Posts Tagged ‘dog’

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The Christmas Dragon Fox Mix-up.

December 11, 2013

It was Christmas. Well not bang on Christmas, it was December and it was snowing, so it was pretty much Christmas. It looked like one of those Christmas cards you get where some kids have made a snowman and there are robins and stuff like that.

It was “Christmas time”. There we go.

Barnabus was a fox, and a bloody good one at that. He did all sorts of regular fox-based things such as knitting and dropkicks to the face, and he was ranked World #2 Maypole Dancer for three years in a row during the late 90s.

On this particular morning Barnabus was watching the news, which went along the lines of “Oh my God you guys, it is December and it is really cold and snowing, let’s all mass-panic as though this is a unique occurrence. All of the trains are crying and don’t work, look at this traffic jam, here is a man with a spade, here is some ice on a car in a person’s driveway, children are wearing gloves, we’re all going to die.” After having his fill of hysteria, Barnabus decided to go for a morning walk in the country.

The air was crisp and cold, and his breath plumed out from his mouth in little clouds like he was a dragon, he smiled at this and gave a little “roar”.

“Holy crap!” A frightened yelp came from a nearby bush, “Are you a dragon?! You sound like a dragon.”

Barnabus raised an eyebrow at the bush, puzzled, and took a step forward in efforts to investigate.

“Don’t you come any closer!” Said the bush. “I know your game, you’re going to toast me up good and eat me! You flipping dragon!”

“I’m not a dragon. Honest. I’m a fox. Check out my excellent knitting.” Barnabus took a scarf he was working on out of his standard issue fox rucksack and held it up to the bush. “You don’t see excellent knitting like this from dragons, do you?”

There was no response from the bush.

Cautiously, Barnabus slid a little closer. A silent moment passed, as though the bush was thinking, and then suddenly the bush blurred into the form of a leaping dog that filled Barnabus’ vision. Before he knew it he was slammed to the ground, his quality knitting strewn about in the snow.

The dog stared down at him, sniffing and gulping for air after its exertion.

“Are you a bush or a dog?” A slightly startled Barnabus asked.

“I’m a dog,” said the dog. “The bush was just my Halloween costume. Are you really a fox? I thought you might be a dragon dressed as a fox.”

“I’m a fox. I promise. I didn’t even do Halloween this year, it’s getting too commercial.”

The dog took his paws off Barnabus and looked around sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for pinning you down. I always get paranoid around Christmas what with all the scary dragons about. One of them bit my tail last year, it was awful.”

“That’s okay, they freak me out as well, my name’s Barnabus by the way, Barnabus the Fox.” Barnabus gave a little smile as he picked himself up.

The dog smiled back, “I’m Joseph. Nice to meet you. Listen, I’m really sorry about all that back there. Since I pinned you, it would make me feel much better if you pinned me back, would you do that for me? Call it a Christmas gift if you like.”

And so, Barnabus pinned Joseph, and the traditional family pastime of having a brutal wrestling match each year at Christmas was born.

foxDog

Animal on Animal wishes you a reasonably good Christmas.

Many thanks to Brett for sending this over, who got it from here.

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Meeting an Old Friend.

May 20, 2013

They hadn’t seen each other since before the war.

The last time they had met, petty worries about locking your door or whether the oven was on still existed, children still asked for toys at Christmas.

Times had changed. George had changed. He could just about remember a time when his back leg didn’t ache, when his thoughts were not so soupy. Just about.

The old dog screwed up his failing eyes to try to make out what the big brown shape lumbering towards him from across the road was. It certainly wasn’t the bus he was waiting for. Buses didn’t cross roads like that.

The brown smudge got much larger until it filled George’s vision, he took a little step back.

“George?” a familiar voice boomed above him, far too loud and close, as always.

Through the cloudy mess of his thoughts a bolt of recognition cut a path through George’s mind.

“Bill?” he whispered in disbelief as he craned his neck up to behold his old friend. “I can’t believe it! You’re still alive!”

“Hah, as if I would let a little war kill me off!” Bill smiled.

“Have I got some stories for you…” George sighed.

So they talked until the sun went down.

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Bit of a departure from the norm there, not sure what came over me.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, which is obviously from the Guardian. Obviously. Dannie.

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The One Weakness of a Rabbit.

September 3, 2012

“You can say what you like,” Barry the dog said as he chased his friend through the woods, “You’re a massive rabbit, and this is an unfair game of tig.”

The “massive rabbit” in question was Degas, and he was massive, and he was a rabbit.

“Stop moaning, Barry, and catch me!” In truth, Degas knew that the game was unfair, but he was pretty sick of everyone thinking dogs were ace and not thinking rabbits were quite as ace, so didn’t care.

The pair dashed through the thick woods of the English countryside, avoiding hobbits and dragons and badgers. Once or twice they took a break to eat blackberries. Neither of them particularly liked blackberries, but they were free, and times were economically tough. Blackberries were like two pounds or something at Tesco!

They ran again. Barry was doing a pretty good job at keeping up, he leapt gracefully through the bushes in pursuit of the white cotton tail bobbing up and down a few metres in front, but he was never going to catch his friend at this rate. He looked down at his tiny legs and sighed.

“If only I was a doberman,” Barry huffed to himself.

Degas was thinking about carrots and little blue jackets, and tiny shoes, like all rabbits do when they’re in the zone. He was speeding away.

A cunning thought came to Barry.

“Degas!” he shouted. “Oi!”

“Don’t distract me Barry! I know your game!” Degas smiled, but slowed his pace slightly to listen.

Barry had him where he wanted him… “What are you going to watch now that Desperate Housewives has finished?”

It struck Degas like a thunderbolt from a pikachu. What was he going to watch now that Desperate Housewives had finished?! He stopped dead, caught in the headlights of a world without Desperate Housewives, and Barry saw his chance. He dived through the air and landed square on Degas’ back.

“Tig!” he yelled, “I got you, silly rabbit!”

“How did you know my weakness?” Degas panted, still a bit panicked.

But Barry just winked at the camera, and the credits rolled.

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Thanks to Amy for the image (not sure where it’s from, if you know let me know).

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Animal on Animal Christmas Spectacular – Looking for Santa.

December 22, 2011

Larry was a fearsome polar bear. Once, he had eaten a whole footlong Subway sandwich. A whole one. No messing about with that six inch shit.

He enjoyed stalking about in the snow and high fiving the neighbourhood snowmen (he often referred to them as his “snowmies”, which they weren’t hugely fond of, but given his fearsome polar bearness, they didn’t say anything to him). Other things he enjoyed included:

  • Driving sports cars.
  • Watching ice hockey.
  • Drinking scotch.
  • Playing the harp.
  • Fluffy pyjamas.

It was a cold evening in December, when Larry was out looking for a good place to wear his new pyjamas, that he came upon a pretty cool looking husky attached to a chain (the chain made him look extra cool). Intrigued, Larry approached the creature.

After being asked his name, and how he had come to be attached to the ground via the medium of a chain, the husky explained that he was called Delilah, and that he had been sent out to look for Santa in the wilderness. Sadly he had come upon an a disgruntled elf who had told him to bugger off and had then chained him to the ground.

‘That’s not on,’ Larry decided. ‘Would you like me to go give that disgruntled elf a good kicking?’

‘Yes please,’ Delilah replied.

‘You can come with me. We will kick him good, together.’

At this Delilah leapt for joy and gave Larry a hug (and a cheeky kiss on the cheek, even though they had only just met and it was a bit inappropriate at that stage).

Larry was as good as his word, and freed his new friend. Together, they found that disgruntled elf and gave him the Christmas gift of an arse kicking. And then they went off into the wilderness, to find Santa. It was the best Christmas ever.

Thanks to myself for finding this image, I got it from here.

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all the lovely Animal on Animal readers out there, thank you for your contributions throughout the year and possibly damaging your eyesight by reading the stories. You are real troopers. See you soon for the New Year round up!

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It Started with Rollerskates.

October 12, 2011

The day started mundanely for Jessop the dog. Lazily shaking off his dream filled sleep, he wandered around the house checking everything was in the right place. The hoover was in the cupboard. Good. The fish were dancing around in their tank. Check. The rug was aligned perfectly to the wall. Nicely.

Jessop did his checks every morning, it helped him stay calm and ease into the day. It reassured him that nothing astonishing and scary would occur.

But then he saw the rollerskates on the bottom of the stairs.

“Bollocks.” Jessop grumbled, ambling cautiously closer to the offending article.

The rollerskates should have been in the wardrobe where they always were. Something was not right. Nobody had used the rollerskates since “The Accident” the day they were bought. The old dog continued to edge closer, sniffing the air, until he was stood next to the skates. He would have to return them to their rightful place, this was a big deal.

Except it wasn’t a big deal. It was A TRAP!

In an instant the imaginatively named KitKat the cat was upon Jessop, screaming incomprehensible nonsense such as “Habbubalubballur!” at the top of her tiny lungs.

Jessop flew into a panic. He couldn’t see because his very vision was clouded with the terrible blackness of fear. His heart thundered as though it were a thousand frightened wilder beast stampeding down a gorge after a tiny lion cub.

He ran.

Narrowly avoiding the fish tank, he crashed into the hoover and upset the perfectly aligned rug. As he would later recall in his memoirs, it was “unbridled anarchy”. Reeling from the hoover impact, Jessop ground to a halt in the middle of the floor.

A quiet moment passed as his senses flooded back.

“It’s just me.” KitKat said, as she clung to Jessop’s ears.

“You dickhead.” Jessop said.

Thanks to Amy for the image!

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Lifelong rivals.

September 8, 2011

The rivalry between Clarice the cat and Dyson the dog had been going on for years. It had started long ago when they were a kitten and puppy playing in the yard…

On this particular day Clarice had taken it upon herself to challenge Dyson to all kinds of competitions. She had won the egg and spoon race, and unicycle juggling contest, and the monster truck rally, and Dyson was getting a bit sick of being made a fool of. He had taken to grunting to himself and stamping about. He really wanted to go home and have some cheese slices for dinner and forget about this whole day, but Clarice was having none of it.

“I bet I can play the banjo better than you.” She smirked, looking all smug and condescending as cats do.

Dyson rolled his eyes, “Probably.”

“You wait here and I’ll go get my banjo, then we can see for sure.” Clarice nimbly scampered off to wherever it is cats keep their banjos.

Dyson slumped down and grumbled. He wasn’t really sure why he came out to play today anway, especially with someone as shit as Clarice.

A couple of minutes later Clarice appeared holding a banjo, and started playing. Admittedly she was alright to say she wasn’t anatomically equipped to play such an instrument, and this realisation was what tipped Dyson over the edge.

“RIGHT! THAT’S IT!” he yelled, leaping into the air toward the source of his annoyance.

Clarice dropped the banjo and stared up at the dog rapidly descending toward her face. Maybe she had gone too far?

And then Dyson landed bottom first on the cat.

“Clarice,” he said, “I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

And so they became lifelong rivals.

Image found by accident in an email from my uncle! Thanks!

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The Masculine Wilderness.

June 21, 2011

It was tough in the desert. That’s what they said.

It didn’t phase Mr. Anderson, though. He was a maverick dog who loved adventure. He’d been bungie jumping and everything. After a long talk with a travel agent at Thomas Cook, he decided the best way to spend his holidays this year was to wander about in the wilderness, grow stubble and sit on rocks looking moody and attractive.

All was as expected for a time. He gazed at sunsets, thinking about deep stuff (like holes), his facial hair slowly blossoming into that undefined thing that is  somewhere between stubble and beard. He looked stunning and manly, and all was well.

One night Mr. Anderson settled down on a particularly comfortable rock for his nightly stare off with the sun, but all his staring through the week had tired him out and he fell into a deep sleep. The next morning he awoke to the sound of people milling about, and discussing last night’s Eastenders. Understandably startled (he was going to watch Eastenders on BBC iPlayer and didn’t want to know what had happened), he glanced around in a panic to try and assess where he was.

The amazed dog discovered that he was in a small village, and not in the hilly wilderness as he had expected. Looking down he saw how he had gotten there, he had mistaken a sleeping pony for a comfortable rock! What a fool.

“Oh tits.” He thought to himself, and ran off, thoroughly embarrassed.

Thanks to Lindsay for this one, not sure where she got it from.