Great Beasts of the West Bank

18 Aug

My two favourite things in the world in no particular order are:

Dilly dog and Aggie dog.

You know you have certain people in your life that make everything better? The people who when you’re feeling like a total frump, look at you as if you’re Audrey Hepburn, as if you’re Brigitte Bardot, as if you’re the World Cup, as if you’re Beyonce’s left thigh, as if you’re Margaret Thatcher on a cold day. No wait. What? As if you’re wearing a cat on your head and calling it a hat. Basically, as if there is nothing better in the whole world than you. Yes? I know what you’re thinking. Most people would call this person their boyfriend. NOT ME! I get my pint of ego boost from a couple of crazy old gals with a fondness for boiled ham. Hear me now.

I’ve already written about Aggie on this blog more times than I care to remember and quite frankly there’s no mystery there anymore. Chewing is still in. It’s still in vogue. It’s still hip. It’s year round. It’s always in season. Get yourself a ticket on the chew chew train that departs for chew ville in one hour because that’s where this party is headed.  My mum told me that last weekend she chewed through a whole door. Really? Weird. Really weird Aggie. Why would you do that? I don’t know.

Anyway. So. This time I am going to dedicate a post to that grand old dame, Dilly dog.

Just look at this gorgeous antique.

Wrinkles are the best! And make the most of this five minutes of fame Dilly, because I’m pretty sure that you have exceeded the average age of the common Jack Russell and are now playing in extra time. Hear me sister?

I love Dilly because she is this crazy kook who is so old that her teeth rattle when she gets excited.  But she is class.  She is first class. She is Virgin Atlantic Upper Class and deserves a goddam OBE for still trying really hard to be a dog despite actually being more like a puffy barrel with stumps and squidgy skin that you can knead like dough. And I don’t want to knead her skin like dough.  I don’t, but I can’t help imagining what that would feel like. Pretty sick probably.  Anyway, that’s simply not reality. I digress.

The other day, I tried to play fetch with Dilly and caught the whole thing on camera! Love it! Girls on film! The only problem was that she didn’t quite grasp the aim of the game. That. Or perhaps she has just given up trying to entertain a yob with a camera (ME you flipsticks!).

Attempt 1: FAIL. Not even looking in the right direction.

Did a French clown just walk past the door Dilly? Or was it Oprah? Or was it your BRAIN? I don’t know. But unless whoever it was happened to be offering you a dip in the youth fountain while they walked by, there is no reason for you NOT TO BE LOOKING AT THE BALL DURING THIS FUN GAME.

Attempt 2: FAIL. Ball misplaced (Under her own body)

I don’t give a flying fig what you say. Old or not. This is as dumb as stumps.

Attempt 3: FAIL. Two balls? You haven’t even completed level one of this game yet!

Hey Aggie, who invited you? Don’t try and sneak into the back row. You haven’t paid! Get out! Out through that hole you chewed in the door!

Attempt 4: FAIL. Too busy posing for the camera to notice the ball.

BAM. There it is! The look! The look of love! The reason I don’t have a boyfriend! Why would you want one when you have this? Dilly you old fatty, I love you. You are rubbish at fetch but my goodness you would make a great couch cushion.

A Dilly dog, a silly dog

Won’t climb a single hilly dog.

And oh my gosh you need a wash

NO! don’t sit on my lap dog.

An Aggie dog, a waggy dog

Stop eating all my eggy dog.

By day you chew, by night you poo

I need a glass of wine dog.


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