Rugby Conversion Going Very Wrong

A walk in the park

I was walking through a park. A shortcut to the nearest pub- when suddenly, I stood in some freshly steaming dog shite.

I desperately tried to wipe the gunge on the grass – as I frantically shoved my foot backwards and forwards – lo and behold.

This man- is walking his dog through the park and the thing gives the warning signs.

Tail up. Back arched, hunched haunches, grinning teeth = it wants to shit.

The owner looks blank around. The dog is doing its preparatory shuffle.

Well. That was that. I lost the plot. Hello- this is a first world country, not Pakistan or Afghanistan, where everyone shits where they like.

I still had a bit of dog poo on my shoe and knew I could get rid of it by –

What breed was the dog and what it look like. Describe. Well sort of medium size and I don’t think the bitch was too fussed with what impregnated her = mongrel. Short hair, brown colour…

Anyway – the thing is about to start. On the footpath.

I looked into the trees. Such nice trees. A hint of spring. Two trees. Arms expanded, just touching, like almost a touch bar on a rugby pitch. (Er..cross bar.)

My mind recalled when at 14, Mount Pleasant High against Ellis Robbins in under 15, 6^th  quality rugby players – we were 0.0. Awarded a penalty with 24 seconds to go.

It took 20 seconds to arrange for a tin of muck to arrive to pop the ball on. A ritual.

The crowds going mad – all one of them.

I looked at the cross bar. I looked at the ball and gave it a serious hoof.

All the ball did was roll stupidly on the grass for 10 metres and everyone laughed…

But as I looked at this dog- I KNEW that this time I would not fail.

Perfect. I needed a scream. Like a sort of war cry. So I shouted out –

‘Kum by my way ekse.’

And – fuck, I tell ya, I gave that dog a mighty kick up its arse, reversing it effort that the poop popped out of its stopped grinning mouth and.. YES. It was going to go over the cross bar …until. A mistake. My plan unravelled.

Not really a plan. Let us look at the facts. I stand in dog shit. Dog comes along and wants a shit and I kick it up the arse. (So, I say in my defence in court as I am accused of murder. Well…man slaughter.)

Why?

Well the stupid, fucking dog was tethered to its owner. Sort of collar and lead syndrome.

Well, as the dog sails away – heading for the crossbars, the leash wraps around the bloke’s neck, and breaks his fucking neck – the dog is brought up with a jerk and breaks ITS fucking neck and now I up to my neck in shit. My own.

The dog is dead. The owner is dead. I still have dog poo on my shoe and sitting in prison.

There is no justice in this world.