Duke attempts the Impossible

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

I once owned (owned is probably a wrong word as no one owned this animal) a dog which latched himself onto me as I walked home late one morning. It appeared about 2 miles from the village with bared fangs and a growl in its throat. I had no real fear of animals and in the state I was in I had no fear of anything. I growled right back and kept on walking.


The dog dropped into place behind me and kept its counsel all the way home as I had a one way conversation with it. I went in home after telling the stupid eejit to feck off and thought no more of it.

I got up in the morning and spotted the dog in the barn watching me with wary eyes. He had no collar and in the light of day looked like a cross between a greyhound and a beagle. Taking pity I returned inside and rustled up something for the creature to eat and drink. Putting it beside him he looked warily at me and didn't move. I shrugged and went back inside, looking out the window the dog was tucking in.

"Big mistake, feeding the dog" says the ould lad "Now he won't go away"
"No problem" says I
"He has no collar and looks like a whipped dog" says he
"No problem" says I
"He will be" says he

That dog was with me for the next year or so and totally devoted and obedient. He would never come into the house, invited or not, and slept in the barn. He was the most obnoxious, vicious and bad tempered whore to everyone else (especially the ould lad) and people soon learned to leave him alone.

When I took him out in the fields he was like a flash of lightening when after game, catching up to, but never attacking, just seeming to like the chase. So it was a blow when the ould lad collared me in the kitchen.

"The dog's killing sheep" says he
"Feck off" says I "Who says"
"T J Hogan" says he

Well T J Hogan had land at the back of us and indeed was an honest man so I had no reason not to believe something was worrying his sheep. I went to see him.

"You sure it's my dog" says I
"Everyone has reason to know your dog" says he.

True enough, he had a bit of a reputation, never causing actual bodily harm but frightening a few natives along the way.

Bugger, that was it then, once a dog has the taste it is damn near impossible to reverse the trait. I compensated T J for his sheep and made arrangements for the dog's demise, becaue if I didn"t he surely would.

"Take him miles away and dump him" says the ever pragmatic ould lad

This however would only foist the problem onto someone else. He had to go.

Some times were sad, very sad...

[AMRN]

anyone got a tissue?

[duke3016]

A good few years ago, on a Saturday, I was having a wee refresher in Mike Slattery's bar in the village. It was a lovely small bar with a narrow entrance and a slightly wider area at the back of the bar. He built a huge bar & lounge next door later on and it didn't quite retain the character.

Anyway this French tourist arrived in and he had fairly good English, which was good, because as you can imagine our French was about as good as our Swahili. He asked for directions to O'Brien's Bridge.

First response was from the resident lush and knower or all things important who ended (and punctuated) most sentences with the word right..

"You go down the road, right, take the second left, right, then past old Tom's place, right !, turn right, right !, then on past Mrs Murphy's, right !, hang a left, right !, continue 2 miles past the old mill, right !, then second right, right !, then immediate left, right ! and the village is on your right, right. !"

The tourist was glazing over..

Second response was from old Peter Cox who had never left the village all his life unless it was to go to another bar. His directions invariably had to be via noted hostelries. 

"Don't mind him sir, go through the village, left at Minogue's bar, left again at the Blacksticks, continue on until Kelly's, turn left until you hit Jimmy Danny's bar, turn right. Go along that road until Wuthering Heights bar then turn left and it's straight on to the bridge."

The tourist was losing the will to live.

Third response was from the owner of the bar,

"If I was you son, I wouldn't start from here at all, will ye have a pint while your waiting"


Mike normally wasn't known for his wit but I think that a similar scenario was used in an advertisement for Guinness (or was it Harp) around that time and he was probably waiting for weeks for the chance to lob it into the conversation...


priceless

[duke3016]

anyone got a tissue?

The dog needed one when he heard the verdict...........

[duke3016]

One year I met a lovely woman with a passion for charity work, her enthusiasm was so infectious that when she asked me to host some pub quizzes around the county for charity, I couldn't resist. There were two notable incidents.

The first one was in Vinnie Henchy's bar in Scarriff and they were playing a motley crew from Jimmy Jacko's. I arrived at the pub armed with my trusty questions ordered a pint and asked Vinnie..

"Well Vinnie, got a good team for tonight" says I
"Team, what fecking team" says he
"You entered a team in the inter pub challenge for charity" says I
"Feck, is that what I paid for" says he.

He surveyed the pub and promptly picked four people and told them in no uncertain terms they were recruited. The opposition arrived and Jacko's had packed the team they were all teachers from the secondary school, God he was taking this serious.

The layout was that both teams sat opposite each other and were asked in turn individual questions, starting with easy ones working up to more difficult ones. I had reached the last question of the easy round for Jacko's and the contestant was the deputy head of the secondary school.

"What is a cox's orange pippin" says I

Well the arrogant eejit leant back and puffed on his pipe, pausing for maximum effect, running down the clock with a smirk on his face. At that very minute one of the spectators decided to let his passion get the better of himself.

He stepped up behind the contestant slapped him hard on the head and shouted.

"It's an apple you fecking eejit" he cried.

The fight then started in earnest and my money was on Henchy's..

priceless

[Laxie]

"Take him miles away and dump him" says the ever pragmatic ould lad

This however would only foist the problem onto someone else. He had to go.

A stray latched on to me when we first moved to Knocknagree.  I carried him to the vet for all his shots, took him in and fed him like a king.  Walked him - rain or shine (mostly rain) - 4 times a day.  Within the month Max was feeling better and he was lovely with our kids.  Keeper for sure. 

That"s when the fun started.  The fecker would take off out the door every time anyone called.  We have a pretty busy house with a good few callers.  His destination?  The field packed with cows right behind our house.  He"d run around nipping at their heels and driving the lot into a mad frenzy.

After a few phone calls, wellingtons thrown on in a hurry.  I had a mini "troop" including myself, Benny and a young lad named Michael John.  After a few rounds of falling in muck and being out run/smarted and classed by the wee feckin dog...we eventually had it down to a system.  Mostly.  Still took at least 30 minutes to catch Max, but we were getting good at it. 

One day I got a call from a neighbour.  He"d heard the farmer talking about Max in the pub.  He was planning to shoot him next time he caught him in his field...and he wasn"t joking.  In fairness, Max had never killed any of his cows.  But they weren"t well pleased to see him at the same time.  As painful as it was, I had to find Max a new home for his own safety.

Nobody would take him.  There"s a shocker.  As soon as they heard what he was at the conversation was over.  The worst was yet to come though. 

The Worst - One night we had a caller we weren"t expecting.  Max made the mad dash as usual.  But this time he didn"t bother running for the field.  He ran out to our front yard and attacked a cat belonging to our 90 year old neighbour, "Baby".  We managed to wrangle him from the cat eventually, but it was too late. 

My husband Timothy locked Max in the back shed while I went over to Baby to give her the news.  The minute she opened the door I was bawling.  I knew what was coming.  Gave her the news and she invited me in.  "My husband, God rest his soul, gave me that cat 10 years ago.  It was a good cat and always reminded me of my dear husband."  Her husband was dead with a good few years at this stage.  I was only crying before...now I"m really bawling.  "Ah well.  It could have been worse"  says she.  "At least it wasn"t one of the kids he got."  I just about managed "I"m soooo sorry" through the tears when she decided we needed to have a drink to calm me and to honour the deceased cat. 

5 large whiskeys later...she was giving me the burial instructions.  I was to carry him 1/2 mile down the road to Johnny O"Keeffe"s farm as that"s where he was born.  Bury him in the middle of the second field as the third was too close to the road and we we likely to be caught by Johnny in the first.  Great. 

The funeral - Myself and my friends, Siobhan and Claire carried the cat (as well as 5 daughters between us) to the field.  We were in my car.  How we all fit, I"ll never know.  I was tearing road initially to get the job over with until Siobhan piped up with, "DAWN!  This IS a funeral procession fer feck sake!  Slow it down!"  5 MPH...that"s as fast as she"d let me go.  We got there eventually, buried the poor cat, said a few prayers...and high tailed it out of there as fast as we could because Johnny had just fired up his tractor.

The Aftermath - Max had to go.  No doubt about it now.  But I couldn"t bring myself to put him down.  Dogs don"t like cats anyway.  It"s in all the movies so it has to be true.  He was great with the kids.  I know what I"ll do.  Carry him far into the mountains and look for a house with signs of children to drop him near.  And that"s what I did.  Wasn"t until I got home and explained to Benny where I"d left him, that I discovered I hadn"t planned very well.  It was a mountain full to the brim with sheep and the first farmer who saw him was likely to shoot first and ask questions later.  Sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  RIP Max      

     

   

[janc]

Reading this blog is really amusing and i"ve started looking forward to the next  episode on a daily basis. Well done and keep it up its refreshing after a day at work. Charlie

[MintTrav]

I don"t mean to be pushy or anything but ................... what was the feckin award for??

[duke3016]

Jeez -- imptatient or what, all will be revealed, as Des says, soon

[duke3016]

I played hurling for Bodyke and was not really very good, more of a bull in a china shop me. Now some of you heathen's may say that suits the beautiful game of hurling. That is a misguided view of what is the fastest grass game in the world and one of the most skillful.

Anyway as I was saying I usually filled in at Full Forward where I would cause the least problems and maybe fluke a couple of points. We were playing against Tubber in the league and they were known to be hard men who came down from the mountains once in a while to play a game. The rumour was they were fed raw meat before the match.

We lined up and the Full Back stood beside me.

"You're going to get it today" says He
"Eh" says I
"It's payback" says he
"FFS what the Feck for" says I (don't think I ever met the guy, I knew of him however)
"Your father broke my father's arm in a match, and we don't forget" says he

FFS the sins of our fathers visited upon their sons. First high ball my ankle got a rap, FFS this was going to be a good one. Next ball in, self preservation kicked in and I didn't even look at the ball, I was like Zorro trying to parry his flashing hurley. This would have to stop..

"This will have to stop" says I
"Only when you go off" says he

The referee was fecking useless and would only intervene if the situation merited a 999 phone call. Ok I was not going to wait for the bout of pain that would inevitably arrive, so I hatched a wee plan.

Now players of this level wore normal football shorts that had no ties only loose elastic, he leapt for an easy ball and as he rose up I grabbed his shorts and pulled then down around his ankles. When he landed, ball in hand, he went to run and fell heavily, crying in pain (he had no undergarments on and his pride and joy was exposed to the world).

The ball was cleared and this hard man stayed down whimpering in pain holding his left arm. The trainer came on and he was carted off.

When the match was over we heard that history had repeated itself and he was carted off to hospital with a suspected broken arm. I had to dodge the slings and arrows after the match but arrived home fairly intact.

The ould lad was a picture, cracking an infrequent smile, when I told him. I had blamed him of course, saying that his actions of years ago had precipitated the whole thing. This elicited the time honoured response.

"Feck off, you fecking eeijt"

priceless  

[duke3016]

Off into Chester today to watch both rugby matches with the wee man and have a few sherbets. my forecasts

France 32 - Scotland 26

Tight game with Scotland improving every match but France in Paris maybe too much


Wales 28 - England 14

Wales in Cardiff with the roof shut should shade this one

[duke3016]

Now if any of you have had the pleasure of meeting Laxie you will attest to the fact that not only has she kissed the Blarney stone she bit a big chunk off and swallowed it.

The term "Blarney" was, I think, invented by Queen Elizabeth I in the 1600's. A cute whore by the name of Cormac Mac Carthy was running with the hare and running with the hounds as he tried to keep in with the queen, in order to retain his lands, and also appease his own clan so his head wasn't taken off.

The old Mac Carthy stronghold is Blarney Castle and that is where you will find the stone today, under the battlements. They say that kissing it will reward you with the gift.

The survival technique of Cormac Mac carthy is now a customary activity. While you may not be dependent on your loquaciousness to stay alive, an ability to charm your opponents at the table my reward you... Ask Laxie        

[Laxie]

Fits of giggles whilst placing or calling a bet hardly qualifies as charming anyone.  lol

[duke3016]

Unfortunately as reads go that is impossible as you giggle when you have a hand and giggle when you have shiite.....