The Year of Eating Dangerously by Tom Parker Bowles

The Year of Eating Dangerously by Tom Parker Bowles

Author:Tom Parker Bowles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press


CHAPTER 6

KOREA

I like dogs. My first, Eddie, was an irascible Norfolk terrier with a taste for children’s digits. Not mine, of course, although a poke while he snored by the Aga was not to be recommended. Eddie had an itchy back and was buried under the mulberry tree behind the old shed. Then there was Willie, a shaggy Lucas terrier who grinned as he wagged his tail. He would bury himself under my covers in the early morning and emerge only to snarl at my father as he tried to wake me up. These were my teenage years and we shared a mutual dislike of dawn.

His best friend, Freddie, is my mother’s Jack Russell and a dog of infinite guile and charm. He had little time for my father’s impromptu obedience schools, finding all the ‘sit’ and ‘fetch’ nonsense beneath him. Instead, he’d stroll off in the opposite direction to cock his leg with studied insolence. He also liked to lay vast turds on the top step of the front door, sneering at the bourgeois pretensions of the other dogs that preferred the privacy of a bush. Willie and Freddie would bugger off together for days, chasing rabbits and following them deep into their warrens. Endless dark, muddy nights were spent with one hand down a hole and the other shaking a tin of biscuits, imploring them to come out. But to no avail and more often than not, the ancient JCB was cranked up to dig them out of some ancient warren.

When my parents got divorced, the dogs went from Butch and Sundance to Ali and Frazier, with endless ripped flesh and snarlingly bloody scraps. In the end, Willie went off with my father and Freddie my mother. Peace was restored but I was wracked with guilt for leaving my dog. He used to sniff my leg disapprovingly when I went to see my dad, catching the scent of his sworn enemy and skulking under the table, hackles raised.

Willie died three years ago and I cried. Like I cried when Harry died, a wise old Labrador with grey beard and foul breath. When his son Rambo hobbled off his mortal coil, I wept too. Freddie is now 19, has one eye (the other had to be removed as the dirt from years of digging finally destroyed it) and is totally deaf. He finds his way around the house by smell, which means cocking his leg everywhere. None of us mind. He still shits on the top step of the front door.

This lengthy personal canine history does have a purpose, in that I hope it proves I’m not some ghoulish animal hater who tears the wings off butterflies and fires crossbow bolts into swans. I do prefer dogs on my knee to on my plate. And I can’t say that I am particularly excited by the prospect of travelling all the way to Korea to sup on some canine stew (although the rest of their fiery cuisine is a mouth-watering prospect).



Download



Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.