rebness: (Pupulon)


So, alsatians, right? They're very, very smart dogs. I swear, the other alsatian we had, Jade, was damned clever. She could tell sarcasm in a person's voice, was very perceptive and freakishly clever. Now Jack-- well, he's a learning experience. He has single-handedly set out to disprove everything Jade ever taught me. Jack is the polar opposite of Jade. He's very gentle, constantly amazed by things ("The freezer's cold", "If I annoy the cat, she'll what now?") and though assertive outside, is somehow bested by inanimate objects in the house.

And so it is that when I returned from work this week, my mother told me that he had nearly died. I was horrified-- we have lost a dog on the road outside our house; had he been injured by the barbed wire on our neighbours' property; was he all right?

This is Jack's tale of woe. By the end, I was crying with laughter, though I look back on it now and think about how embarrassing and generally awful it would be to lose something you love so much in such a way...

I am Jack's Near-Death Experience

Jack, being the size of a small horse but with the personality of an excitable puppy, is very clumsy. Ornaments aren't safe around him. Anyway, the Alsatian is checking out the kitchen, perhaps annoying the cat, when he backs up and smacks his head on the kitchen table. He causes a (thankfully empty) roasting dish that had been placed on it while my brother was cooking to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. Jack startles, jumps up into the air and forces his head through a small gap in the back of a dining chair.

These chairs we have at the table are unwieldy and heavy, with iron legs. They're also high-backed, but Jack screams in terror and confusion and stands up, taking the heavy chair with him and crashes around the kitchen. My mother comes running to his aid, thinking something terrible has happened, that hot oil may have drenched him or something like that. My brother's desperately trying to calm him down so he'll stop smashing things in his wake and howling like a banshee.

Anyway, he charges past them and into the parlour, whereby he smashes more things for good measure. Eventually, my brother rugby-tackles him and tries to force him to stay still while they calm him down and extricate his head from the chair o' d00m. My mother starts to worry, because he's forcing his head further and further into the chair and he's actually starting to crush his windpipe in his panic. After a few minutes of Jack screaming in fear, they manage to turn the chair sideways and push his head back through.

Unfortunately, after all the chaos, he received a scolding for smashing things. My mother then tried to hug him out of concern and relief, but he glowered at her distrustfully from behind the couch, having convinced himself that it was somehow all their fault and they'd tried to do away with him, the dastards. He'd forgotten the entire ordeal within a few minutes, but I still made sure to buy him pig's ears, a huge bone and some Pedigree Chum chews when I went shopping today. I fear that I did it not out of kindness but rather in determination to give him as good a life as possible before he inevitably perishes in some completely stupid, random way. I mean, what on earth would have happened if nobody had been there to help him? I think we'd forever be puzzling over the Python-esque stupidity of the time we came home to find the house in a mess and a hulking great alsatian slain by a chair.

rebness: (Default)
Well, I'm back now, tanned, poorer, and alarmed at how quickly it's getting dark of an evening.

Forget the culture, the food, the beauty... the biggest thing about my trip to Greece was a further Phew Death Was Staring Me in the Face there moment.

It went like this: one moment I'm in the Ionian sea, messing about because of all these stupid waves... the next, I've wandered over to where these jagged and rather painful rocks are hidden, can't keep my balance, can't swim because of the rocks, and wave upon wave of water is crashing down on me and submerging me. So I'm all, "errk! Help!" and Not Waving But Drowning, whereas my travelling partner is Waving and Not Realising I'm Drowning.

Anyway, I lived, if only so I could splutter with rage at how I was drowning and all she did was wave inanely, and then spent the next hour vomiting because of all the salt water I had swallowed. Nice.

Anyway, I figure that makes it number 2 on my list of Almost The End of Becky list, which goes like this:

1. The time I caught the 'flu and that, combined with my asthma, made breathing nigh impossible, though I only called the ambulance after my lips turned blue.

2. The whole sea thing.

3. The time I rounded that grove, and my bloody bike just pitched me right into a main bloody road. Thank God for great braking.

Anyhow, that was a nice, positive post, eh?

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rebness

August 2013

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