Not me, my dog...
A few years back I'd frequent various pubs in Portland, Dorset while staying at my sister's cottage there. Some of the pubs were filled with various foreign ship crews on shore leave. These evenings frequently turned into drunken blurs and more often than not I'd not even remember getting home. One night I had my dog with me, he was a cute little chap and got a bit of attention from dog lovers, the odd pat on the head etc. Until the russian sailor spotted him, that is. He kept returning, drunker and more incoherent each time, to stroke the dog, smiling and nodding at me. This theme continued for about an hour until finally he picked up the poor beast and began to cuddle him. Deciding it was time to leave I asked him politely to put the dog back on the floor. He declined. I asked again.He shook his head, gripping the dog tighter. I took hold of the dog's collar and tried to pry his fingers loose. He gripped all the more. I yelled at him. He was eerily silent, just hanging on. I stared into his eyes and growled "give me my fucking dog back" as menacingly as I could manage. His eyes were steely and he grimaced with determination.At this point I actually decided to punch him and still holding my dog's collar, raised a fist. He still bloody hung on, shaking his head. In the seconds before it all turned really serious, his shipmates grabbed him and began to wrestle the dog from him, me still hanging on, fist raised, him still looking like only death would part them. Finally poor mutt was released and I staggered out of the door with him. I have no idea if that nutter had simply decided to take my dog back to Russia with him or if he intened to rape him or eat him, I'm only glad I never once let the bloke take him away in a bit of good natured foolishness while I got another round in.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Sun 3 Feb 2008, 5:55, Reply)