I have this swivel chair that I bought out of the intertubes a few years back. It's not very fancy. It has all sorts of paint-stains on it and it was probably a bit bockety but I like it. I know it's scruffy but it's my chair and when I pull it up to the desk, it gives me a feeling of security. A feeling of familiarity.
It says, Here you go, Bock. Sit down here, on me. I don't mind. It's what I was conceived for. When you sit on me I'm fulfilled.
I sat on my swivel chair this evening and it collapsed under me, flinging me across the room in a welter of blood and broken teeth. Take that Bock, you fucking bastard! my chair shouted at me as I cartwheeled into the television, barely avoiding another broken bone or two to add to my already impressive list.
Did I ever mention that to you? Did I ever happen to remark that in the course of my life I broke my wrist, my elbow, my skull and my ankle, in addition to assorted fingers and toes? It's true. I know a lot about broken bones and they are not fun. Trust me when I say this. Broken bones are among the most painful things a human being can endure, and I have endured many of them. It defeats me to think that jockeys like Ruby Walsh accept skeletal injuries as a normal part of their job. Are they mad?
The answer is Yes, but I'm not mad and neither are you, so let's return to our swivel chair.
Why did a harmless office chair turn on me and fling me into the corner in a pile of unbroken but badly-tangled bones?
I was baffled, but after careful examination, my forensic gifts detected that one of the five legs was missing.
What? Where did it go? A discreet crunching noise from the dog's basket provided the answer. That's the leg of my fucking chair you're chewing. You bit off the leg of my chair, you bastard!
How do dogs say Meh? I don't know. but my one does it by chewing the leg of your chair while you rub your bruised arse-bone and call him a complete bastard. Bastard!!
What is it about this dog? Why can't he just try to kill me in traditional canine ways by ripping out my throat or biting my leg off? Who can tell? It's not as if this dog is a stranger to doing terrible things to me, but this latest attempt at sabotage betrays a new level of subtlety.
The animal has evolved.
Damn you, dog. Now that you've worked out ways to kill me that don't involve biting, ripping and tearing, I'll have to be more careful. Wires tied across the stairs. Makeshift guillotines in the doorways of my home. Trapdoors. Nets. Terrible stabbing things. Appalling poisonous mixtures dropped into my coffee by murderous little paws.
I feed you. When you get yourself run over, I take you to the vet. I walk you. I kill your fleas and your worms. I keep you warm, dry and safe.
Why do you sabotage my chair when you could be chewing so many other things that don't threaten my life? Why don't you go to Dublin and chew Bertie Ahern for fucking up our country?
Damn you, murderous dog.
Damn you!
Chewing and old chair is probably a healthier diet than chewing on Irish politicians. Come to think of it, if we accept the level of cruelty to animals, we could make dog food of the entire Dail Eireann, the County Councillors, the lot. Is Albert Reynolds' Pet Food emporium still in operation? Then, just send all the politicians there on a "conference", cook them, can them and distribute the dog food across the country. If this is considered to be too cruel to animals, I'm sure there are plenty of pensioners around the country that wouldn't mind to swap from one brand of dog food to another.
Maybe you shoudl change his name by deed poll from 'Hound of Satan' to 'Kato'.
It might keep it to the forefront of your mind every time you come in the front door that he will try to attack, injure, maim or even kill?
Encounter of the century!!
I can see it now. Bock taking a leisurely stroll in the peoples park on a beautiful spring day.
The notorious hound of Satan trotting contentedly by his side. A stranger walking towards them and recognises recognises Bock immediately (Bock is world famous in this encounter). Ah bonjour mon ami, said the stranger.
Ah tis yourself thats in it, President Sarcozy' says Bock How's tings?
Bon très bon Monsieur Bock, says the Pres, Such a beautafuul day mon ami and such a luvlay littal duug eh. Does yooore duug bide Monsieur Bock?……………………
Jeez Id by tickets for that encounter.
Circumstantial evidence, Bock. Just because the dog has the leg from the chair, it doesn't mean the dog was responsible. It could have been Willie O'Dea who chewed it off and then sought to transfer blame elsewhere. It's a classic politicians ploy – cause something to collapse and then blame someone else.
That's true, Ian. It could easily have been Willie. I rescued him from a shelter only last week and maybe I haven't been feeding him the right mix of flattery and suspicion.
The dog may have chewed the chair leg , but was this an attempt to retire Bock ?
P'raps the dog's thinking went something like this -
Chair 5 Leg – Dog 4 Leg + Tail
Chair 5 Leg – Dog 4 Leg + Tail
Chair 4 Leg – Dog 4 Leg + Tail
Dog Win !
Who know's ?,,,hard to prove either way though ! Bloody dog's !
Man, that looks very like the chair from this place I used to work…war broke loose one day when the boss was away and I threw a Tipp-Ex bottle at my supervisor, but it smashed on the board behind him and splattered all over the chair…I think I have pictures, must do some comparison.
Swop him for a cat.
You make me laugh. Thank you for the report.
Sorry about your chair, it looks rough. I have the same model in cream. Caught my finger between the arm and my desk, painful. Thankfully no dog in the house to chew it.