Farewell You Twat

June 19th 2006

“It won’t feel a thing,” said Atkins Down The Road reassuringly.
“I don’t give a monkey’s if it does feel a thing,“ I replied. “In fact I would prefer it to feel a thing after all the pain it’s given me with its infernal barking and howling these past few days.”
We were discussing the proposition that Atkins should end the Pollitt’s dog’s life with a bullet from his .22 rifle.
“That apart though there’s the question of the aftermath to consider,” I went on. “I doubt if Pollitt, his fright of a wife, and his horrible offspring, collectively have the brainpower of a backward fruit bat, but even so I fear that one of them just might suspect their dog didn’t die of natural causes once they see a bullet hole in it.”
Atkins chewed on this for a moment or two, then said: “There wouldn’t be a bullet hole if I shot it up the arsehole.”
A chink of light appeared. “You could do that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. However, crack shot that I am, and being completely honest about it, I couldn’t absolutely guarantee it. It’s possible we could end up with a dog with two arseholes.”
The chink of light disappeared. “In that case forget it. The Pollitts would be no less suspicious if they found it dead and that in the act of dying it had sprouted another arsehole than they would be if they’d found it with a bullet hole in it.”
The above conversation took place this morning when I was looking for ways to bring the You Twat situation to a satisfactory conclusion. Satisfactory to me that is. The other options I considered were –
(a) Make another attempt to take You Twat for a walk.
(b) Render it more or less constantly asleep by tossing it a sleeping pill –spiked meatball every morning.
(c) Render it permanently asleep by adding poison to one of the spiked meatballs.
(d) Adopt Fatfiz’s ploy of kicking it in the bollocks (To gain its respect I suppose, although he wasn’t specific on this).
(e) Move house.
(f) Pay for the Pollitts to move house.
After much thought I decided that (a) was a non-starter because of what happened the last time I tried to do this; (b) would be too expensive: (c) would be the ideal solution but would make me a murderer: (d) would be a solution but might make You Twat a murderer: (e) would be too inconvenient: and (f) the Pollitts would probably laugh at me, and even if they didn’t I couldn’t afford it.
In the end I went for simplicity and decided to simply turn You Twat loose. There’s an excellent that it will get lost simply because as it has never been anywhere it won’t know the way back.
I feel no guilt about this whatsoever. For what sort of existence must it be, condemned to life imprisonment tied to a clothes stump all day every day? Better for the dog to be given the chance to roam free. With a bit of luck someone will find it, take pity on it, and give it a good home. And even if they don’t and it has to fend for itself surely that’s a better life than the one it’s had up to now.
Later I went into the Pollitts back garden, made sure no one saw me, set You Twat loose, and opened the back gate for it. It shot out of it and down the road like shit off a shovel. For good, in more than one sense of the word, I hope.