Posts Tagged ‘story’

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The Mysterious Note.

January 29, 2014

“Find me when you wake up.”

It was scrawled on a crumpled up piece of paper Alfonso had in his pocket. He frowned again as his beady-bird eyes slowly drifted over the faded characters on the page, his brain assigning the groups of abstract shapes the sounds in his head that made them into words of the English language.

Who was it from?

Alfonso pocketed the note, for perhaps the fiftieth time since he had found it this morning, and took to the skies to clear his head. His tiny wings flapped frantically to draw him into the air. His shoulders ached. Actually, his whole body ached. He felt liked he had been punched right up the arse by someone with shovels sellotaped to their fists.

“I shouldn’t have drunk that bottle of Southern Comfort last night,” he mused as he looked down at all the people below.

Which one of them had written him that note? Which of those tiny bastards was responsible for this confusion?

Alfonso’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he drifted down to alight on a stone pillar in the city below. It was a text. The text said this:

DID U GT MY MSG?

It said that because it was 1998 and everyone wrote texts like that for fear of sending two messages and it costing them an extra ten pence for the sake of one lousy letter.

The number the frugal-minded message was from was not in Alfonso’s address book, so he texted back:

YES WHO R U?

The reply said this:

MEET @ ZOO LOL

Alfonso wasn’t sure what a “zoo lol” was, so he headed over to the regular zoo in the hopes it would be the same thing. Luckily, it was, he could tell by the fact that someone in the camel enclosure was calling his name and waving and sometimes saying “Coo-eee!”

The increasingly confused bird shuffled over to the source of the sound; a cheerful looking camel with a red harness around her muzzle. The camel was very pleased to see Alfonso.

“Hi Alfonso! I’m very pleased to see you!” The camel said, which proves the previous sentence was not a lie.

“Who are  you?! How do you know who I am?! What is going on?!” Alfonso collapsed on the ground and sobbed like he did when Mufasa died.

“Don’t cry. Jump on my head and I’ll tell you what happened.”

Alfonso hopped onto the camel’s head, and she whispered this:

“My name is Elizabeth, and I am your wife. You got really drunk last night and called me nasty names, so I sellotaped shovels to my fists and punched you right up the arse so hard that it erased your memory, and the address book on your phone. I think it even erased your email accounts. It was the best punch I have ever done, and you bloody deserved it, you IDIOT FACE.”

Alfonso was very shocked to hear this, but of course it all made perfect sense. He was an idiot face. This had happened before.

“How can I make it up to you Elizabeth?” Alfonso whimpered.

“There is only one way to make it up to me: Build me a house made out of your tears.”

And he did just that, and never drank a whole bottle of Southern Comfort again.

Apologies.

 

Thanks to Dannie for the image, who got it from the usual place.

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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 Horrible Degu Experiments.

February 1, 2013

It was many years ago now. Long before that fashionable decade of the 80s that everyone seems to be obsessed with these days. Science was being pushed forward by highly trained maniacs with beards and crazy drugs. A new experiment was proposed: “The Amazing Fuse Us Together With Magical Witchcraft Business” it was called, or TAFUTWMWB for short.

The idea was to fuse the minds and bodies of multiple beings into one larger being, for no good reason.

An international bulletin was put out, “Sign up for excellent science experiments and become well famous, yeah?” it read.  A troupe of eight degus (who were close friends already) answered the call.

Nobody truly knew why they signed up for it, perhaps they were mental? Perhaps it was peer pressure? Perhaps they just wanted to be famous and get loads of money but didn’t really know the true gravity of trying to fuse eight degus into one being?

It was all over the newspapers, on the 16th page. Pictures of the brave degus wearing sponsored trainers and going to the latest movie premières, hanging out with celebrity imbeciles on rooftop terraces. For a few months, they lived the hollow high life that so many of us ache for (thanks to excellent television programming where people sing and become famous for a week and then swiftly become ridiculed by millions).

But then the experiments began. The horrible experiments. They were forced to eat crackers without cheese. They were forced to go to pubs but only drink juice. And then they were strapped to tables and zapped with laser beams.

After a year of torture, the experiment was declared a failure. Instead of fusing the poor degus into one being, they had simply gotten really sweaty and started sticking to each other:

degu

So the scientists were all shot.

Thanks to Craig (submitter) and Heather (possibly photographer, possibly just the person that sent it to Craig, nobody can remember).

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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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The hen and the hat.

July 3, 2012

Bernice was a pretty thrifty hen and tended to buy her clothes from charity shops. Arguably as a hen she was throwing her money away on clothes as she didn’t need any (being a hen), which surely would mean that she was a foolish spender rather than “thrifty”, but people that would argue this should probably find something better to do, such as write ridiculous animal stories in their lunch breaks.

So:

Bernice had decided one day that she was going to buy a hat. She was pretty fond of hats, they tended to get her the most compliments from gentlemen hens, and she did like a nice compliment from a gentleman hen.

The charity shop greeted her with its usual smell of old books and Frank Sinatra as she moseyed in through the doorway. She said “hello” to the voluntary worker behind the counter and shuffled onward to the clothing section at the back.

There were many hats. Many hats. A lesser hen would have panicked and turned to leave at the sight of so many hats. There were splendid top hats and bowler hats, old flat caps, and even a paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Bernice began to rummage through the heaps of headgear, and after a short time she discovered a lovely looking grey/brown fur hat. Synthetic of course, as she was against fur and didn’t buy into that whole “oh it’s vintage, dear” bollocks that people say.

Paying a hefty fifty pence, she left the charity shop happily displaying her new hat on her bobbing head all the way home. And then the hat spoke.

“I’m not a hat, you know.”

Bernice very nearly needed to change her hen pants at this, but tried to control herself.

“You’re not a hat?!” she coughed.

“No,” the not-a-hat said.

“Well what are you then?!” Bernice was very confused.

“I’m Sebastian, I fell into the pile of hats while trying on a flat cap. Thank you for rescuing me,” Sebastian smiled.

“Oh, that’s okay. But why didn’t you tell me earlier? You cost me fifty pence!”

“Sorry about that. I’m only small, you see, and I was quite enjoying seeing the world from a little higher up. I’ll pay you the fifty pence back,” Sebastian pulled a 50p from his hedgehog pocket and handed it to Bernice before hopping off her head onto the floor. “It was very nice to meet you.”

With that, Sebastian left.

It was that moment that Bernice decided to stop buying hats.

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I have received strict instructions on how to credit this from Graham (who submitted it on behalf of a friend, thank you):

“Alice Ryley (photographer) with Sebastian (hedgehog). Loved Owner with her True hero.”

“P.S. Sebastian please call Alice… She’s worried about you.”

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It’s Video Time.

December 12, 2010

No, don’t close the window yet. It might be a good one this time.

RECOMMENDATION: Turn off the sound, it’s slightly irritating, but not hugely irritating. If you have a short fuse it will bother you.

No story. I’m too tired for stories today. The required animal being on another animal criteria has been fulfilled, that is all you’re getting this time. If you have a story that you wish to suggest for this heart warming video, please feel free to submit it in the comments. If it’s good it will then become the Official Story of this Particular Post, which is a high honour indeed.

Thank you all for your time.

And thank you, Amy, for sending me this video.