My last Blog on that damn dog

I was taking a peaceful walk on the golf course with Obie, when suddenly..

“Hey, Boss, look” Obie crouched in attack position “there they are and we have them completely surrounded”. I watched in amazement as a small wagging white tail disappeared into the rough and made its way to its quarry.

“Guten Morgen” Window Witch smiled and waved.  “Iss niazz morgen ja?”  The Rotties strutted proud with their mistress.  “Iss beautiful, ja?” “Morning, yes it is a lovely morning”.  Out of the corner of my eye with twenty metres and closing I could see Obie’s tail in the long grass.  There was a faint rustle, and then it was gone.  I wasn’t sure what to expect next.

Suddenly blurred fury.  A white torpedo erupted from the grassy depths of the rough and Obie launched himself into the flank of one of the black beasts.  Thud.  The torpedo struck the midships and hung there.  Lord of the Golf Course had caught his aggressor and there would be a great slaughter and revenge on this day.

Caesar panicked and ran and Brutus followed.  Both terrified, not really knowing or understanding what who or where this unprovoked attack came from, in utter confusion they both bolted.

Obie blinked, shook himself and charged off after the terrified pair.  “Come here, cowards.  We have a score to settle” he coughed and squeaked.  Now a white streak of fury, he tore after them, shrieking.

The Rottweiler’s along with Window Witch disappeared over bunker and green in a mad rush.  Soon enough Obie reappeared smiling from ear to ear.  “Hey, Boss, how was that” his whole body shook with excitement.  “You and me, we make a great team”.

Silently the tree near the 17th Green watched on as the Great Rottie Rout took place.  Reputations, more with putter and ball were made and broken in the shade of that great Oak.  But nothing in that long and stoic life did the tree witness such bravery or such stupidity when the Master of the Universe laid waste the Great army of the Hun.

Obie died recently and my pillow still stinks. He surely was the saddest excuse for a mongrel I will ever know, but for one brief and magnificent moment I let an ugly runt rip my heart to shreds. On the Elysian Field Rotties are plundered and Dobies are laid waste. Obie sits on the right hand of God, and from His thrown comes a funny smell.

And thus ends my tale of Obie.

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About Tom Cottrell

Tom is a struggling author, pilgrim and citizen of Planet Earth.
Gallery | This entry was posted in The Hell Of It and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to My last Blog on that damn dog

  1. Pingback: Still more Blog about that damn dog | Tom Cottrell

  2. Pingback: Still more Blog about that damn dog | Redemption Rehabilitation Reinvention

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