Jump to content

Log in or register to remove this advert

Tales of PGK


pgkevet
 Share

Recommended Posts

Toby Tale

 

To jog folk’s memories, Toby was the pointer cross road accident that I ended up keeping. He was definitely a dog of character although sometimes his character was very much ‘a dog of his own’ or ‘perfectly trained when it suits me’.

 

He did have a habit of wandering off if opportunity arose and was very much a dog that liked to have barking contests with possible rivals although he didn’t go as far as scrapping or fighting.

 

As I have described before he liked to be in my car and went almost everywhere with me. This short story describes the time I took him along when I went for a job interview.

 

There was an opening at the RSPCA clinic in Putney, South London. I was interested because whilst the wages were nothing remarkable, the major RSPCA hospitals do get the neglected trauma patients and, in those days before insurance, often got the complicated fracture patients where owners would not be able to afford private fees. I was always more interested in the cutting than the medicine side of my profession as a vet.

 

Like any younger lad going for a quality job interview I put on the Burton’s best, shone the shoes, had a good scrub and just the faintest hint of aftershave and made sure I would be in plenty of time with London Traffic.

 

I was more than plenty in time by a good forty minutes and a nice beckoning day invited me to take Toby for a stroll along the river.

 

I know the river well from my University Rowing days but for those that don’t then the embankment by Putney Bridge is a shallow slope for all the rowing clubs along there to boat from and then going upriver towards Hammersmith Bridge the bank rises higher and the sides are steep concrete with regular steps down to the low tide mark. The Thames is Tidal to Richmond lock , some 6 miles upstream from Putney. Just before Hammersmith Bridge another famous landmark is Harrods Depository and when the wind is blowing down river that is about the extent of the ‘aroma’ from the sewage farm up towards Kew.

 

Someone in their wisdom had decided that the smell of sewage wafting downstream would be improved by the addition of copious amounts of lavender. This turned the rich full stench of fermenting human excrement into an eye-watering haze of nauseous proportions that might have come from the Women’s Institute Great Aunt’s Whist Drive following a free dinner of dodgy seafood or perhaps a similar effect could be achieved with a captive audience in a small lift, a flatulent bulldog and an accident at Boot’s perfume counter. Either way Toby and I were getting the wrong sort of fresh air on our walk.

 

I had had Toby on the lead as we strolled along the Putney ‘hard’ and to the river pathway. Up towards Hammersmith I let him off to run about. I could see further ahead than him and it was clear of trouble, there was a fence to my left and the river to the right. He had nowhere to run away.

 

I checked my watch and turned to go back. It would have to be a brisk walk to make the interview time. The river was at half tide going out. It flows pretty fast, faster than walking pace at that stage and a barge was dropping down on the tide coming out from under Hammersmith Bridge. That was when Toby spotted the terrier aboard the barge.

 

Toby rushed to the edge and started barking. I would guess that the language he was using was none to polite; certainly canine scatology and I would speculate it not only addressed the terrier’s uncertain parentage but probably insulted on a more direct level regarding his personal freshness and fondness for canine and human intimate areas. Whatever the truth of that, those insults had the intended effect and the Terrier replied in his own coarse and common way. (I take a little artistic licence here but it was a Barge Dog).

 

Toby became incensed at the Terrier’s rebuke and started jumping up and down, pouncing towards the edge and back to add visual threats to his tirade of barked insults. In so doing he misjudged things, lunged too far and the next thing he was skidding down the concrete banking and splashed into the river some fifteen or twenty feet below.

 

Toby was panicking and scrabbling at the concrete side, as he was being washed downstream at a pretty pace. I raced to the next set of steps and plunged down them as fast as I dare but Toby was washed past me before I got to the bottom. I could see he was staring to get tired from his efforts and I had no idea how long he would be able to swim in the filthy river. Whoever had been responsible for perfuming Auntie’s excrement had obviously decided to purge the system and it wasn’t just Toby washing down the river bank.

 

I raced back up those steps and dashed downstream trying to keep right to the edge and watch Toby’s progress. He was going too fast to get any doggy grip on the steps as he went past and I wasn’t going to get to the next set in time to get down them and catch him again. So I belted ahead and skipped that set and made for the next. Once again I poured myself down the concrete steps hoping not to slip. I got to the bottom just as Toby was being washed towards me and from his look it was obvious this was the last chance.

 

There was no time for finesse or care. I squatted down and grabbed him by the collar as he came in reach and swung him upwards as hard as I could…over my head and the fifteen feet or so up onto the towpath and then sprinted up the steps to see if he was hurt.

 

As I had ripped him from the clutches of the Thames a deluge of water had arced up with him and a lot of that was now mopped up by Mr Burton as Toby and I panted on the top of the bank. Toby recovered first and gave me a huge wag and slobbery kiss and then shared his part of the Thames by shaking most of it all over me as well as some more evil solid bits of flotsam.

 

I have often wondered why I didn’t get the job at the RSPCA. Perhaps they had a better candidate that day. After all I was only thirty minutes late and I had had the good manners to take off my jacket and tie and just wear wet trousers and a shirt. Or perhaps I had been a bit too heavy with the aftershave?

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 4 weeks later...

Log in or register to remove this advert

What happened to the tales pgk ?

 

I've been a bit pre-occupied with winding up my business and trying to push through the contracts and delays on buying my new farm...still not sorted but looking like it may be about 3-4 weeks and completed... then there's the huge issue of sorting it and moving. And the even bigger issues of getting to grips with pre-winter land works...planning the orchard, growing areas will need ploughing, greenhouse bases..the usual stuff..

 

 

Poor excuses, I know. I'll buckle down and write some more. Watch this space!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Lucky

 

This would be around the mid nineties. A client brought in their poorly cat that was having trouble using it's back legs. The examinations and later the x-rays determined the cause was an airgun pellet lodged to one side and plugged into the high thoracic spine; essentially just below the base of the neck.

 

I assumed that the concussion and inflammation of this impact was responsible for the leg weakness so we went with a regime of rest and antiinflammatory drugs for a few days but there was no improvement in the cat in that time and I finally decided to try and remove the pellet.

 

It was bit fiddly and dangerous to the patient to go digging between the rib heads and prising the pellet out from it's plugged position in the vertebra but the pellet came out and whether due to that or just time and good fortune (but I'll take the credit!) the cat recovered it's back end functions.

 

The owners were delighted. Actually I was pretty chuffed too. But the owners also told the local newspaper and inevitably a reporter arrived to photograph the cat, me and the x-rays.

 

Now my opinion of journalists was unaffected by his asking me what these curving parallel white lines were and what was that large valentine object on the middle of the black bit was but I do profess to some suprise when , after I pointed out that it was the heart in the ribcage, he pulled a tape measure from his pocket.

 

I really didn't expect a journalist to know how to operate anything quite that technical and to this day I can only assume that he was a failed Estate Agent that just had to find an even less noble profession.

 

His credibility went even lower at this point by coming up with a result of 71 inches distance (but I turned the tape round for him..)

 

"Oh dear," I groaned. "Let me guess..you're going to write about how close it was to the heart?"

 

"Yes," He said, getting very excitied. "It's good journalism.. to write that 'one inch lower and the bullet would have hit the heart' is good journalism. I could even make the national dailies with this one if the pictures come out!! That cat was really lucky!"

 

I took the lens cap off for him.

 

"Hells' teeth!" I stated "You call that lucky? Half an inch higher and it would have missed the cat."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 weeks later...

A couple of Quickies.

 

I'm a bit snarled up with organising the move to be able to write any long stories but to keep this thread going:

 

Nip

 

I had a good Japanese friend some years ago and his family, mine and another used to have a weekly dinner rotation. I loved going to his place because his wife was always persuaded to do a 'steamboat'. Google that if you've never tried it!

 

One evening we turned up and were introduced to a cute rottweiler cross puppy. My Japanese friend worked as a site surveyor in London. In the interests of international relations and his unpronounceable name we called him 'Nip'.

 

Nip had been at work that day when a group of labourers drew his attention to an odd noise. On closer investigation they found the puppy abandoned in a pile of concrete pipes. Nip shared his lunch but over the afternoon no-one came to claim the pup so he decided to take it home.

 

Obviously Nip had classic oriental features but spoke perfect English. However, as he tells it, he was getting some very strange looks whilst traveling the Underground on the way home with the puppy under one arm. Half way to Morden he'd had enough, stood up, bowed formally to everyone in the carriage and spoke out loud in an affected bad accent:

 

"Attention please. Note, honorable Chinese gentleman not eat own dog!"

 

 

Bish

 

I fly RC helicopters as a hobby. One of the other regulars and friend is Paul, the Bishop of ******. Again in my easy way I just call him 'Bish'

 

One Sunday (and, yes, I wondered why he was bunking off on his only work day too) Bish and I were flying and the field was crowded with Modellers. It came towards lunchtime and Bish was one of the first to get out his sandwiches.

 

"Hey Bish, what you got in the sarnies today?" I called out.

 

"Sardines" He answers. So, naturally, I couldn't resist:

 

"Fish sandwiches? OK, lets see how good you are. Feed everyone."

Another time

 

Bish proudly showed me an ammunition box he'd bought secondhand to store his Heli batteries in. Once again I couldn't resist giving him a long lecture on how come a man of the cloth was supporting violence and warfare buy buying surplus military equipment and thereby promoting the production and distribution of more warmongering materials...and so forth.

 

Bish turned and smiled gently "Swords into plough-shares, Pete. Swords into plough-shares."

 

I gave him that one!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I had a good Japanese friend some years ago and his family, mine and another used to have a weekly dinner rotation. I loved going to his place because his wife was always persuaded to do a 'steamboat'. Google that if you've never tried it!
Ive googled it. Disappointingly its something to do with eating food.:laugh1:
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
 Share


  •  

  • Featured Adverts

About

Arbtalk.co.uk is a hub for the arboriculture industry in the UK.  
If you're just starting out and you need business, equipment, tech or training support you're in the right place.  If you've done it, made it, got a van load of oily t-shirts and have decided to give something back by sharing your knowledge or wisdom,  then you're welcome too.
If you would like to contribute to making this industry more effective and safe then welcome.
Just like a living tree, it'll always be a work in progress.
Please have a look around, sign up, share and contribute the best you have.

See you inside.

The Arbtalk Team

Follow us

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue.