TonyH Posted February 7, 2018 Report Share Posted February 7, 2018 There are are some very clever people....the way they can put words together.......enjoy We pensioned off old Blue the dogwhen old age got him downWe sent him for companyto old Grandma in the townBut while Granny was elatedBlue still craved the great out doorsand he would roam the town exploringwhile old granny did the choresSo it was this sunday morningBlue was fossicking aboutthrough the paddocks near the townshipon his normal daily scoutWhen a canine gourmet odouroverpowered his sense of smellthough his eyesight had diminishedhis old sniffer still worked wellAnd the sense of his excitement was reposed down by the creekwhere a sheep had met his makerfor the best part of a weekFor its woolly corpse was spreadingand the air was far from freshfrom this rancid flyblown carcasswith its seething greenish fleshIt was a dogs idea of heavenand old Blue, he rubbed and rolledtill he ponged just like the sheep didand with ecstasy extolledThen an idea formed within himas he gave a gentle tugand he found the carcass followedlike a matted lumpy rugHe would take it home for laterit should last a week or twoif he stored it in his kennelhe could keep his prize from viewSo he gripped the carcass firmlyproudly into town he wentbut his load proved fairly heavyand old Blues energy soon spentAnd the only shade on offerwas the building with the belland he dragged his prize towardswith its flies and feral smellThen the dog and sheep both restedin the front porch of the churchold Blue looked up the gangwayat the parson on his perchHe was revving up the faithful to repent to save their worthand said satan was the culpritfor all the rotten things on earthAnd he roared of fire and brimstoneand redemption for the throngup the aisle came satans presencein this godforsaken pongAnd they all cried “Hallelujah”and they fell as one to praybut by now old Blue was restedand he hadn’t time to stayHe proceeded up the roadwaywith the woolly corpse in towwith a shortcut through the nursing home the quickest way to goWhere the matron, in a paniccounted heads in mortal frightwith a smell like that they’d surely losta patient through the nightAnd the members at the bowls clublowered all their flags half mastdoffed their hats in silence for the funeral going pastBut old Blue lugged his prize on homewardstravelling past the bowling clubtill he took a breather underthe verandah of the pubThere old boozing Bill was restingsleeping off the night beforeto wait the sunday sessionwhen they opened up the doorWhen the stench awoke his slumberwhich was highly on the noseand he thought his pickled bodyhad begun to decomposeAnd he missed the sunday sessionwhen he ran home to his wifeto proclaim the shock announcementhe was off the booze for lifeMeanwhile Blue could see Gran’s gatewayat the far end of the streetso he started up the pavementwith his ripe and tasty treatBut there was movement in the backstreetsas the town dogs sniffed in deepthey broke chains and climbed high fencesfor a piece of Blue’s dead sheepAnd Blue felt the road vibratingfrom the stamp of canine feetas this pack of thirty mongrels came advancing up the streetBut he wasn’t into sharingso he sought a quick escapeand he spied a nearby buildingwith a door that stood agapeThrough this door he sought asylumbut his presence caused a shriekfor he’d chosen the local delithat was run by Nick the greekAnd Blue shot beneath a tablewhere the sheep and he could hidebut the dog pack was relentlessand they followed him insideNow the table Blue had chosenwas a double booked mistakewith the law enforcement sergeantsipping coffee on his breakAnd the sergeant sat bolt uprightwith a dog between his feetand his eyes began to waterfrom the dead decaying meatThen the sarge leapt up in horrorbut in his haste he slipped and fellfalling down amongst Blue’s muttonwith it’s all embracing smellAnd he lay somewhat bewilderedin the gore, flat on his backwhen the mongrel pack descendedin a frenzied dog attackWith first thought self- preservationfrom the rows of teeth he facedthe sarge fumbled for his pistolin it’s holster at his waistThere were muffled bangs and yelpingas random shots rang outand the whine of bouncing bulletsoff the brickwork all aboutAs he blasted in a panicfrom beneath the blood and gorea front window and the drink fridgewere both added to the scoreAnd the cappuccino makercopped a mortal wound and diedhissing steam, it levitatedfalling frothing on it’s sideAnd Nick the greek, the ownergrabbed a shotgun in his frightblasting into the confusionof the frantic canine fightAt short range it wasn’t prettydogs were plastered on the wallthere was laminex in splintersclouds of dog hair covered allThen the smoke detector whistledwith the gunsmoke in the airwhich set off the sprinkler systemand a siren gave a blareAnd the echoes still were ringingwhen beneath the dying heapthere emerged old Blue, still draggingat the remnants of his sheepIt’s head was gone and several legsbut it hadn’t lost it’s smellin the armistice that followedBlue decided not to dwellHe leapt the fence at Grandma’sfor his feet had sprouted wingspure adrenalin propelled himfleeing dogs and guns and thingsNow old Gran had influenzaand had lost her sense of smellwith Blues sheep in the garden that was probably just as wellAnd she looked out from her front fenceat the town in disarrayat the ambulance, police carsand the rspca as wellThen the fire brigade rushed past herflashing lights of rosy hueand she hugged the old dog tightlyhe’d protect her would old BlueYou just stay here like a good dogGrandma told him with a frown“ ‘cause you’ve no idea the troubleyou can get into in town” 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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