Since formerly responsible members of my family have deemed it necessary to go on holidays for the end of the summah, certain domestic responsibilities are currently resting on my shoulders.
One such responsibility is the task of exhausting the dog. A dog is a very energetic organism, and this one in particular is an electric bastard. The dog's favourite activities are barking incessantly and digging the settee. Barking is an annoying and futile past time, and the settee is not a construction that reacts well to being dug, as it is made out of leather, rather than a more earthy substance that would lend itself slightly better to the scramblings of doggy paws. In order to foil the dog's infuriating and illogical behaviour it is necessary to completely wear him out, which I do by dragging him in a circuit of the mountain.
There's usually no-one on the mountain path, but since it was such an idyllic sunny afternoon today, there were a few others navigating the mountain. This was a slight nuisance to me, as I was scruffily dressed and needlessly self-conscious of this fact, and had chosen the mountain trail in order to pander to my isolationist tendencies. The dog is a strange mix of bullying nosiness and cowardice, eager to bark at all and sundry and then hide behind me, behaviour which is annoying and embarrassing.
During the initial ascent, there was a young lady walking her dog in front of me. I purposefully hung back, in order to ensure that my dog was far enough from hers that it wouldn't cause a palaver. This was the reason, and not, as liars would have you believe, that I was attempting to ogle rump. This was not my aim. But it did occur, due to circumstances. I was aware that it was likely that I would have to pass her at some point, because my plan was to undertake a gargantuan route, in order to fully knacker my dog, and no feeble woman would have planned such a grueling trek. As I foresaw the moment of takeover, I became self-conscious, due to my scruffy clothes, my unruly dog and a plastic clamp I had attached to my shorts that contained a bag of my dog's shit. Using my powers of recognition, I identified the woman from her hair and height, not as liars would have you believe by ogling, as someone I had known when I was but a small boy. Her parents live up the street, and I was expecting to pass some inane banalities as we briefly crossed, while secretly we would both be considering what possible relationship we might have had if we'd been better friends as kids. Or probably that would just be me, in my fevered imaginings.
She sat down on a large rock, looking out over the valley, with a look of deep philosophising on her face, I imagined from a distance. She raised a cigarette to her mouth and I was, in my squeaky-clean life-view, disgusted. I realised then that she was actually an older woman, and not the person who I thought she was. I then retrospectively realised that I had been ogling a sexy assed quadragenarian, and not, as I had believed, a youthful beauty. Moreover, this realisation changed my situation from one of being a completely acceptable virile ogler, to one of being depraved. I believe that lusting after an older woman is a gruesome perversion. That is what I 100% believe. No lie.
My dog spent the ascent strangling himself with the leash, licking pooh and drinking dirty water. I was, reasonably I believe, frustrated by this. My dog has no respect for me, despite how much bigger I am than him, and my ability to beat the shit out of him should I choose to do so. I don't know whether he finds my 100% genuine opinions on sexualising mature individuals abhorrent, but if so, his methods of expressing it are unusual and confusing. At around the half-way mark, his tiredness resulted in an improvement in his behaviour.
I realised that taking my dog for a walk has the same narrative flow as a Stewart Lee or a Richard Herring show; initial excitement followed by overwhelming annoyance, levelling out to enjoyment and ending with satisfaction and the feeling that something positive has been achieved. And in deciding to do it again (walk the dog/watch a show) the annoyance part is forgotten.
My final bullet point in the plan that started this post read: coming to terms with the cowardice/bullying/annoyingocity of my dog. At the moment he is sprawled out on the mat in a way that could, hypothetically, if I was a different sort of person, be described as 'cute'. I am aware, however, that he will wake me tomorrow with his selfish plaintive mewling. And I'll have to take him up the mountain, again, if it doesn't rain. I resent the dog, and his stupid dog face.
Pokemon raised my pet expectations (petspectations) far too high. Damn you, Satoshi Tajiri.
This is no way to restart blogging after a summah's hiatus. It is the way I have done it.
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Monday, 30 August 2010
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Exemplum: An Example From One's Own Life
My Mondays seem to be coloured by a necessity to get up ludicrously early in order to involve myself in community radio, be it to attend meetings or to actually record a show. This week then it was an earlier start again, as I/we had to be there for half 9 in order to undergo some training by an envoy from the BBC.
Luckily we decided to take our CDs and notes regardless, as the training was called off due to the person who was meant to train us becoming ill. We had reached the station almost an hour early, and so we wasted some time in a little café which was run by the world’s surliest salesperson.
The recording went ahead afterward, and was a lot more fun to do than the first, with both my radiopadre and I loosening up and embracing tangents. The downside to this turn of events is that some sections of our show might be slightly chaotic or difficult to listen to, although I’m not really sure how inaccessible our humour actually is. It is also good that we have begun our tenure in radio presenting with recordings that aren’t going out live and are able to be edited, as in one of the sections our silliness led to comments that a certain program was “gay”, which I foolishly said in whispered tones as though this was a shockingly unacceptable thing. I had intended to have this sound utterly ludicrous and have the joke collapse under the weight of its own idiocy, however it just made me sound homophobic, so I am glad that we were able to just take it out. I don’t mean this to sound as though I am saying: “oh I’m edgy with my ‘you can’t tell these anymore’ jokes”, because it wasn’t edgy, just stupid. I think its interesting that we have recorded about four hours worth of footage, which in reality is closer to two since it is packed with songs, and that is all it took before something came out wrong. Also, Dafydd almost said ‘fuck’, so we have now edited the suggestive ‘fuh’ out of the recording. Just so everyone knows it isn’t just me cocking up. And if you disagree, you are clearly a gay fuck.
I made a point of going to sleep early as my early starts look set to continue this week, as I had to drag myself out of bed today for a haircut, will have to do so again tomorrow for another pre-record (which I am looking forward to), and the rest of the week I will likely have to be up in order to practise material for an open spot I’m doing on Friday. Exciting and busy times.
I was involved in an incident as I made my way to the barber, and while I am amused in retrospect, at the time I was annoyed.
A new walkway has been constructed near to me, which came about due to the creation of the new road, which meant that it was no longer possible to nip through the industrial estate to pass into a town which has a train station. The new shiny path, or as I have now decided to call it: Path 2.0, skirts a small hill, and so provides a leisurely, and importantly a clean, stroll instead of what used to be a muddy and bog-filled dirt track. I do have a history of enmity with the path as when they were constructing the path they failed to put any signs up in the night declaring that there were foot-deep holes spaced out down the path, filled only with the potential of a lamppost. Now since there were no lampposts, and no sun or moon, I fell in one, it hurt, I got compensation, like those horrible people on the telly tell you to get and I spent it on something frivolous and silly no doubt and I’m not proud of myself and I don’t like falling down holes and hope it never happens again okay? Nowadays though, there are lampposts.
Not that I needed them since it was in the morning and sunny, so I strolled on amiably, listening to Atom and His Package and looking forward to a haircut. Of course looking at me you wouldn’t think I was having a good time, but that is neither here nor there: it is up to me when and where I practise my look of deadpan-disgruntlement. The woman who cut my hair was certainly unperturbed by my vacant gaze, though it is difficult to hold a miserable jib when I am looking directly into my own face. I begin to think “aww, smile!” and then I get incredibly angry as there is nothing that will make me grimace quicker than someone beseeching me to smile. Once again, I digress.
The actual anecdote revolves around a dog, a little mongrel that was wandering the path by itself. People often walk their dogs down the path, and so I naturally assumed it was with somebody, though I later came to discover it certainly was not. The way in which I discovered this was by looking sideways and down. The dog was keeping perfect pace with me, jogging alongside me as though he was my friend, although similarly giving off the vibe that I was his owner. This meant that when the dog later went about being a nuisance to other people walking their dogs, it was I who received suspicious glances until I, through a mix of gurning and mime, made it as clear as possible that I was in no way affiliated with the overly friendly hound. Luckily I avoided any situations of utter random hilarity, although a worry did pass through my head when the dog hung back in order to do his secondary business that an overly enthusiastic member of the police would leap out of the bushes in order to force me to remove the offending refuse. Bizarrely, the leavings were a pure cocaine white, which is most bizarre as I have absolutely no idea how white cocaine is.
The dog continued to follow me, which was becoming a serious nuisance as I was heading into town, where it would be necessary to cross quite busy roads, and even though I knew it would make a better anecdote, I didn’t really want the dog to get run over. Even though if I subsequently nursed it back to health I would most definitely have a worthy good deed for Jon Richardson, I knew it was a better deed to ensure the dog wasn’t run over in the first place. The path forks two ways at the end, one around the back of houses, the other over the new bridge, it is worth noting that I am a traditionalist and therefore always go the old way around the houses. As soon as I started on this path the dog sprang ahead down the street, and I saw my chance. I doubled back and cut across a little barrier in order to join the path across the bridge, and in so doing escape the dog. I thought myself a very canny fellow.
I only made it about halfway over the bridge though, before I realised that the dog, most likely utilising his extraordinary sense of smell if I’m any judge, was at my side again. I turned to it and said “Go away!” and it did.
Anti-climactic who?
At least it didn’t get run over (as far as I know).
On my way back, it wasn’t there…
Luckily we decided to take our CDs and notes regardless, as the training was called off due to the person who was meant to train us becoming ill. We had reached the station almost an hour early, and so we wasted some time in a little café which was run by the world’s surliest salesperson.
The recording went ahead afterward, and was a lot more fun to do than the first, with both my radiopadre and I loosening up and embracing tangents. The downside to this turn of events is that some sections of our show might be slightly chaotic or difficult to listen to, although I’m not really sure how inaccessible our humour actually is. It is also good that we have begun our tenure in radio presenting with recordings that aren’t going out live and are able to be edited, as in one of the sections our silliness led to comments that a certain program was “gay”, which I foolishly said in whispered tones as though this was a shockingly unacceptable thing. I had intended to have this sound utterly ludicrous and have the joke collapse under the weight of its own idiocy, however it just made me sound homophobic, so I am glad that we were able to just take it out. I don’t mean this to sound as though I am saying: “oh I’m edgy with my ‘you can’t tell these anymore’ jokes”, because it wasn’t edgy, just stupid. I think its interesting that we have recorded about four hours worth of footage, which in reality is closer to two since it is packed with songs, and that is all it took before something came out wrong. Also, Dafydd almost said ‘fuck’, so we have now edited the suggestive ‘fuh’ out of the recording. Just so everyone knows it isn’t just me cocking up. And if you disagree, you are clearly a gay fuck.
I made a point of going to sleep early as my early starts look set to continue this week, as I had to drag myself out of bed today for a haircut, will have to do so again tomorrow for another pre-record (which I am looking forward to), and the rest of the week I will likely have to be up in order to practise material for an open spot I’m doing on Friday. Exciting and busy times.
I was involved in an incident as I made my way to the barber, and while I am amused in retrospect, at the time I was annoyed.
A new walkway has been constructed near to me, which came about due to the creation of the new road, which meant that it was no longer possible to nip through the industrial estate to pass into a town which has a train station. The new shiny path, or as I have now decided to call it: Path 2.0, skirts a small hill, and so provides a leisurely, and importantly a clean, stroll instead of what used to be a muddy and bog-filled dirt track. I do have a history of enmity with the path as when they were constructing the path they failed to put any signs up in the night declaring that there were foot-deep holes spaced out down the path, filled only with the potential of a lamppost. Now since there were no lampposts, and no sun or moon, I fell in one, it hurt, I got compensation, like those horrible people on the telly tell you to get and I spent it on something frivolous and silly no doubt and I’m not proud of myself and I don’t like falling down holes and hope it never happens again okay? Nowadays though, there are lampposts.
Not that I needed them since it was in the morning and sunny, so I strolled on amiably, listening to Atom and His Package and looking forward to a haircut. Of course looking at me you wouldn’t think I was having a good time, but that is neither here nor there: it is up to me when and where I practise my look of deadpan-disgruntlement. The woman who cut my hair was certainly unperturbed by my vacant gaze, though it is difficult to hold a miserable jib when I am looking directly into my own face. I begin to think “aww, smile!” and then I get incredibly angry as there is nothing that will make me grimace quicker than someone beseeching me to smile. Once again, I digress.
The actual anecdote revolves around a dog, a little mongrel that was wandering the path by itself. People often walk their dogs down the path, and so I naturally assumed it was with somebody, though I later came to discover it certainly was not. The way in which I discovered this was by looking sideways and down. The dog was keeping perfect pace with me, jogging alongside me as though he was my friend, although similarly giving off the vibe that I was his owner. This meant that when the dog later went about being a nuisance to other people walking their dogs, it was I who received suspicious glances until I, through a mix of gurning and mime, made it as clear as possible that I was in no way affiliated with the overly friendly hound. Luckily I avoided any situations of utter random hilarity, although a worry did pass through my head when the dog hung back in order to do his secondary business that an overly enthusiastic member of the police would leap out of the bushes in order to force me to remove the offending refuse. Bizarrely, the leavings were a pure cocaine white, which is most bizarre as I have absolutely no idea how white cocaine is.
The dog continued to follow me, which was becoming a serious nuisance as I was heading into town, where it would be necessary to cross quite busy roads, and even though I knew it would make a better anecdote, I didn’t really want the dog to get run over. Even though if I subsequently nursed it back to health I would most definitely have a worthy good deed for Jon Richardson, I knew it was a better deed to ensure the dog wasn’t run over in the first place. The path forks two ways at the end, one around the back of houses, the other over the new bridge, it is worth noting that I am a traditionalist and therefore always go the old way around the houses. As soon as I started on this path the dog sprang ahead down the street, and I saw my chance. I doubled back and cut across a little barrier in order to join the path across the bridge, and in so doing escape the dog. I thought myself a very canny fellow.
I only made it about halfway over the bridge though, before I realised that the dog, most likely utilising his extraordinary sense of smell if I’m any judge, was at my side again. I turned to it and said “Go away!” and it did.
Anti-climactic who?
At least it didn’t get run over (as far as I know).
On my way back, it wasn’t there…
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