The Fly and The Owners Toe

My newest buddy, Barney K9, has a problem with flies. The Owner has a problem with his big toe and as improbably as it sounds, the two are connected. It is the season of the big noisy flies here in the cottage. The ones that sound like a squadron of Hercules C130's flying round the house and make one heck of a mess when The Owner chases one with a rolled up newspaper and makes contact. The paper is unreadable afterwards, the room requires redecorating and The Owner has a kind of primeval radiance about him having hunted and caught his foe. Last night, after patrol, The Owner poured himself a glass of 'something particularly fine' and took his Sunday paper up to the upstairs living room and flopped down into his beanbag. I settled down in my rightful position, at his side, and Barney K9 settled at his feet. Soon, Barney K9 was snoring gently, The Owner was busy getting agitated about something in the paper and I was watching one of these C130 style flies noisily circling the room. It was a picture of blissful normality at the cottage. This fly made a couple of practice dive bombs at The Owner which elicited a mild grumble and irritated flick of his foot in its general direction whilst Barney K9 snoozed on. On its next bombing run it flew a little lower and The Owner flacked his foot in further irritation when all of a sudden Barney K9, still half asleep, launched forth in a magnificent display of K9 defensive instinct. However his instinct was slightly less in tune with his targeting as slobber and gnashers made contact with the first thing it could get to. The Owner leapt up and papers went everywhere, along with his glass and its contents, whilst clutching his toe in an exaggerated display of agony worthy of any premier league footballer. Barney K9 finished his waking up and seemed somewhat surprised to find The Owners foot in his mouth. 

Barney K9 took to his bed afterwards, I am unsure if that was just to keep out of The Owners way or whether he had picked up some lergy from The Owners foot. The Owner has been on the phone to the hospital demanding injections and has been into his emergency supply of bandages. He is now sporting a bandaged foot which will almost certainly mean a trip to the pub looking for sympathy from anyone daft enough to ask him what happened. He has now hacked a walking stick from the hedge and is looking for his keys. I hope he remembers which foot to hobble on for best effects when he gets to the pub.