The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Sunday, May 22, 2016

this sporting life

A visit to Uncle Fred.
The dogs run into the house ahead of me.
Entering the kitchen I behold a scene.
Uncle Fred aged 80 is engaged in a tug of war with my sheepdog.
He is saying: "No, no, no," and is much too engrossed to even greet me.
They move back and forth around the kitchen like sword fighters.
Each one has a hold of something and will not let go.
I am mildly amused but feel it necessary to intervene lest one or other of them get over excited.
As the melee passes me, I reach out and pinch the dog's ear.
She drops whatever it is she's holding.
With a cry of "aha," Uncle Fred raises it aloft triumphantly.
It is a full bacon joint.
We stand for a few moments.
The Uncle sighs.
"I suppose you'd better take it with you when you're leaving and give it to the dogs later," he says.
I am agreeable to this.
We pass a few hours discoursing about sundry matters from American politics to Irish horse racing.
It is after midnight when I leave with the bacon wrapped in paper.
Next day I meet the Uncle on the avenue.
"Your cousin Ron came in late last night," laughs the Uncle, "and he was looking for the meat. I told him you took it because the dog had gotten it. And I could hear him from my bedroom cursing for about the next hour. You wouldn't believe the things he was saying."
"I'm not sure I want to know this," I murmur thoughtfully.
I head back to the house and retrieve the bacon from the fridge.
It is indeed a fine slab.
I get the dog dishes and cut a few slices for the hounds.
They eat happily.
I look at the remaining bacon.
It really is a fine hunk of meat.
I've probably cut off any bits that have been bitten or drooled on by the dog.
So I use what's left for my dinner.
Very nice it was too.
Positively savoury.

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