Rest Area 300m: The Ides Of March

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

The Ides Of March

I've got an old dog.

His hobbies are raiding rubbish bins and Ladies.

If one of the local bitches is on heat there is no power in this land that can hold him.

He will break chains, slip collars, unpick locks, or disguise himself as a postman to escape and disappear into the night.

In the years that I lived on the East Coast, all the local dogs slowly became his colour, as he did his thing for the gene pool.

He even nailed a gorgeous young labrador, being trained at great expense for a guide dog, that was locked in a cage.

He has 3 bullets in him, ... slowed him up for a little while.

In human years he is older than dirt. Me even.

I have just talked to the local dog control man. He picked him up staggering back home from a jaunt down town.

"He was no trouble, He just jumped in the back"

Well he can do a stretch in the pound for his sins, all the dog control officers are on computer courses for the introduction of the chip and the National Dog Database.

Hope the toothless old bugger freezes his arse off.

Male. Lives in New Zealand/North Island/The Road, speaks English. Eye color is blue.
This is my blogchalk:
New Zealand, North Island, The Road, English, Male.

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