Post by Leslie sarkany on Dec 2, 2015 15:54:58 GMT -5
Was going stir crazy so I headed out on a day that was rather dismissal with it being cold and raining at the same time. Thought I would give the Freedom 3 CDC a run bagged up in a nice Glad. Hit a few pennies and large denomination coins..........the rain stopped. The F3CDC was working well with a few dog tags coming out next as I danced the "Dodge the Doggie Dew Two Step." Mushy looking stuff!
Noticed a car pulling in the upper lot of the ball field and never gave it near another thought. Continued on with the hunt even though it was a quagmire. I was soaked as usual but didn't give a halibut as the season is coming to and end . Wanted to take advantage of the time remaining before the big chill.
Suddenly to my left this thing with a thick neck, with a thick square head and jowls that were dripping a liquid secretion of an unknown toxic concoction approached me. It's gait was ramrod stiff, dignified and scary all at the same time. I had seen that face before. Three thoughts shot through my brain in quick succession;
(1) was he just going to bark and howl...............................could live with that
(2) was he going to bite off my manhood ...........................living the rest of my life as a unick............um
(3) was going to mate with my Russian Furbie Hat.............could always use another hat
"Winston come here" came a voice from over yonder. Winston Churchill that is who the four legged beast reminded me of. It kept coming. Then the sign....a tail wag. I called out to the owner who stated that he was harmless. With great care I lowered my machine and gave it a pat. The tail moved too fast for the eye to follow. Fear gave way so I rubbed the sweet spot on the back just above the tail. I had made a friend for life. The owner called again and Winston sporting his red "covering" waddled off and dutifully watered every fence post on the ball field.
The owner had a distinct accent and we lamented about our passions......Man U, philately and all things British. So engrossed was I in this conversation that it became apparent I was not going to make quota before dark. Such is life. Winston followed his owner to the car in his typical British upper crust style. To this mere Canadian Colonial it was more like a bull in a china shop....what it didn't step on it pooped on. Locally as a Bluenoser I believe the phrase would be "that Winston was like a seagull. If it is not squawking it's pooping." Notice the restraint from this colonial and not using "sh$t" instead of poop. A priceless day out!
Think I have been hacked again.
Noticed a car pulling in the upper lot of the ball field and never gave it near another thought. Continued on with the hunt even though it was a quagmire. I was soaked as usual but didn't give a halibut as the season is coming to and end . Wanted to take advantage of the time remaining before the big chill.
Suddenly to my left this thing with a thick neck, with a thick square head and jowls that were dripping a liquid secretion of an unknown toxic concoction approached me. It's gait was ramrod stiff, dignified and scary all at the same time. I had seen that face before. Three thoughts shot through my brain in quick succession;
(1) was he just going to bark and howl...............................could live with that
(2) was he going to bite off my manhood ...........................living the rest of my life as a unick............um
(3) was going to mate with my Russian Furbie Hat.............could always use another hat
"Winston come here" came a voice from over yonder. Winston Churchill that is who the four legged beast reminded me of. It kept coming. Then the sign....a tail wag. I called out to the owner who stated that he was harmless. With great care I lowered my machine and gave it a pat. The tail moved too fast for the eye to follow. Fear gave way so I rubbed the sweet spot on the back just above the tail. I had made a friend for life. The owner called again and Winston sporting his red "covering" waddled off and dutifully watered every fence post on the ball field.
The owner had a distinct accent and we lamented about our passions......Man U, philately and all things British. So engrossed was I in this conversation that it became apparent I was not going to make quota before dark. Such is life. Winston followed his owner to the car in his typical British upper crust style. To this mere Canadian Colonial it was more like a bull in a china shop....what it didn't step on it pooped on. Locally as a Bluenoser I believe the phrase would be "that Winston was like a seagull. If it is not squawking it's pooping." Notice the restraint from this colonial and not using "sh$t" instead of poop. A priceless day out!
Think I have been hacked again.