The shaggy dog stories 2
December 20th 2010 05:26
Oh no, here we go again.
When they finally got planning permission and built the Milky Way Shaggy Dog Raconteur Hall of Fame (on a small planet near the Dog Star), the first Legend inducted into the hall was Earth resident and Zoomies contributing writer Jennie Alcorn. “Alcorn has the biggest collection of shaggy dog stories this side of Canis Major,” said the Hall’s managing director, Shaaag Piiile.
It is with great pleasure that we announce that Jennie Alcorn has agreed to adapt some of her shaggy dog stories to a Zoomies theme and present them to readers.
. . . o O o . . .
Did you hear about the man at the bus stop who had three heads, no arms and one leg? Bus pulled up and the driver said, 'Hello, hello, hello. You look 'armless. Hop on.'
By JENNIE ALCORN
As readers of Zoomies will know, Chris is devoted to Greyhounds. He loves his own Scratchy and Daisy and through his blog is a great ambassador for our wonderful hounds.
You may be surprised to learn that this was not always the case, that there was a time when Chris was a passionate showman, caring for dogs only if they were of show quality and always trying to find the perfect dog to gain the top show awards. How his attitude to dogs changed is quite a story.
The story starts on the day Chris found the dog of his dreams tucked away in a small, heavily barred and locked cage in an evil-smelling back-street pet shop somewhere in Hong Kong. There it was, the large monkey faced head on the tiny body, the short, smooth, deep-red coat, the heavy, slightly curled tail. Chris gazed in wonder at the grumpy faced little dog. Chris looked at that smooth coat, and was convinced he was looking at a genuine petit brabancon, also known as a griffon bruxellois, and a magnificent one at that. They were as rare as hen’s teeth and he had to have it. Although he was a little surprised at the eagerness the shopkeeper displayed at the sale and the low price that was asked, he was far too excited by his discovery to ask any questions. He was absolutely sure he had a great bargain on his hands.
The trouble started the moment Chris went to put the dog on to the back seat of his car. Standing its ground, the dog glared at him and to his astonishment began to talk. It didn’t just talk, it abused him roundly. “I’m a genuine petit brabancon I am, probably the only one in Hong Kong, and I’m a show champion too! I’m rare and special and you want to stick me on the back seat of your smelly old car! I’m not sitting back there!” The dog strutted to the front passenger door and barked, “Open up!” Too shocked to protest, Chris did so, and the dog hopped up and made itself comfortable. “Now drive on.”
Shaken and concerned Chris got in and drove away. He could see that life with a bossy, grumpy little dog might not be easy, and perhaps the shopkeeper’s eagerness to sell it was justified.
Worse was to come. As they drove through the suburbs, the dog began to do a poor imitation of a stand-up comedy routine complete with bad puns. Chris’s concern increased as the miles rolled by. He knew there was going to be trouble – he had a fine sense of humour but at that time he did not like puns, particularly not bad puns, and some of these were very, very bad puns. He thought that perhaps he had not got such a great bargain after all, but it was a petit brabancon and a show stopper at that; surely it would quieten down once it was established in his very comfortable home?
It was not to be. Nothing satisfied this dog. Nothing in the house was good enough and it complained constantly. It followed Chris around the yard and the house. And whatever he did there was a bad pun to match. Putting on his boots: “Hey, he’s turned into a computer, booted up and ready to go.” Mowing the lawn: “Why don’t you water it with beer, then it’d come up half cut.” Sitting down to a lunch of stir fry with mung beans: “He’s on the way out, a real has bean”. Nothing would make it stop. Pleading and threats fell on deaf ears. Arrogant in the knowledge of its value as a rarity, the dog continued to abuse him at every opportunity.
Eventually the inevitable happened and, rare show dog or not, Chris had had enough. The dog had to go. Prepared to give it just one last chance, Chris grabbed the dog and bound it up so that it couldn’t escape. The dog, of course, objected loudly. “What are you doing? You can’t hurt me, I’m a real rarity remember, I’m valuable, I’m the golden egg the goose laid – hey, put me down, put me down!” Chris ignored it, threw it into the back of the car and drove to the mountains. He loaded the little dog into a back pack and set out on the difficult, 40-minute climb up the Jacob’s ladder of Au Mun. At the top he lifted the dog out and surveyed the sheer drop over the side.
“Now listen to me, petit brabancon,” Chris said, “I’ve had enough. You might be the rarest dog in the world but nothing is worth the trouble you cause. You’ve got a choice, either you promise to behave like a proper dog and stop criticising me and making those awful puns, or I throw you, bound up like this, over this cliff. I’m not living with you as you are!”
The little dog’s tail drooped, and its gums went pale. “You don’t really mean that do you? Not for a dog as rare as me? How about I cut it down to a couple of puns a day?”
Chris stayed firm. “No. No puns or no life. No compromises.”
Sadly the dog agreed that there would be no more puns, and Chris began to unbind it. “Thanks buddy,” it woofed, “that's a relief. It was going to be a long way to tip-a-rarey.”
The little dog has not been seen since.
You wouldn't tip me over the cliff. I'm too rare. I dare you. I challenge y ... aaaaarrrrggghhh.
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