Thursday, 16 June 2011


When being chased by a rottweiler life becomes  that bit simpler, the ordinarily bogged down pages turn so much more easily. Get away from the devil and avoid the loss of a limb in the process; why is it then that one must fill in 20 pages of risk assessment? It is a troubling thought to cross my mind, 'If I get out of his alive I need to fill in 100 bloody forms confirming the event, consoling the owner of the dog and requesting a damn good lawyer.' Thank God I don't get chased by savage beasts often! I dread to imagine a career in dog-care, particularly rottweilers...
Fortunately I was able to lay my hands on a katana. Legal problems aside, it was a fantastic weapon and did the trick just fine, my pirate games as a child really paid off. A clean cut was what I aimed for, though it ended up as more of a hammer battery than silent ninja kill. Sh. Nobody told you that. The dog died painlessly - it was unconscious after the first few blows.
Satan's owner was very good about it all, I arrived at her doorstep full of crocodile tears I'd nicked from the zoo last week and told her some sob story about a truck hitting the bugger. She was a bit thick and so forgot to question the blatant katana marks, so everything went to plan! Apart from the cat. I swear it was an accident. The idiot wandered into my blade. It was a shame really, the wife left me because of it - still, at least I killed her dog. I hate rottweilers.

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