The Sheep, The Bird and The New Hope

Another visitor had come to the house. This time it was in the form of a white overweight poodle. From a distance you would be prone to believe that it was in fact a sheep rather than a dog. I was told that the dog came from a Posh family, and the obesity and disobedience were proof of how it had been overindulged throughout the years of its life. It now spent its visit here sleeping most of the day in the living room. This of course meant that I was deprived of the pleasure of chasing out Devil Cat, but at the same time I was content with the fact that none of the felines tried to invade my new so-called domain. I was definitely more a dog person than a cat person.

The sheep of course was also obligated to help the swampland spread. Piles of dog crap were mounting up as far as the human eye could see. I had this misfortune of witnessing Princess drag her body like a steamroller over a freshly dislodged excrement. There was no way in hell that I would ever share a sofa with that cat again. I was sure that she had done something similar before, but it was different now. You could compare it to shaking hands with people and knowing that they might have picked their nose or scratched their ass at some point in their life, and it wouldn't bother you. However, if you caught anyone doing this, you would be reluctant to shake their hand. You would simply wave your hand and say “Hey” while standing out of an arms distance. This morning I also saw two small puddles of what appeared to be dog vomit. Of course like every time I decided to cower elsewhere in the house and patiently awaited for someone to discover these two minor incidents and remove them. It seems that every additional inhabitant of this dwelling has an urge to make life more difficult for me.

Not too long ago I was dragged along to this remote pub in the middle of a semi-rural society. I had left the house unshaven and with bad fashion. I expected the place to be filled with old village drunkards that spoke of the older days. It turned out to be completely different though. The atmosphere was calm and charming in its own very unique way, and didn't take us long to find a table and discuss, who would be the first to order a round.

It was at this point that I saw her, the bird. She was elegant in both movement and voice. I could convince myself that she was probably not the perfect template, but my lust wouldn't hear of it. I cursed my self-indulgence. I should have shaved and dressed up. My decision was to wait till next week and prepare myself to chat her up.

I went there the following week, but my plans were disrupted by two elements. The first element was a ring on her finger. Had I not learned my lesson yet? The hands were important to observe in the game of lust and love. The second element was a surprise. She was obviously very into flirting with her male colleague, who was young gentleman in his mid-twenties. I couldn't help but feeling like a retard. Birds just can't be kept in pages.

My landlady had announced that a new girl would move into the house by the end of October. I felt content upon hearing these news. This house needed a bit of social pep up. My relationship with my current room mate had not developed and stayed very superficial. I didn't feel motivated to socialise with her. We were on completely different wave lengths. She was a more simple and superficial being with no real interest anything apart from cats and soap operas. Personally, I thought that she was complete waste of semen to start with. Had I been her father, I would have inserted her into a mother and repeated the whole intercourse to make sure that I would get it right this time. I was hoping that this new room mate would be my new hope of feeling more at home. Of course this could also backfire on me. I could risk the two room mates ganging on up on me and making my life even more miserable by unanimously agreeing on walking on all fours and crapping in the garden with the dogs. Only time could tell.

Edward T. Shufflebottom