To recap, Kim and Stroppycow had decided to move to bigger premises and had found the house of their dreams. Guy whose hears my legs were once wrapped around half way up a step ladder provided a van and helped move my stuff out of the 2 garages it was stored in and Kim's stuff out of the studio into the house. The Boy was thrilled to find that he had for the first time in his life a bedroom and a bed to himself. At nearly just over 1 he had moved to a proper big boy bed (with one of those guard things on the side but a big boy bed nonetheless). He was even more chuffed to find out there was a railway line at the end of the garden and if you stood on the plastic climbing frame you could see them go past really well and that we were just under the flight path. In 3 words Little Boy Heaven. Because it was summer we had "Sunday Breakfast parties" where people bring sunday papers and breakfast stuff and you end up cooking loads of fry ups and pancakes and everybody just hangs around in the garden drinking gallons of tea, eating and swapping comments on the contents of the papers. Very civilised. Not sure why we stopped doing it. Anyway one evening, at about 11 - as you do - we decided it would be a great idea to go and pick blackberries along the footpath next to the railwayline to make jam for breakfast. Honest, it seemed perfectly sensible at the time. We grabbed a couple of chairs so we could pick the more out of reach berries (avoiding the lower strata seemed a good idea - something to do with avoiding Wiels disease). We judged the amount of light provided by the lamposts to be sufficient so did not take torches. The aim was to fill a couple of bowls. Enough for a pot as a trial run. All was going well, the bowls were filling up nicely and we were on our way back when we came face to face with the local yooves walking their bulldog. They are easy to picture, latest branded tracksuits and trainers, not an H or a T between them, sharp crew cuts with "stripe" motif on the sides with matching strippy shaved eyebrows and more gold on their fingers than in the Tower of London. I spotted the dog and Kim spotted the dog. Kim knows I am weary of dogs I am familiar with (excluding from my parent's late labrador but including their spaniel) and insanely terrified by dogs I don't know. I have been known to cross a busy road without even looking, runnig in panic because a dog in an enclosed garden had barked through the gate as I was passing and to grab hold of a passing stranger in another incident. Kim knew even before it happened that I would certainly just freeze or break her fingers while squeezing her had or run away so far she would have to launch a search party. Kim saved what was left of the day by doing something which was (strike as appropriate) selfless/brave/incredibly stupid/the only sensible course of action in the circumstances: she stepped in front of me to shield me from fido, its sharp teeth and its strong jaws. The yooves hurled some abuse and got annoyed that Kim failed to be impressed at their offers of underage sex and decided to launch their weapon on four legs at us. They reasoned aloud that Kim must prefer the dog since she is a bitch innit. The most incredible thing happened. The dog ran towards us and Kim stood her ground, bared her teeth and groweld a mighty growl (she must have been a grizzly bear in a previous life). Fido took one look back away and ran to its master yapping. Yoof in chief then stated that "it shows she's a right dog innit" and let us go home in relative peace. The backberry jam was yummy. The moral of the story: don't mess with Kim if you do you may find her bite to be worse than her growl and her growl can scare a bulldog away.
Encounter of the housing kind - Episode 6
4.1.04 23:55
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Lisa (5.1.04 12:51) People like those twonks really piss me off. I really hate irresponsible dog owners (don't even get me started about Princess Anne). Good for Kim! |
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(5.1.04 19:37) I don't think even Kim would walk in front of dotty and co... |
