Well, you gotta love the doggies. Fancy heading all the way over to front those Eagles on their own patch and giving them a pizzling. Nobody gave them a chance, including the boss – he reckoned they were gone for all money – too young, been through a few terrible weeks, he said. The Eagles were back to form, he said. He nearly didn’t watch it..
Mind you, what would he know? He goes for the Tigers, those toothless Tiges with their tatts, sitting way down the bottom of the ladder in their yellow and black. How could he criticise the doggies?
You’d think, with three dogs in the household – me, my mum Queenie and the Golden Leave-it-There – we’d all be barracking for the dogs, but it turns out I’m the only one. You wouldn’t believe it – the missus goes for those Cats, and I hate cats. I can’t understand it.
To tell the truth, I only had a day to gloat over the doggies’ great win until the Missus went beserko over the Cats knocking over the Hawks. She stayed up late to watch it and kept me awake – who cares about Cats? The only good cat is a dead cat.
At least the boss doesn’t like cats either. He sets a trap for the wild ones on the river bank in summer, when they start hanging around the nests the bee-eaters burrow into the bank. And kingfishers. I’m not allowed to chase any of these birds. The boss likes the way they come back and nest every year – says they always turn up by Shepp Show weekend, although last year he said he heard the first ones in the third week of September.
But back to this great game. The boss was out at a meeting and didn’t get home until half-time and rushed in to turn the Telly on. Said he’d listened on the radio on the way home and the dogs had a big lead.
He said, “You’d better watch this, General, you might find out what young dogs are really supposed to do.” That was unnecessary, I thought, but I was pleased to be included.
And they were up to my standard, no question. Young and energetic, full of beans, light on their feet, dancing around the Eagles with the same elegance and grace I am famous for myself.
But I couldn’t understand why they put up with that Kennedy, a nasty piece of work if I ever saw one – I would have taken him out, if it was me, in the first quarter.
And the Eagles coach – talk about miserable. He reminds me of the boss when I come back from a roll in a pile of cow poo. He gets a bit rough when he washes me down but it's worth it.
So onwards and upwards for the doggies! Woof.