The constant reminder of the empty stable proved depressing, but it was eventually destined to have a new occupant, albeit one somewhat smaller and much less domesticated than a pony! It so happened that, being my birthday- and a beautiful summer’s day as well – that I decided to be selfish and look after myself for a change; the dogs had already been fed and watered; the doors were wide open, so they could laze about for the rest of the day, either indoors or out. But first I would make the fruit pie I had promised myself after noticing the plump, ripe, juicy raspberries the previous evening; then I too for once would laze about for the rest of the day. I made the pastry, went to the raspberries – only to find the canes crawling with hounds, with never a raspberry left! Nor was that all, because when I returned to the house, my pastry had also vanished down sundry gullets! It was going to be one of those days, I thought, as I braced myself for the next selfish act against me, birthday or not! I was still determined to pamper myself in some way, though, so I decided to have a long relaxing soak in a bubble bath. I turned on the tap and watched the welcoming bubbles multiplying until they filled all but the last six inches of the bath. As I turned off the tap the doorbell rang, and so I reluctantly left the room which was to have been my haven for the coming hour. Once out of the bathroom I was hit by an unstoppable mass of bodies, all surging forward in their eagerness to be the first to see who was at the front gate. The caller was a good friend of long standing and our local R.S.P.C.A. inspector. He had called to see whether I could look after an eighteen month old semi wild fox which had been injured. I agreed, but first the pack would have to be rounded up and put indoors; then the fox was made comfortable on a bed of dried hay in the stable, and left to settle in. I bid my friend goodbye and on my return to the house noticed to my horror a stream of bubbling water coming down the path to greet me. I was certain that I had turned the tap off but I must have been mistaken. Naturally the dogs were in ecstasy, splashing around in the water and scooping as many bubbles as they could onto their noses. For them, it was a perfect answer to a scorching hot summer’s day. I quickly ran to turn off the tap and I noticed that it was the cold water which had been running; how could this be? Then I remembered Zeus and his dexterity at turning taps on! I was thankful that my home was a bungalow, and floored with quarry tiles throughout, because it made the mopping up operation reasonably easy. My job now was to teach Zeus to turn the tap OFF or at least pull the plug out! Waking up the following morning I convinced myself that today was going to be an improvement on yesterday, and it was – until about four thirty p.m. All the dogs were sleeping with the exception of Zeus, who was having an innocent little game playing with his favourite teddy bear. As I watched him casually toss it into the air, then catch it, I suddenly felt a surge of admiration for him. Here was this huge Irish wolfhound, nimbly playing with a tiny three inch teddy, displaying all the agility of a ballet dancer; but then he had to prove me wrong; he carelessly made a grave error of judgement and, instead of catching it, he lunged forward and, to my horror, crashed his head against the French window, shattering both sheets of double glazing! The tinkling of falling glass woke the rest of the pack, who rushed to the scene to investigate, and frantically I went into action to prevent ninety six tender paws being lacerated by the deadly splinters of glass. Looking back I suppose I could say it was one of the good days because, apart from having to order a new window, not one of them had sustained as much as a single cut from the shards. I was nervous when I woke up the next morning, as mishaps usually have a habit of coming in threes. So I watched their every move, to anticipate impending disasters, but none came. It was a relief when, in the late evening, I called them in before going to bed; at least this was one day we had managed to get through without any incidents. I did my now usual head count and my heart sank; where on earth was Zeus? My mind flashed back to the bath taps, that was disaster number one; then the window – number two; I knew instinctively that number three, whatever it was, was about to reveal itself, and sure enough it did. There, on the horizon, was the magnificent proud silhouette of a killer coming home with his ‘booty’. His head was held high, his long powerful legs were striding out, gathering momentum as he approached home – and his deadly jaws were firmly clasped around a still warm, plump, feathery but very limp body, and I felt sick and uneasy as I glanced across to the hen pens beyond our boundaries. Things would have been bad enough if he had gone into a corner and quickly devoured it, but no, that was asking too much; instead it was proudly paraded backwards and forwards in front of the pack in a most supercilious manner, as he goaded them to try and take it from him. I knew that even the afghans could not rob him of this splendid proud possession. I would have preffered to let him keep the chicken but could see that the situation could quite easily turn nasty, so sadly the bird just had to go. I managed to separate him from the others but knew that there was a long way to go before he and I could come to an agreeable conclusion. He was a far cry from the pathetic frightened dog who had arrived many months ago, and at that moment, considering what I had to do, I knew which character I preferred, and it certainly wasn’t this snarling basic animal I was confronting. An hour or so went by and it was still stalemate between us. He hadn’t as yet attempted to eat his feathery prey, in fact we hadn’t even got past the stage of glaring at each other and if I wasn’t careful I would see the situation continuing well into the night! Suddenly I had a brainwave: I remembered the pound and a half of best steak in the fridge which I was going to make into a couple of pies the following day. Was it worth forfeiting a few of my meals, I wondered? The conclusion I came to was that, providing my plan was successful, yes, I would make the sacrifice. I collected the steak from the fridge and on the way back couldn’t help but notice the many loose feathers which were lying about, so I gathered them up and, quickly sticking as many as I could onto my lump of steak, offered it to Zeus, who couldn’t believe his luck. Relinquishing his ill-gotten gains, he sniffed at my offering and hesitated, but that was his undoing, for the next second the real chicken was snatched from under his nose. I felt sorry for what I had done to him, but not for long, as I saw my pound and a half of steak disappearing down his throat. Not wanting the chicken to have sacrificed its life in vain, I gave it to the fox in its entirety, who appreciated it immensely. The next morning I checked the perimeter fence adjoining the allotment, feathers within our boundary denoting the spot where the dastardly deed – and the straying chicken – had been executed.
Posted on: Mon, 11 Nov 2013 08:09:17 +0000
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