A Wet Tee and Missing Golf Balls

Following on from yesterdays post concerning The Owner backing himself neatly into a corner so that he has to go and play a round of golf an a 'non-tropical' tropical monsoon.

We cut a lonely furrow as The Owner's golfing partner, resplendent in the very latest waterproof technology outfit, and The Owner, also resplendent but only in his very wet brightly coloured jumper and Rupert Bear trousers, made their way across the golf course to start their round of golf. My mate Barney K9 and I ambled reluctantly along behind as the loud guffaws emanating from the warm dry clubhouse slowly became drowned out by the sound of heavy rain falling on sodden grass and on my equally sodden back and head. We arrived at the first tee and The Owner tipped the water out of his big heavy bag full of golf bats and selected one to start his game with. Half way down the fairway (are you impressed with my detailed knowledge of the golfing terminology?) there was a big old thorn tree which my mate Barney K9 and me felt would offer a little protection from the monsoon currently driving across the golf course. The Owner wildly flailed at the ball, which landed somewhere above my mate Barney K9 and me in the thorn tree and slowly worked its way down through the branches until it went plop in the puddle. So Barney K9 picked it up and we carried on our waiting activities sat underneath the tree. Eventually The Owner and his Golfing Buddy Hoomun arrived and spent quite a long while shuffling around in the grass as if they were looking for something. Barney K9 and I wandered on and found shelter at the next green sitting in a deep sandy bunker. Shortly after, a golf ball landed in the sand at my feet, so I picked it up this time. Eventually, The Owner arrived and appeared to be looking for something in the grass near the green. I'm not sure what but he never found it. He went and tipped the water out of his bag he keeps his golf bats in, which had filled for the second or third time so far and extracted another new gold ball and carried on his game with an increasing sense of despair about his general demeanour. I managed to pick up a second ball in my mouth and Barney K9 managed to get three in. The Owner tipped the water out of his bag again and produced another new ball announcing that this was his "last ball!". Barney K9 and I wandered, dripping with water, to the next green and took up our vigil again. The Owner swung wildly at the ball, which was partly submerged in water on the tee and managed to connect to it in a very fine manner as the ball tracked a particularly good pathway through the rain and landed with a resounding plop in the little hole in the middle of the green. I did wonder whether I should go and get it out for him  but it was full of water and I was quite wet enough already thank you. Barney K9 also declined to help as he already had three in his mouth so we sat and watched as The Owner and Golf Buddy Hoomun, who didn't seem particularly humorous by now, searched through the long grass for the ball for quite a while for the ball before The Owner announced that he really had had enough golfing and he was out of balls too so they splished and splashed their way back to the club house. The Owner's humour grew darker when we got back as they made him sit on a plastic stool on a sheet of plastic as he was making a mess on the carpet dripping water from just about everything about him. Some very nice Lady Hoomun came and towelled Barney K9 and me down a little and put another towel near the fire which she lit for us to dry beside. I liked her! The Owner however was a quite pathetic figure sat, surrounded by plastic and sand bags, in the corner, sipping occasionally at a hot chocolate. He kept casting a sideways glance at Barney K9 and I. I am not sure if it was the fact that someone had towelled up off, or we had a fire to steam gently beside, or that the lady kept bringing us biscuits and he didn't get any of that. Or was it the little heap of golf balls on the towels beside us that irked him? When we got home his bag of golf bats was thrown to the very back of the shed and his jumper and trousers were thrown in to the washing machine and the door slammed shut in a particularly heavy handed way which left one with the sense that they weren't going to be dragged out again any time soon.