Maggie
06-09-2008, 09:53 AM
Before you read this, I'd just like to say a few things. The story is true, and hasn't been exaggerated in a way.
It happened a good while ago, and is supposed to be funny. It has no hidden meaning, it's just a funny episode that happened.
The Monks and Their Rottie
I remember thinking “well, it takes all sorts”. 12 Monks, 2 Nuns, and a psychopathic Rottweiller, wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, especially as I had a really bad back, and an appointment that afternoon, with an osteopath. (That would actually be THE osteopath. Living on the Isle of Sheppey certainly narrowed your choices.) Still, it was a job, and jobs took priority over everything else, especially if we ever wanted to eat again, so we set off for the Monastery.
I rang Chris, who always helped out with any dogs in for training. Although she’s terrified of big dogs that bite, but she’s fabulous company, and there’s loads she can do to help out……….bandaging and stuff like that.
The dog was only 15 months old, so I didn’t see it as a huge problem, even though it had already bitten a couple of people. I assumed they’d probably been a little too soft with him, and some discipline would sort him out. After all, we were always getting Rotties in, and they were never as bad as people liked to make out.
It took us ages to find the Monastery. It was perched far too near the cliff, at the end of a dirt lane. We, as women, were only allowed into one room, and that was pretty bleak. One wooden table, and four wooden chairs, full stop. Apparently, only one Monk was allowed to talk to us. All the others were scurrying around, desperately trying not to make eye contact, in case they were struck dead.
It seemed, that the dog, belonged equally to everyone at the Monastery, as did everything else, so the Rottie had to obey each and every Monk (not to mention the 2 Nuns). I was sat on one of the wooden chairs, thinking that I hoped the osteopath was a good one, when one of the Monks walked in with the dog. To be a little more accurate, the dog walked in with the Monk, at the end of a long lead, wearing a muzzle. The muzzle it had on was a cloth type, which stops the dog panting, and opening its mouth, but I’d brought with me, a leather type, which is a much kinder option for the dog. I asked the Monk to change the muzzle, while I ferreted around for a check chain. At this point, I hadn’t noticed Chris had slid across to the other side of the room.
The young Monk was having a little trouble swapping the muzzles, but I had found the check chain by then, so I leaned forward and spoke to the dog. The young Monk had clipped the muzzle catch closed, but it was only over one ear, and not looped through the collar. A disaster just waiting to happen, so, of course, it did.. The dog walked over to me, little stump of a tail wagging, put his front legs on my knee, sniffed me a bit, and the made his decision.
He didn’t know me, and he certainly didn’t like me. He went straight into a very real attack, which knocked me off the wooden chair, onto my back on the floor (wooden, of course. Perfect for a bad back)
At least I was in the right place for praying, and boy, was I praying. I prayed that the muzzle stayed on. I prayed that I could somehow get the check chain over what looked like the biggest dogs head I’ve ever seen. I prayed that the Monk, who had dropped the lead, would pick the dam thing up, and pull the dog off me. I prayed that if I wet myself, no one would notice. The muzzle was almost off by then. I did say a very short prayer, that Chris might help, but it was only short, and I wasn’t holding out much hope in that direction.
By a very lucky chance (or an answered prayer) I managed to get the chain over the dogs head, and slide myself into a much better position. Something I wouldn’t have thought possible that morning, given how bad a back I had. The Lord really does work in mysterious ways, but I had a feeling I was going to have to pay later though. The chain already had a strong lead of mine attached to it, and after much scrabbling around, the young Monk caught it, and pulled the dog away. I looked at Chris; she looked at the ceiling (wooden, of course)
At this point, I was shaking so badly, that I hoped they wouldn’t notice when I took the lead off the young Monk. Hell, I couldn’t even swear.
With Chris a long way behind me, I walked the dog (which had changed into a Lamb with the muzzle and the chain restricting his murderess intent) to the gate, said goodbye to the Speaking Monk (what a waste of a man, I really do have to say), and put the dog, on a short chain, in one of the cages in the van, then I climbed into the front and just sat there. Chris handed me a cigarette, which I took, with trembling hands, tried to light and failed dismally. Chris had just lit another one, and handed it to me, when the Speaking Monk popped up outside my side window, making me jump so much I dropped the cigarette, and accidentally trod on it. “How long will you be” he asked. “Forever”, I thought, but I said about an hour, lit another cigarette and I tried not to drive off the cliffs edge
“OK, what’s the Plan” Chris asked.
PLAN!!! There was no PLAN!!!
There were priorities. The first being, get back in one piece. The next, waste an hour, and get shot of the Rottie ASAP. “We’ll drive round for an hour, then go back to the Monastery, give them back their dog. We won’t charge anything, and we’ll tell them we don’t want the job” I said. “Thank God for that” Chris answered. “He seems a bit too aggressive” My mind slid back to being underneath the dog, looking at a full set of teeth.
“Bit of an understatement that” I answered, hands still trembling a bit.
We drove about along lanes and dirt tracks, until I was completely fed up, and decided to go back. I got the dog out, as Chris Knocked on the gate (Huge and wooden).
I explained at great length, why we had at least a hundred excuses for NOT training the dog. In fact I recommended it be euthanized, since it was still a puppy, and very dangerous, but that decision, would have to be made jointly, by all the Monks, not forgetting the 2 Nuns. By then, I couldn’t give a toss, all I wanted was to get to the osteopaths, so we hopped in the van, and headed home. I dropped Chris off, and walked round to the doctors.
Now, quite significantly, Matt was away, so I was having a relaxed period. A better way of explaining that would be to say, that I hadn’t shaved my legs for a week. If you’d thrown an apple at them, it would have stuck fast. I was wearing old doggy clothes, and what can only be described as string knickers. They’d reached the stage, where you could ask them for advice, they were so old. No bra. Comfort at all costs. Added to that, I’d been rolling around a (wooden) floor, and was covered in dog saliva, dust and God knows what else, none of it stylish.
The Osteopath stuck his head round the door “do come in”. I edged into the room; I was developing a very bad feeling about this. He was the dishiest guy I think I’ve ever seen in the flesh. “Just your Bra and pants please”.
Oh yeah, some chance.
“I’ve just popped in, to let you know I can’t really make this appointment, may I change it to another day, Please???”
“No problem, will tomorrow do?”
Yes, yes, yes. Any other day would do. On the way home, I brought some disposable razors and a new bra and pants.
The next day, I went to my appointment, Clean, smooth and sweet smelling………he didn’t recognise me.
Thank God.
It happened a good while ago, and is supposed to be funny. It has no hidden meaning, it's just a funny episode that happened.
The Monks and Their Rottie
I remember thinking “well, it takes all sorts”. 12 Monks, 2 Nuns, and a psychopathic Rottweiller, wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, especially as I had a really bad back, and an appointment that afternoon, with an osteopath. (That would actually be THE osteopath. Living on the Isle of Sheppey certainly narrowed your choices.) Still, it was a job, and jobs took priority over everything else, especially if we ever wanted to eat again, so we set off for the Monastery.
I rang Chris, who always helped out with any dogs in for training. Although she’s terrified of big dogs that bite, but she’s fabulous company, and there’s loads she can do to help out……….bandaging and stuff like that.
The dog was only 15 months old, so I didn’t see it as a huge problem, even though it had already bitten a couple of people. I assumed they’d probably been a little too soft with him, and some discipline would sort him out. After all, we were always getting Rotties in, and they were never as bad as people liked to make out.
It took us ages to find the Monastery. It was perched far too near the cliff, at the end of a dirt lane. We, as women, were only allowed into one room, and that was pretty bleak. One wooden table, and four wooden chairs, full stop. Apparently, only one Monk was allowed to talk to us. All the others were scurrying around, desperately trying not to make eye contact, in case they were struck dead.
It seemed, that the dog, belonged equally to everyone at the Monastery, as did everything else, so the Rottie had to obey each and every Monk (not to mention the 2 Nuns). I was sat on one of the wooden chairs, thinking that I hoped the osteopath was a good one, when one of the Monks walked in with the dog. To be a little more accurate, the dog walked in with the Monk, at the end of a long lead, wearing a muzzle. The muzzle it had on was a cloth type, which stops the dog panting, and opening its mouth, but I’d brought with me, a leather type, which is a much kinder option for the dog. I asked the Monk to change the muzzle, while I ferreted around for a check chain. At this point, I hadn’t noticed Chris had slid across to the other side of the room.
The young Monk was having a little trouble swapping the muzzles, but I had found the check chain by then, so I leaned forward and spoke to the dog. The young Monk had clipped the muzzle catch closed, but it was only over one ear, and not looped through the collar. A disaster just waiting to happen, so, of course, it did.. The dog walked over to me, little stump of a tail wagging, put his front legs on my knee, sniffed me a bit, and the made his decision.
He didn’t know me, and he certainly didn’t like me. He went straight into a very real attack, which knocked me off the wooden chair, onto my back on the floor (wooden, of course. Perfect for a bad back)
At least I was in the right place for praying, and boy, was I praying. I prayed that the muzzle stayed on. I prayed that I could somehow get the check chain over what looked like the biggest dogs head I’ve ever seen. I prayed that the Monk, who had dropped the lead, would pick the dam thing up, and pull the dog off me. I prayed that if I wet myself, no one would notice. The muzzle was almost off by then. I did say a very short prayer, that Chris might help, but it was only short, and I wasn’t holding out much hope in that direction.
By a very lucky chance (or an answered prayer) I managed to get the chain over the dogs head, and slide myself into a much better position. Something I wouldn’t have thought possible that morning, given how bad a back I had. The Lord really does work in mysterious ways, but I had a feeling I was going to have to pay later though. The chain already had a strong lead of mine attached to it, and after much scrabbling around, the young Monk caught it, and pulled the dog away. I looked at Chris; she looked at the ceiling (wooden, of course)
At this point, I was shaking so badly, that I hoped they wouldn’t notice when I took the lead off the young Monk. Hell, I couldn’t even swear.
With Chris a long way behind me, I walked the dog (which had changed into a Lamb with the muzzle and the chain restricting his murderess intent) to the gate, said goodbye to the Speaking Monk (what a waste of a man, I really do have to say), and put the dog, on a short chain, in one of the cages in the van, then I climbed into the front and just sat there. Chris handed me a cigarette, which I took, with trembling hands, tried to light and failed dismally. Chris had just lit another one, and handed it to me, when the Speaking Monk popped up outside my side window, making me jump so much I dropped the cigarette, and accidentally trod on it. “How long will you be” he asked. “Forever”, I thought, but I said about an hour, lit another cigarette and I tried not to drive off the cliffs edge
“OK, what’s the Plan” Chris asked.
PLAN!!! There was no PLAN!!!
There were priorities. The first being, get back in one piece. The next, waste an hour, and get shot of the Rottie ASAP. “We’ll drive round for an hour, then go back to the Monastery, give them back their dog. We won’t charge anything, and we’ll tell them we don’t want the job” I said. “Thank God for that” Chris answered. “He seems a bit too aggressive” My mind slid back to being underneath the dog, looking at a full set of teeth.
“Bit of an understatement that” I answered, hands still trembling a bit.
We drove about along lanes and dirt tracks, until I was completely fed up, and decided to go back. I got the dog out, as Chris Knocked on the gate (Huge and wooden).
I explained at great length, why we had at least a hundred excuses for NOT training the dog. In fact I recommended it be euthanized, since it was still a puppy, and very dangerous, but that decision, would have to be made jointly, by all the Monks, not forgetting the 2 Nuns. By then, I couldn’t give a toss, all I wanted was to get to the osteopaths, so we hopped in the van, and headed home. I dropped Chris off, and walked round to the doctors.
Now, quite significantly, Matt was away, so I was having a relaxed period. A better way of explaining that would be to say, that I hadn’t shaved my legs for a week. If you’d thrown an apple at them, it would have stuck fast. I was wearing old doggy clothes, and what can only be described as string knickers. They’d reached the stage, where you could ask them for advice, they were so old. No bra. Comfort at all costs. Added to that, I’d been rolling around a (wooden) floor, and was covered in dog saliva, dust and God knows what else, none of it stylish.
The Osteopath stuck his head round the door “do come in”. I edged into the room; I was developing a very bad feeling about this. He was the dishiest guy I think I’ve ever seen in the flesh. “Just your Bra and pants please”.
Oh yeah, some chance.
“I’ve just popped in, to let you know I can’t really make this appointment, may I change it to another day, Please???”
“No problem, will tomorrow do?”
Yes, yes, yes. Any other day would do. On the way home, I brought some disposable razors and a new bra and pants.
The next day, I went to my appointment, Clean, smooth and sweet smelling………he didn’t recognise me.
Thank God.