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This morning, I watched Brutus, from the
safety of the rosebushes. I noticed something that I hadn’t
noticed before - attached to his collar there’s a rope which is
tied to a pole. Although Brutus has freedom to roam across most
of his garden there might be parts that he can’t reach. I
estimated the length of his rope and, using the simple
mathematics formula:
Danger Zone = ( Rope Length + Neck Length +
Teeth Size ) x Velocity
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Desperation Index
I deduced that he could not go further than
the flower bed at the top of the garden. A plan for revenge
began to churn in my mind. I crept silently through the bushes
to the back of my garden, squeezed under the fence into Brutus’
garden, then took up position at the far end of the flower bed.
“Brutus,” I shouted, trying not to let my
nerves show. “You have less brain than a lobotomized snail.”
Brutus looked up. He seemed confused. I’m not
sure whether this was due to surprise at seeing me in his garden
or whether his small brain was trying to work out what a
lobotomized snail is.
“And you have a very small tail!” (This is
the very best way to insult a dog.)
Brutus assumed an attacking stance and barked
as fiercely as a corgi can.
“And your mother was a mongrel.”
This insult hit a sore point and Brutus
charged up the garden at full corgi speed towards me. He was
grinding his teeth in anger and foam dripped from his mouth.
Behind him the rope took up its slack.
“Come and get me you good-for-nothing
crossbreed,” I taunted.
As his bloodthirsty mouth stretched out to
slaughter me, the rope reached its limit. The collar suddenly
tightened around his neck and took the full force of his furious
charge. He crashed to the ground and lay in the flower bed
amidst tulips and daffodils gasping for air. What a nerd!
“Good doggy, roll over and play dead,” I
sneered, “like the groveling little human slave you are.”
Revenge is sweet.
Roaring with laughter, I skipped off to tell
Lucky what I’d done.
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