In Which I Take the Goldfish to Task

I go out the front to get something from the car when  a voice pipes up from the fishpond.

Hey! Where are the f*&*ing fish flakes?

It’s Goldie in her usual peremptory tone.

Mind the language, I say.

You taught us to alliterate, she snaps. You gotta love the ‘lit, you said.

I know, I say.

I got three ‘f”s out of that, she says.

You did well. It was just a little inappropriate, I say.

F**&&& the inappropriateness, she says. So where are the flakes?

Coming , I say.

That’s the trouble with having a literate family. They answer back.

I Did That Once

I took two of my mates to the vet the other day.

The Jack Russel came too.

Three of us were on valium.

All except me. I was the designated driver.

Do you mind taking the dog for a walk, I asked, in case he pees in the car?

They shuffled along the street like zombies, Les had taken three, Dave four with a few beers, but the dog’s eyes lit up when he came to a bush on the verge and he lifted his leg the way dogs too —- I tried it once and made a mess — but he was too doped to pee,

He managed in the car though but Les had a pee blanket under him so that was alright.

As we drove Eddie, the Jack Russell, put his head out the window, his ears flapping in the breeze.

That’s so cool, I said. I did that once but the cop who pulled me over told me to pull my head in, it was dangerous.

Dogs have all the fun, Les said, but he was slurring his words.

It was only five minutes into the trip.

It was going to be a doozie.