GallantTed explains how there is more than one way a dog can worry a little lamb. The results just might shock you.
Howye fokes!
How is things? Liven in these parts,
where we get loadsa and loadsa weather, it’s often hard fer ta know exactly what time
of the year it is. But once them frisky
little lambs gambol their way inta Slasher’s Bar & Grill™ we can always tell fer sure that the seasons are a changen
and that spring has finally sprung, and alla that sorta stuff.
And I’ll tell ya, them little balls a wool just love their bitta gambollen. They gambol on the horses, they gambol on the cards, they gambol on the dice, they gambol on the next song ta be played outa the radio.
And I’ll tell ya, them little balls a wool just love their bitta gambollen. They gambol on the horses, they gambol on the cards, they gambol on the dice, they gambol on the next song ta be played outa the radio.
But their most favourite thing ta be gambollen on is the dogs.
They usually sit over by the window, with one pinta fizzy orange between them - and 7 straws ta boot - and carefully study the form of the dogs on the street outside. And then, after much consideration and after taken a few slurps of the communal orange the gambollen will start.
They usually sit over by the window, with one pinta fizzy orange between them - and 7 straws ta boot - and carefully study the form of the dogs on the street outside. And then, after much consideration and after taken a few slurps of the communal orange the gambollen will start.
“Betcha
that cur by the lamp post is a bitch”, one will say ta the other.
“Betcha she’s not.”
“Betcha he’s a out-and-out sheep worrier”, another will say.
“Betcha she’s not.”
“Betcha yer too chicken fer ta go out and find out wether she is or he isn’t.”
“Betcha I’m not.”
Anyways, this was the exact scenario the other day when MadDogTed evintually had ta go over ta see if he could settle the bet and shut them up cos their incessant bleeten was getten too much fer his sinsitive little ears. And so fer a small fee he offered fer ta go out and see if the sed dog was or wasn’t a sheep worrier.
So out he went and after haven a few words with the dog he came back in with the much awaited result.
“Betcha she’s not.”
“Betcha he’s a out-and-out sheep worrier”, another will say.
“Betcha she’s not.”
“Betcha yer too chicken fer ta go out and find out wether she is or he isn’t.”
“Betcha I’m not.”
Anyways, this was the exact scenario the other day when MadDogTed evintually had ta go over ta see if he could settle the bet and shut them up cos their incessant bleeten was getten too much fer his sinsitive little ears. And so fer a small fee he offered fer ta go out and see if the sed dog was or wasn’t a sheep worrier.
So out he went and after haven a few words with the dog he came back in with the much awaited result.
“He’s a sheep worrier fer
sure,” sed MadDogTed.
“How do ya know that?” sed the lambs.
“Cos he told me fer ta tell ye that a huge consignment of mint sauce had just been delivered ta the local butchers.”
Well, the little sheep were fierce worried at that fer sure and ordered 7 pintsa orange and gin fer ta help ferget their troubles. I suppose it were a case a ‘dinner all right’ fer sure.
“Cos he told me fer ta tell ye that a huge consignment of mint sauce had just been delivered ta the local butchers.”
Well, the little sheep were fierce worried at that fer sure and ordered 7 pintsa orange and gin fer ta help ferget their troubles. I suppose it were a case a ‘dinner all right’ fer sure.
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