Dogs, Dublin, Humour, Life

A true shaggy dog story



With passing references to women, sex, violence and Sapphic dogs  


Some context


For this to make sense, you need a bit of a context. We have Sarah, landseer variety of Newfoundland, ie black and white mixed colours with snow leopardesque spotted legs. Not as bearlike as the all black or all brown variety of Newfies, they look bigger, a bit like Chewbacca (her dad at least). Whereas she just looks like an oversized collie with a different kind of head, and without that tendency to snap at strangers.


Then we have Clea. Preza de canaria, ie a CanariesIsland guard dog, attack dog. You can tell because she scans the horizon and, if off the lead, when she spots a dog she bolts across the green to it. She then takes it by the throat, spins the other dog onto it’s back and pins it down with her very ample jaws. She looks a bit like a boxer with brindle colouring, (that means sort of brown and gold stripy lines). Just to add to the mix she is also a cross with a great dane. The male version (her nephew or something, though he naturally tries to hump her), Rocco or Ricco or something, is truly huge and would knock me over if it bounded up to me.


Clea won’t let any dog mount her. If they were foolish enough to try, well then out would come those jaws and she flip them, teeth round the throat and then see what they had to say about it all. But then for most dogs it would be like a dwarf trying to hump Grace Jones, they just wouldn’t try. Clea, being an all powerful female, likes to try and hump other dogs. Yes that is supposed to be a male trait, but in the desire for dominance and being an aggressive sort of dog, well it’s just something that she does. However there is one exception. Clea did it to Sarah, and well, Sarah learned it well, I guess she liked it. And Sarah often tries to return the favour. Only on Clea though, and from such a starting point a beautiful, sapphic relationship has built up. ‘No other dog would dare do this to my dog’. And we sort of look away or occasionally pull one of them off as the two of them either try to hump each other or move on to plain and simple 69 manoeuvres.


With the whole comment about owners looking like their dogs, well Darren is pretty solid, even though I never really noticed it until Cath said he was a big guy. Cath says I have issues with people’s height. Or rather that I am denial about the fact that most people are taller than me. Really I will say, I didn’t think that they were taller than me, even though they are usually pushing 6 foot. I guess it’s the reverse of a small man’s complex, denial plain and simple. Darren, however, Clea’s owner, is probably a big guy.

Now I know in the past I’ve suggested that he might be into things slightly shady, but at the same time, I don’t really know. Yes he does only seem to work nights, and we might seem him everyday and then not at all for a few weeks, but it doesn’t mean he’s a crim’ does it? Or rather I don’t really go there. I turned down his invitation to play his late night poker nights. Part of me was ready to go simply for the challenge and doing it because of the fear of it. But I also felt quite broke and it seemed best to leave that one for the moment.


Getting to the point


So… moving on from all these unfounded speculations… A couple of days ago there’s a knock at the door. Cath says it sounds very camp. It takes a while to answer it, it’s getting late, well bath time for the kids anyway. It’s not who we expect, but it’s Darren knocking for Sarah. Yes in this house people knock for the dog, for the 3 year old, for the boys sometimes, but never really for us. Out she goes and I struggle to take off my women’s slipper socks and put on something more macho to go outside.


Sarah is already out there, strapped to Clea’s back hips gyrating almost involuntarily, while Darren’s new dog, Grace, a little black bastard with sharp teeth is swinging off Sarah’s tail. I see a dodgy looking bloke, stubble, grey track suit top, he whistles and approach Darren. Possibly with 2 girls (kids) on bikes too, though it turns out they are just there to observe the lesbionic dogs. I stand a few meters away and let them have their privacy. Fuck knows what they are talking about and possibly better if I don’t know.


The other guy leaves and I then walk over to Darren. I chat about how Sarah has already had a walk, but as ever finds her second wind when the chance to hump Clea comes along. Well I don’t quite say the second bit. I did tell him once that I had googled about whether dogs can be lesbians and I’m not sure if he thought I was joking, or otherwise how to take that comment. Darren then turns to me, and says sorry, I wasn’t really listening to you. He appologised and said I’m just still shocked and annoyed that he just whistled at me and came over. He asked me if I knew where to buy grass.


I said nothing, while wondering myself where or who you would ask to buy grass in Dublin. It’s not something I have ever done. That’s not to say that I’ve never seen it close up, but I would never bother to go looking for it. Darren continued though, I can’t believe he asked me, man of his age, silly bastard. He used to be one of my best mates too. Haven’t spoken to him in 6 or 7 years either, and here he comes whistling at me and calling me over. I almost told him to fuck off but I’m not like that, didn’t want to make a scene.


You see the thing is, we used to be good mates. But then we were out in a club somewhere, and there was this girl that he liked. But, well, she just wasn’t into him, and well, maybe I… Anyway he threw a punch at me, punched me in the face. Well I lost it with him then. Smashed his face up good and proper. Really gave his nose a good seeing too, bashed it in. His brothers both do martial arts, well tell a lie, one of them does. Started fighting both of them too, he got his brothers involved and I battered them too. In the end his dad came along and smashed a chair over me…. He smiled distantly at that point.


Stupid bastard even called the garda and wanted them to lock me up. He laughed at it all. It all just seemed so cinematic. Stupid bastard. Haven’t spoken to him since in 6 or 7 years and he comes up to me now asking where he can buy grass. Cheek of him. I should have beaten him up some more…


From there the conversation turned to Howard Marks. He showed me a photo on his phone of him with his arm around HM. He also then turned his back to me and pulled up his jumper to get me to read the back of his tee shirt. Howard Marks Irish tour dates. All of this was before I told him that we had watched the movie the night before and that I had read Mr Nice too. Conversation then jumped to other books that he had, including ones about Irish gangsters and IRA, more Sam’s sort of thing.


Meanwhile his Canarian kill dog and my fluffy door mat had worked themselves into a foaming exhausted lather. Tongues were hanging out and they were done. Our exchange had almost reached it’s natural conclusion. We walked back towards my house. His dogs on leads, mine just heavily panting and following us. Our final topic was about the continuing after effects of his car crash. On some days he talks about the bits of metal in his leg, though today it was about how he doesn’t always hear so well due to the aftershocks of the crash. He said it made it hard for him to hear, and also that while he was in rehab there were so many other kids from the country that he was ending up talking like a country kid or bogger. I said that yes sometimes after a big hit people then start speaking fluent Italian, which I think may have nonplussed the proceedings again.


I came home laughing to myself at the thought of telling Cath about my latest encounter of the absurd. Like the guys I worked with on Utila, Joe Joe and his business partner, who said the world came to them, so too it did feel like sometimes the world comes to you wherever you are. We may all not live in mafiosio Nueve Yorke, but sometimes it feels like a bit of cinema comes my way even when I’m trying to mind my own business.





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