Dogs are man’s best friends and worst enemies
Posted in Old blogger by Twenty Major on September 14th, 2005
I told you previously that I had a dog called Bastardface. I keep him out in the back garden at night because he’s a very big dog and most people know that if a house has a big dog in the back garden it’s a good idea to stay out of it.
Most burglars worth their salt will do a little bit of casing along with a spot of army style reconnaissance before they decide to get out their jemmy and pilfer the house they’ve been watching. Of course for each professional, well trained, swag bag carrying raider there are approximately 13.57 stupid shitheads who couldn’t burgle a home for paralysed octogenarians.
It was one of those who made the mistake of entering my back garden last night. I was just reading in the sitting room, sipping a malt, when I heard a ferocious racket outside. Imagine the noise of a T-Rex (dinosaur, not curly rocker) snarling through a loudspeaker, followed by the sound of flesh being torn away from bones, followed by a high pitched shrieking that would put Christina Aguilera to shame.
Naturally my curiosity was piqued and I looked out the back to see Bastardface savaging some little cunt in a tracksuit and a Liverpool top.
I waited a minute or so until the shrieking had become more of a gurgling and then I opened the back door.
“Bastardface, stop!” I commanded.
Bastardface looked at me like I’d told him he was about to butt-fucked by Mick Hucknall.
“Enough!” I said and despite the fact he wanted to continue eating the scuttery little fucker who had invaded his territory he came to my side. He understands English better than most Chinese bar workers here in Dublin.
We both stood and looked at the shredded football jersey and the shredded torso underneath it. It wasn’t moving much but after a while it groaned. Then it spoke.
“Urgh!” it said. “Urgh. Mister, I tink oi need a doctaw.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I think you probably do.”
“Me shouldaw horts, so it does”, he said.
“That’s because my dog has eaten rather a large portion of it. If I wasn’t so upset with you for trying to break into my house I might be thankful that you’ve saved me a handful of dog biscuits. Bastard Face here looks like a veritable blimp now. He’s as full as an egg.”
“Seriously mister, I’m fuckin’ wrecked. Yiz have to help me.”
“Well, I’m really under no obligation to help you at all, although I will admit you’re making rather a mess on the paving stones there with your incessant bleeding. Are you feeling tired? Close your eyes, sonny. If you see a bright light go towards it. Honestly, it’ll make you better.”
“Please mister, please. Call me an ambulance.”
“You’re an ambulance, you little cunt.”
He began to cry then, just slowly weeping at first, then he racked with sobs and each sob made his shoulder hurt so he went “Boo hoo, OW! Boo hoo, OW!”
It was pathetic and hilarious. I brought Bastardface inside where he slept at the bottom of my bed the whole night long. When I woke up the side-gate was open and the scumbag was gone.
In the absence of pure-bred velociraptors Bastardface is the best pet a man can have.
Anonymous says:
I trust you have arranged for the requisite shots from the Vet, just in case.
September 13th, 2005 at 9:34 pm
Will says:
Cunting idiot. He could get an infection, splaying around on the ground with open wounds and such.
September 13th, 2005 at 10:38 pm
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Bane says:
Ah, sweet memories. I happened to sneak home from work one afternoon to snipe a snack and a beer, and I got to watch a mexican sneak over my back fence and wake up my Rottweiler, all 110 pounds of her, asleep there in the shadows.
She lunged to her feet with a baying roar, like a shotgun being fired, and his pants got dark in the front, and the onliest thing that saved his life was she was spinning her wheels on the cement of the patio.
He turned to run as she hit the traction of the lawn, and it was off to the races.
The little fucker did not appear to even touch the eight foot fence he had so recently clambered over, and she hit the fence at full tilt a half a heartbeat behind him, so hard that 50 feet of strong wooden fencing rippled and rolled, and I had to pound nails back in, later.
I praised her and loved her up (just tongue) and took her in the kitchen and rewarded her with a nice steak I’d intended to burn for myself, and a chicken quarter from the last nights dinner.
That were a good dog. Lost her in the divorce, I did. Sad.
September 13th, 2005 at 11:24 pm
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jenE says:
i wish i had a dog. a big mean one.
they’re cute.
September 14th, 2005 at 12:56 am
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maca says:
Liverpool fans, tsch, a savage mauling by a dog is what they deserve.
September 14th, 2005 at 7:09 am
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fatmammycat says:
You should be careful there Twenty, I’ve heard Liverpool fans can get caught in a dog’s throat.
September 14th, 2005 at 7:33 am
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Anonymous says:
twenty major are you really a smelly ould lad like in the picture on your profile or are you
a witty young educated ‘celtic tiger cub’ who enjoys spouting shite on this blog to amuse himself while at work in the office?
September 14th, 2005 at 10:26 am
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Dealga says:
“Me shouldaw horts, so it does”
Definitely from Drogheda.
September 14th, 2005 at 10:39 am
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Anonymous says:
The real Twenty Major was a little old bollocks of a photographer who used to walk up and down O’Connell Street in the 1960’s. He’d hand out tickets after taking your picture, and there was an address on the back where you could collect your pictures (usually for a hefty fee of a fiver - a fortune in those days!) He’s long dead now, God bless the old cunt, but I remember him well though from my youth. I’d see him everyday on the way home from school after walking down O’Connell Street to get the bus home from Hawkins Street. You’d usually spot him on O’Connell bridge itself, but, sometimes he’d he up just outside Kingston’s school uniforms shop opposite Nelson’s Pillar (before the IRA blew it the fuck up.)
Oh, the days we had slaggin’ old Twenty! Every time he’d see us he’d go fuckin nuts and start roarin’ at us! This was after me and my mates had gotten him to take our picture over and over again, the stupid fuck. Ah sure he was a great crack altogether, he really was.
May God have mercy on his soul.
True story.
September 14th, 2005 at 11:55 am
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Anonymous says:
don’t believe ya - prove it!!
only messin…
September 14th, 2005 at 2:52 pm
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dickvandyke says:
My wife took our dog when she left me. She was a right slobbering bitch. I miss the dog though.
September 14th, 2005 at 8:44 pm
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Anonymous says:
Nice Site
September 15th, 2005 at 5:58 pm
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Mick in the UK says:
You missed out the bit where you kicked the little fooker in the nuts.
September 15th, 2005 at 6:54 pm
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Elisson says:
Ah, what a Ripping Yarn this was!
September 15th, 2005 at 9:44 pm
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Ina says:
You are priceless.
September 19th, 2005 at 3:09 am
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johnny says:
i ate an entire squid last night
September 30th, 2005 at 5:38 pm
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Steve Austin says:
I like yuor blog. Please check out my who let the dog out blog.
October 2nd, 2005 at 8:52 am
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