Portly peregrinations

Posted by Big Rat on Campus on Nov 28, 2012 in Rat News | Subscribe

I ask because there seem to be some folk walking around Emmarentia Dam whose main aim is not, as you might expect, to exercise their canines.

It is, rather, to look for a fellow human with whom to pick a fight and on whom to inflict an injury, verbal or otherwise.
The proportions of these bellicose people are usually in inverse proportion to the size of their dogs.

That is, these large folk, clearly all former Blue Bulls locks and props, waddle around with a veritable troop of stoepkakkertjies  – little mutts on whom, if you had misplaced your spectacles, you might inadvertently stand.
Never mind the Blue Bulls.

If, like me, you’re a fan of TV show South Park, you will have learned of the American phenomenon of Honey Boo Boo.

All of these folk walking little dogs at Emmarentia seem to have modelled themselves on Honey Boo Boo’s mamma, June Shannon.
They walk around, as I said, with their packs of pet rats. Why do tiny dogs never come singly? And if any larger animal, such as a friendly Rottweiler, comes near the Sumo wrestler’s incessantly yapping group, for no other reason than to do a bit of doggy socialising, which involves analysing posterior butt scents, these burly folk instantly turn into Julius Malema on steroids and become aggressive to boot.
You recall the robustly masculine 26th president of the US, Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt? He said “speak softly and carry a big stick, you will go far”, a saying that he claimed originated in West Africa.

This claim has been disputed by our leading intellectuals, Dr Pallo Jordan and Dr Xolela Mangcu. They have argued that it came from Ginsberg in the Eastern Cape.
No matter. The point is that the scary owners of mini-pooches all carry big sticks as well.

One of them (the owner, not the dogs) threatened me with such a cultural weapon and said sternly: “Your bully’s picking on little dogs. Sort him out. Sort him out.” He then strode meaningfully onwards.
My “bully” (bull terrier), Ohlsen, named after the Australian Rules footballer who played for the Richmond Football Club in Victoria from 1908 to 1915, is not only phenomenally stupid and incredibly jovial; he is also congenitally deaf as a post.

Many white bull terriers are.
So I was deeply puzzled. How do you explain to a dog in canine sign language that he must stop being a dog, especially in a public place?  Should I send him to that ANC school for leadership, the one that Tony Yengeni runs? What do I do?
By the way, I don’t want you to infer that I am fatist or that all villains are plump. I am cuddly myself. And the other day, someone walking two miniature dachshunds, accidentally knocked over by Ohlsen, called me a fat xxxx.

(We can’t have the word in a family newspaper.) I’d have cudgeled him severely, but I was too fat to catch him.

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