It is a foggy night here in Ireland as I take the mongrel, minus her stitches, for her walkies. She likes her walkies… evil grin.
Don’t worry, I am not going to do her in. I have just spent 300 euro on liposuction for her, (fatty deposits that we thought might be malignant), fed her dog food from my hand, nearly given her mouth to mouth, and dressed her in my daughter’s clothes so that she couldn’t tear asunder her stitches. She quite liked all the attention, so much so that insists on sleeping in my bed.
As we walk, and she poos to her heart’s content, the quiet rustling of the autumnal leaves (foliage) leaves us in a state of dread. Someone is following us. We turn, our hearts thumping. Holy shit, poor Ali is growling like something from the Exorcist.
JHC. We have bears and turtles in suburban Dublin.
We pause to admire this out of focus tree while we run for our lives.
Then we leg it the hell out of there.
You will be glad to hear we made it home.