeting visit and with the heat I indulge us with the infrequent treat of a Mr Whippy soft cone ice cream from one of the mobile vans that frequent our most striking and busy beach called St Ouen.  Hector will wait patiently in line with me until our turn comes then he  will sit and demolish his cone in about two gulps, much to the amazement and amusement of those around.  I then have to try and eat mine as quickly as possible before he starts doing his river dance routine, looking quite rabid with his pendulous ribbons of drool.

There is nothing between St Ouen’s beach and the coast of the USA except the mighty Atlantic.  When in a kind mood she is beautiful and gentle.  When in a foul mood she is still beautiful but terrifying in her power.  Huge breakers roll the full length of the beach flattening anyone showing lack of respect for her in their path.  As a result, St Ouen is the main habitat of our local population of surfers.  Surfers from afar as Australia and South Africa come to ride the tempest and, how can I put this, some of the nice young men are very easy on the eye even to this old bird.  Of course I am not the only female around to admire the male totty, only the oldest and the one wearing the most clothes.  When I see the gaggle of young girls and men trying to be coolly apathetic towards the presence of each other, the saying “youth is wasted on the young” really comes to mind.  On this particular day I think Hector was of the same mind and decided show those around that this old dog still had some tricks up his collar

The ice cream van queue was rather long with people waiting their turn in little groups of gender.  To abandon my intent of acquiring an ice cream for both of us due to the length of queue would have meant I would have had to run the risk of someone calling the RSPCA whilst I dragged Hector back to the van by his back legs.  So we waited our turn.  We were tucked in behind a little pack of four teenage (I presume teenage as so hard to tell how old they actually are these days) girls.  As is the norm for attire their shorts reminded me of the big school knickers we use to hate wearing and their skirts more like the size of the belts we used to use to wear.  Standing behind and just slightly to the side of these girls was three young lads trying their hardest to keep their eyes level with the ice cream van and not the golden limbs on display in front of them.  Hector was loose on his lead besides me apparently disinterested in his surroundings and solely focused on trying to magic the ice cream van closer to him

I was just deciding whether to opt for a sprinkling of nuts instead of a flake when wham, one of the young girls in front of me turned round and with a south paw that would of put Mike Tyson flat on his back, landed one of the young men standing behind her right on the chops.  Everyone in that queue and in the surrounding car park fell silent and I admit, even though I admired the precision of the wallop, I was, for a moment worried how the recipient would react.  I mean this was a seek and destroy slap with no hint of hesitance and it made the young man take a couple of steps back and his mates jaws (along with a load of others mine included) hit the deck in surprise.  You have to admire the sense of righteousness some of these young girls have and she justified her actions by stating clearly to the poor bloke “you do that again and I will floor you” Believe me, no one was doubting her intentions if he did.  The poor bloke had now gathered his wits and jaw and was going very red shouting “what, what, I didn’t DO anything”.  For a moment there was a bit of a standoff between the two groups and my first concern was to get my Hector out of the way should things turn nasty as I didn’t want him hurt in any melee

 I then heard the fateful words “it was the dog, not the boy!”  Believe me they were not the words I wanted to hear and I feebly looked around in the hope there was someone else standing around with their dog besides me. A couple had got out of their car and desperately explained what exactly had happened and it was then that I vowed that I would never, ever let Hector out in public again.  My absolute turd of a dog had goosed the young girl.  He had stuck his nose up what passed as her skirt and of course at feeling something cold and ascending in the wrong direction, the young lady had thought the young chap behind her had chanced his luck and acted accordingly.  Hector, now realising he was the centre of attention, took this as permission to start clog dancing and talking to his admirers as only a Weimaraner can.  Luckily people started laughing and my urge to tie him to the bumper on the drive home dissolved a bit.  I mean just how many times can you apologise for your dog sticking his nose where angels dare to tread.  What puzzles me is that he is not an inappropriate sniffer.  Inappropriate poo eater, leg cocker and mounter but definitely not sniffer.  I was lucky that after copious apologies to injured parties good humour was restored, just.  He did get ushered to the front of the queue though, just to make sure no errant nose was stuck up any of the other bare limbs on offer.  He even got his ice cream free, whilst I was too busy thinking how I was going to hose him, dremel his nails and do his ears big time when I got him home as punishment

 It is a lesson learnt (yet again) on my behalf not to under estimate my dog as no matter what his age he is still obviously capable of indulging in a bit of slap and tickle J

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