Thursdays With Uncle Boom #79

The rays from the rising sun filtered amber-gold through the trees like an eighteen year old whiskey.

Speaking of whiskey, I gave my hip flask a shake and the resulting hollow sloshing told me it was running dangerously low.

Bugger.

There had been an appallingly loud thunderstorm during the night and I had been quite unable to sleep. As a result I had decided on a brisk walk to clear the mind.

By the time I had dressed and drank a few shots of breakfast rum as a stiffener, the storm had all but blown itself out and the sun was rising.

There was a park nearby and I had found myself tootling along the banks of the large pond there. I put my hip flask back in my inner pocket and pulled my pipe out for a puff.

Raaarrrgle!!

Something small and furry leapt, growling, from the still-shadowed undergrowth to the side of the path.

It latched onto my leg, snarling furiously.

What in the blurty fucks is this!?

I roared, giving my leg a good shake.

It was no use, the thing had quite a grip on my trouser. It looked to be a water vole of some description.

I jabbed down with my pipe, burying the stem to the hilt in one of its wild eyes.

It yelped and jerked, falling stone dead from my leg. I peered closely at it. Yes, definitely a water vole.

I stuck a booted foot none too ceremoniously on its small chest and tugged my pipe out.

It made quite an amusing shlorking sound as it came free.

I kicked the carcass into the pond.

FUCKING VOLES!

I shouted after it.

Something moved once more in the undergrowth. This time I raised my cane, ready to deliver a sound thrashing to anything that should come at me.

Excuse me, have you seen my little Penelope?

A fellow, carrying a diamante dog lead, blundered onto the path before me. He looked quite annoying with a face like a gammon cock.

Have I seen your penis? You fucking rascal, I should throw you in the pond after that fucking water vole!

I growled.

Not penis!? Penelope! She is my little treasure, a Pug. You know, those adorable little dogs with the squashed faces? Have you seen her?

The only thing I have seen is that bloody water vole there. Bastard thing nibbled at my trousers.

I pointed at the half submerged corpse of the water vole with my cane.

Gammon-Cock face looked at where I pointed in horror.

Oh my god!? Is that Penelope?? It's that my beautiful little dog? You... You killed her?

His voice warbled into high notes normally only attainable by altar boys in the Vatican.

I just told you, that's not a dog. It's a water vole.

I stated slowly and patiently.

The man was obviously a buffoon.

That's not a vole, it's Penelope!!!

He screeched, throwing himself at me, arms flailing.

I whacked my cane expertly into his temple knocking him to the ground.

It's a fucking vole...

I grabbed one of his feet and dragged him to the waters edge. He struggled feebly, only half conscious.

I kicked him in, the water at the edge was barely enough to cover his head so I had to stand on it to keep it submerged till he stopped struggling.

A fucking Pug, as if there is such a thing.

I chuckled as I stepped off the lifeless Gammon-Cock face and back onto the path.

I halted dead in my tracks at the sound of a slow clapping.

Bravo. A wonderful performance.

Said a figure seated on a park bench nearby. The slender fingers of the dawn light had yet to pry the shadows from where he sat.

Slowly I paced closer to him. My cane swishing to and fro.

You saw all that did you?

I asked with an easy smile.

The figure stood, emerging from the shadows of the bench. I recognised him immediately. He was older, true but how could I not recognise the majestic face that greeted me in the bathroom mirror each morning?

I saw alright but don't worry...

He grinned wolfenly back at me.