RuKsaK

In Bridlington I got my back fucked by a dog once.

I was wearing a green snorkel jacket and this Alsatian took a run up – I’ve always looked good from a distance, from behind. Anyway, the randy brute leapt on me, fronts paws on my shoulders, tongue penduluming, dripping sex-crazed saliva, and shagged my back. Heaved up and down a few swift waggles and left a clotted deposit down my clothes.

I was ten-years-old and didn’t know what it was at that time.

Reflecting a couple of years later, I realised and was pissed off about it, rather than confused, finally.
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Doggy was staying with me in St.Petersburg many years later. In the night, I’d been coughing and honking up all kinds of rubbish. Sick of going to the bog to purge my system of it, I flung it off the end of my tongue into an emptied glass of water.

In the morning, early as always, I left it next to the kitchen sink, saying:
‘Later.’

When Big Dog sat down next to me on the sofa, he said:
‘What you watching?’
‘I dunno – some Sunday morning shit.’
‘Aww! Fuck! What’s this in my water?’
‘Oh shit! I dunno. It look like Shrek’s lava lamp man.’
‘Fuck me! I’m not drinking that.’
‘No, just sling it. Get a clean glass.’

I didn’t tell him until months later that it was my belly-heaved, veiny strings of mucus. At the time I reminisced about the dog that had raped my jacket all those years before. I felt like I’d got redemption – Karma had been served. I got the Dog back.

In fairness, it wasn’t the same dog, country, or even species, but I couldn’t be picky. The Alsatian twenty years previous hadn’t been.
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So, on that day I learned holistic, Buddhist revenge is much easier than the direct Sicilian type. Much less hassle and easier to spread.

Thanks to the Dog for putting my snorkel jacket to peace.

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Getting the Dog back