What Rough Beast Is This?
Ard and I are collecting money in our street for a very good cause.
We enter a yard, climb the steps to the front door and knock.
A slow, ominous, ten-testicle-deep howling, moaning bark fills the air and reverberates through our chests.
We turn around.
At the bottom of the steps, blocking the path to the front gate is a beast with the face of a gargoyle and large enough to ride into battle. Someone has obviously bred Cujo with one of the Hounds of the Baskervilles and thrown in one of those Wargs from The Hobbit just for fun.
Ard and I freeze and whisper in unison, “Oh dear god, please let someone be home.”
From the bottom of the steps, the slow, booming bark continues unbroken like a death knell.
The door stays closed.
There’s no one home.
Ard and I seriously consider the option of spending the rest of our lives on the landing. It’s very appealing but eventually we bite the bullet and decide to creep down the steps.
I volunteer to go first. Ard lets me. (The swine!)
We both edge past Cujo the devil-dog. He has serial killer eyes.
Ard talks to him the whole time in a high pitched sing-song voice as if he’s a cute dribbling toddler and not the slobbering blood-thirsty mass murderer he truly is.
“Hey there boy. How you going? Awwwww what’s the matter. It’s all right. No need to worry. We won’t hurt you. There’s a good boy. Please don’t mutilate us.”
The hound from hell lets us pass but follows close behind. I can feel his breath on my legs. He’s booming out his disapproval and making sure I’m fully aware that at any second, if he so desired, he could remove one of my limbs. Possibly more. A large section of my torso could also be up for grabs.
Ard and I make it to the gate. We open it, shuffle through and close it behind us.
And breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe out.
We are collecting for the Heart Foundation.
Which is just as well, because my own heart has taken up permanent residence in my mouth.
And I’m pretty sure it’s just stopped beating.
Wow! I’m about to collect for the Heart Foundation, so this is scary. Also, reminds me of the time when in South Hedland (the Pilbara) just after midnight I made the terrible decision to walk into the spinifex for a better look at the night sky away from the suburb’s last streetlights. In South Hedland packs of wild dogs (abandoned pets) own the spinifex. The first I knew of it was a low growl, followed by a chorus, and the sickening sense of being surrounded. I backed out slowly, back to the pavement and streetlights, where a police patrol car found me. The cops said I was very lucky. I hot-footed it straight back to the motel and locked the door!
Now that IS terrifying. I think our ‘Cujo’ might have been well past his Collector Mauling years. Still worried there might have been one last fling left in him. Great to hear from you Glyn. Hope things are going well in your neck of the woods.
Clearly, not just a dog. Ummmm. Glad you both escaped unharmed. If he had removed your head in which your heart had fled, that would have been the end to any future MGB creative genius. Oh woe for us. (Imagine it would have been pretty grim for Ard to witness too.)
It looks pretty much exactly like that photo I posted.
The secret is not to look at the dog at all. Ignore it and walk away with confidence. Easy! Wash undies when you get home. XxD
Sent from my iPhone
That’s pretty much what we tried to do. I think the only thing that saved us was that the beast was getting on a bit and had probably already killed, dismembered and eaten so many charity collectors, Mormons and door to door sales people that the novelty had gone out of it.