28 June 2009

Another Good Idea!

“They’ll come back - just shout ‘CHICKEN’” my sister had instructed.
“Chicken” I trilled, waving my empty hand to fool the ‘husky-with-attitude’ who couldn’t even be bothered to look up.
“CHICKEN!!!” I screamed more shrilly, as she bolted in the opposite direction.

A couple moseyed over. “Morning” the chap said, all smirks as ‘Toula’ leapt over a stream, ears flat back as she whizzed even further out of my family’s life.

“CHICKEN!!!!!!!” I yelped, “CHICKEN!”
The couple moved on.

I fully intended to kill my sister when she got back from sipping cocktails in the Royal Albert Hall whilst I stood in a field clutching a sandwich bag filled with her belligerent pet’s steaming poo, pointlessly yelling about poultry.

It wasn’t the only lie she’d told in order to coerce me into house, dog and babysitting her life for the weekend.

For instance, she’d mentioned nothing of her youngest’s tendency to be sick on short car journeys. It seemed he didn’t feel the need to mention it either. With no forewarning, it proved a smashing surprise.

Nor had she mentioned the nightly wart treatments that I was to be so intrinsically involved in.

Chickie groaned from his buggy as he woke from his nap, instantly hysterical as he remembered that he had a sore throat and matching cough. Bo, the good husky tied to his buggy, licked him better.

Whilst I wiped him over with antibacterial wipes, Toula reappeared. I pretended to be pleased to see her, grabbing her whilst she sniffed out treats. “Oh, they’ll be no treats” I informed her once her lead was back on.

Too ill to walk, Chickie remained in his buggy. Too stroppy to walk, Toula lay down. Too young to walk, Bo pulled us all along.

Accountant and nephews were waiting on the beach so I stumbled towards the sea entangled in leads, wheels and dogs legs.

Once on the shingle, Chickie still wouldn’t walk so, with Bo’s lead between my teeth, I dragged him backwards through the stones in his buggy whilst he held Toula.

As she zoomed past me, the buggy suddenly became nice and light. I watched as Chickie flew past on his belly, still holding her lead. Whilst he howled face down in the stones where he’d finally come to a stop, Bo escaped, almost taking my teeth with her, to join Toula in eating the horse droppings that had proved so enticing. Toula, not one to share, attacked Bo.

With such an audible range of snarling, screaming and genteel seaside mayhem, most of the beach were watching. All except Accountant who I could see sat on a bench outside the cafe, slowly sipping a coffee.

“What?” was all he could say when I finally collapsed before him with a bleeding child and two freshly fertilised huskies.