Today I prepare myself mentally…
…having prepared myself physically for the arduous challenge of tackling the Fish River Canyon starting this Sunday. A wild five day jaunt without a tent or a paddle.
Training has been rigorous and the regime is largely based on:
- waking up early
- forgoing (or is it forsaking) coffee-first-thing for tea-second-thing
- finding a slow fat dog to walk with
- preferably around a dam or (better yet) a puddle to “get in the mood”
- wearing a hat
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May
7
The other day I considered dog nipples.
I took the Nice Dog Lady out of quarantine, introduced her to my friends in good faith that she was ready and she decided that after dinner was the perfect time to mention that she had felt dog nipples. I’m wondering if it’s an English tradition that I’ve missed.
That being said, after the blank stares were replaced by nervous coughing and offers to make tea, I thought about some of the things that I’ve felt in my time. The list extended to the inside of an impala, a soggy bread-roll in my trouser pocket and a sheep aorta wrapped around my index finger as a kind of organic ringlet.
Pretty standard really.
There was also the snot streak from a six year Madagascan boy that flung itself in a wide arc across my forearm. That was special too. I’ve also stood barefoot in more poo than I can care to mention. Can you spell suppository? I am not proud.
So why should the thought of touching dog nipples arise a sedimentary response in different people. According to Python [1], wolf-nipple chips were a Roman delicacy. Dog-breeders alike often have to rub the milk clots out of canine-cans so that the puppies don’t choke.
You don’t have to like it but you do have to try it. At least once.
—-
[1] that bastion of historical accuracy
Mar
19
Some time back I found myself in the precarious position of baby sitting a dog.
More specifically, it was cross between a a Boerbul, a Labrador and a Vice-Grip. The result was a small breed of snorting water buffalo.She was also only 6 months old and already as high as my waist. Which is high, even for me.
Being a puppy, the dog liked to do puppy things: jump around, bark in a tinny-whiney sort of way and eat socks. Being a dog, the puppy liked to do dog things: swallow socks, partially digest them and then excrete. Being the infernal spawn of a diuretic water-buffalo that it is, the defecation tally reached 3-0 a day with extra points for swathing pools of urine (some directly in front of the sliding door and one on my foot).
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Jan
5
