Doggie style

Recently I’ve started doing a little voluntary admin for a local social enterprise, that helps support people with disabilities.   I’m hoping in doing this, good karma will come my way in the form of many fabulous shoes – or I’ll at least be able to get a decent reference.

As I only really need to work from home, yesterday was only my second time going in to see everyone, and like the last time – I didn’t really get much of an opportunity to talk about work with the boss. About 5 minutes after I arrived, so did a small, very wet, muddy & excitable escapee dog. I was one of the few people it didn’t seem to mind – probably because I’m an ‘animal person’ & totally un-phased by them – so it meant I got to spend around 20 minutes running around trying to catch the little fucker and put it in a strappy harness-lead thing, that seemed to have only been created with the sole purpose of testing my patience.  It was all a bit of a mission, single handedly navigating & fastening the straps all whilst controlling a wiggly little hyper dog, that ended in me covered in filth & slobber.

Someone else contacted the owner – and as they were a complete push over, somehow agreed for us to take the dog back to the owner. Seriously – what the fuck is that about?
So, again – it was a task for me, to take little ickey-mickey back, which took a little time, as I’m still new to the area & have no sense of direction.  I was welcomed by a elderly gentleman, that to my eye – I could only describe as a older, Orpington version of Rab C. Nesbit.
I really cant remember the entire ensemble he was modelling, as I was totally fixated on the soiled wife-beater, that was decorated with rather fetching piss-yellow stains.
He thanks me lots, but seemed much more concerned with what appeared to be chatting me up and trying to repay me with the offer of a few cans of coke, than actually paying any attention or concern to the dog.
I politely refused the offer, saying I really needed to get back to work –  and tried making my get away, but each time I did, little mickey did a runner – and of course, each time –  more running around for me, and herding him with my umbrella.
All the while, the gentleman seemed totally oblivious to this & just continued with his coke-pushing, being truly insistent that I should come inside so he could repay me with cola as thanks…

LOL No way José! I aint coming in, just to discover what those yellow stains really are, or to find out that you want to wear my skin.
I was finding it hard enough to get away whilst I was outside, I imagined once in – there would be no way out.   Perhaps letting the dog loose was a method of catching his next unsuspecting victim, I know you’re game matey! – play the fail ol’ man card, then boom! – out comes the lotion & the hose.
Nope, not happening, no siree – I know you’re game, mate! I remember those life lessons at the end of the she-ra & he-man episodes!
And what was with the fucking coke? I’ve already said no, numerous times – as a escape method, I even told the fucker that I don’t drink the stuff, but he fucking continued pushing the sugary goodness…..

So let me get this right –  It’s pissing down with rain, I have no bag –  as a way of ‘thanks’ – you want me to carry loose cans of coke that will force me to abandon the use of my umbrella & get even more drenched; Also make me fat & give me tooth decay? hmmm   Thanks, you’re ever so kind!
Obviously I didn’t voice any of that, mostly from fear of starting even more of a conversation & never escaping. Oh little mickey, how envious I was of your swiftness & ability to escape his attention.
In the end, I just slid his porch door slightly closed and did a runner, all the while he was shouting out for me inside for a cuppa or a coke.
And then I made my way back, of course my brolly decided to break – and I then only had about 15 minutes to talk work, all whilst being interrupted by the group.

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