Doggedness

Granddad Brian (RIP) was keen gardener.

He liked nothing better than to work up a sweat pottering in his vegetable patch.

Sadly, the current weather isn’t set for mopping ones brow while leaning contently on a pitchfork. Not to be deterred, I wrap up well and venture outside with my bitch for a site survey. To be honest I did try this from inside first, but the American garden design software I purchased kept crashing every time I tried to site my knoll. Still, if Granddad Brian managed without electronic aids I felt sure I had the genes for it too.

As I attempt to get a vision of knoll-like splendiforousness while avoiding the stingy things and spiky watchamacallits, I can’t help but notice my bitch seems distracted. She’s snuffling, and it’s ruining my concentration. When I investigate, all thoughts of genetic hand-me-downs are quickly discarded. After placing a bucket over the discovery, I move out into the quiet lane beyond my property border where my suspicions are confirmed. Oh dear.

What I need is an expert.

“Hello, Leafy Suburb Enviro-Crime Unit. Kay speaking; how can I help you?”

While I’m all for equal opportunities and the like, there are occasions when a man to man conversation is preferable. This was one of those occasions. Not wishing to offend the very pleasant and very young sounding Kay, I try a subtle tactic to try and save her from any embarrassment.

“Hello Kay. Could you put me through to your Enviro-Crime Investigation Department please?”

“We don’t have one of those. Perhaps if you told me the problem I could assist?”

Fiddlesticks! She was a tough cookie. There was not going to be an easy way around this. In times like these I find it good practice to be professional; eschewing slang as it can be potentially misleading.

“My bitch has found a prophylactic hidden in my knoll site.”

“A prophylactic?”

Poor girl, I can almost hear her blushing.

“Yes, a used one.”

“Used?”

Clearly Kay was a skilled interrogator and destined for promotion.

“Yes, the knot in it has preserved some vital evidence too.”

“Let me get this straight: Your bitch has found a knotted, used prophylactic in your nole site?”

I told you she was sharp.

“Yes, I’ve done my best to cover it up; but it’ll need removing as soon as possible.”

“Oh… errm… How did it get there?”

“Well, I’ve done some rooting round in my back alley and I think it came from there.”

“Your back alley?”

She didn’t sound too impressed with my amateurish investigation. Best I explain:

“There are some fresh tracks outside my garage door. I’m a heavy sleeper so I can’t be certain; but I think they were left by the culprits.”

“Fresh tracks?”

“Yes, they’re too big to cover up. In case they wash away, would you like me to take some photos for you?”

“NO!! Sorry. I meant that won’t be necessary.”

Oh good, the Enviro-Crime Unit obviously had its own CSIs.

“Can I ask why you have called us about your…err… problem?”

Well I never, there was a definite tone of sarcasm now. Maybe Kay wasn’t quite ready for promotion yet.

“I would have thought that were obvious. I have a dogging issue here that needs stamping out before any D-List celebrities try to squeeze their big four by fours up my narrow lane.”

There, that told her. I’m sure Granddad Brian would have been proud of this direct approach.

Click, buuuurrrrrr.

Aha! Kay had clearly been galvanised into action and I headed back to the garden to await the arrival of the Enviro-Crime Rapid Response Unit. I wondered if they had a charter time as I had a site survey to complete.

Uh-Oh.

It seemed I had underestimated my bitch’s latex fetish. I should have put a brick on the bucket.

As I retrieved the tattered remains:

My bitch smacked her chops.