this sporting life

A visit to Uncle Jim.

The dogs run into the house ahead of me.

Entering the kitchen I behold a scene.

Uncle Jim aged somewhere in the indeterminate 80s, appears to be waltzing around the kitchen with my sheepdog.

It's quite surrealistic.

I goggle.

Ckiser inspection reveals he is engaged in a tug of war with the sheepdog over an object I can't make out..

He is saying: "No, no, no," and is much too engrossed to even greet me.

They move back and forth around the kitchen.
Each one has a hold 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 Jim raises the item aloft triumphantly.

It is a full bacon joint.

Jess had grabbed it off the table when his back was turned.

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 can hardly let Vinnie eat it after this."

He is referring to his son, my gambling cousin Vincent.

I am agreeable to taking the meat in lieu of poisoning the cousin..

The aged uncle and me pass another 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.

"Vinnie 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 you 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 or mauled by Uncle Jim.

So I use what's left for my dinner.

Very nice it was too.

Positively savoury.