The flip of a coin • ASKTOM

The flip of a coin

When a coin is flipped and you’re asked heads or tails and you say after a second or two heads — then the coin come down tails; you realise just then you have agreed to climb down a dam waste water drain to retrieve a cat.

This would be okay when you were once just a puppy — but now aged eleven, finds one shelf unable to surface from the water (where one now finds himself,) after have’n downed the dam waste water drain, chasing Bobby (the bobcat,)

Bobby, she a cat with a powerful body, short sturdy legs and a very short tail. Did I mention her large head and sharply pointed ears? But she is a friend of mine; not just a stray coming from across the town square, who threw itself down the said hole to retrieve her breakfast. Her breakfast stolen by Ryan — the leader of the local rat pack.

You may think this story is about the bobcat but you will be mistaken.

It’s about me. If you google “Shetland Sheepdog,” or just “Sheltie,” you will see i’m a breed of herding dog. Those who have provide this information say … we are a small to medium dog, and come in a variety of colours.

You should love me because i’m lively, playful, gentle and very loyal; also strong responsive and intelligent. What more can I add? I've always been a gambler, chased many a butch and having had my way with many when caught. A good number gave up earlier in the piece knowing a good thing when they saw one; anyway not all can stay at the top of the perch forever. So there comes an occasion when you are called to guess heads or tail toss.

Mac, the Rottweiler rolled the coin around in his claws; with an eye of all there, each hopping they would not be the dog he'd choose to put their guess to the test. His big brown moist eyes chose me. He flipped the coin. Heads or tails he asked. I called heads.

The diameter at road surface proved no obstacle and I felt quite good about myself and chances of success.

Rodger (a german shepherd) large, hard worker in his day; still even today is alert and curious. He has always been a loyal friend.

Fido, the dachshund of the group … short little chap, good for going under doors and through half opened windows. He is very clever but stubborn; would never get him going down any waste water drain chasing a bobcat.

The fourth member of our group is scamp (there is always a dog named scamp in any story.)

Mac encouraged me on by exposing his dirty pointed teeth. I watched as his long red rough tongue circled his lips.

Of cause it was with some difficulty for a dog to descend down a waste water drain man hole by the way of a metal ladder, and I found it no easy feet to achieve.

Rodger dropped a stick, hitting me on my head. Sorry he'd call down. Just checking the depth he said. The stick after some period of silence made a splash in the water below. Thank you I called back to him.

'I want the bobcat alive,' Mac called down and at the same time dropping a flour sack.

'Stick it the that when you catch her.' He said.

'Yeah right,' I called back. No friend of mine is going in a sack. I told myself.

The town clock struck 10 o'clock when the coin landed tails up and when I had called heads. It now was striking 10.30 and a little drizzle began to fall; both Rodger and Fido sheltered close by still providing encouragement by way of barking. Scamp scampered off. Mac the dog he is stood steadfast.

When asked, any owner of a Rottweiler — they will tell you theirs is a devoted friend, and always good-natured. When you ask anyone attached by Rottweiler (by it's teeth)— they will tell you something quite different.

Mac has advised us (fellow group members,) he is well known for his livestock skills. I ask myself why he is not down this waste water drain chasing (bobby) the bobcat … if he’s so good. But of cause. I wouldn't want him near Bobby.

Ahead; my eyes now accustomed to the dark are focused on the tail end of the cat — moving like a salmon swimming up stream.

Bobby, has her eyes fixed on the leader of the rat pack.

Up top the south west wind had picked up: it was bitterly cold. Fido was telling Mac he wanted to go. Mac told him he couldn't. Rodger decided he had better things to do. Mac told him he didn't.

'I'm going now,' barked Fido.

'No, you're not,' Mac turned. His long orange tongue — poking out between his sharp teeth.

'You stay where you are.' The words sharpened by those teeth.

'You look here,' said Rodger (standing tall,) 'We don't have to do what you say'. Rodger was brave thought Scamp — as he hid behind the transformer box.

'You stay here until I tell you-you can leave.' Barked Mac. That large tongue now out and licking his wet cold wet nose. His back to the wind.

'Some friends are you,' the Rottweiler was saying — his voice swirling around with the wind. 'You would leave Lazarus down that hole on her own?' Mac looked directly at each of them. 'She is doing this for you.' More like doing it because she's in love with the cat; each said to themselves.

Yes, my name is Lazarus. Yes, Lazarus. Why, I can't remember. I live on Palm Beach Boulevard at number 26. Rodger lives next door at 28 and Fido at 30. Across the road at 27 lives scamp, next to him lives Mac at 29. Next to Mac lives Bobby (the Bobcat,) at 31. It's her house next to the playground where we are now, and where I'm down the waste water drain ... via the man hole, chasing the cat — the cat who is chasing the rat.

She is doing this for you, I heard Mac telling the others, I thought I was doing this because ... I called heads and the coin came down tails (not to mention my liking for the cat.)

This morning began (for bobby,) when she heard mr Jones coming into the kitchen. She rose up, stretched out her fore paws, and then began to purr, rubbing her nose against the leg of the kitchen table. Mr Jones said morning bobby.

'Morning bobby, you look content with life,' mr Jones said, placing a tin of sardines and a bowl of milk on the floor by the back door ... then opened the door, letting the morning sun in and the night air out. Bobby purred louder, in response to mr Joneses kind words and the dish of milk; followed by rubbing her wet nose against his leg ... then popped out to do her morning business.

Mac was awake and sitting on his favourite cushion in front of the large bay window that faced the park ... and from there he can witness the coming and goings of the street that concerns him most. As with each morning at this time he watches bobby go about her morning business, intrigued in the manner in which it is completed. Unlike his neighbour, Mac is the first to rise ... yet has to wait until the back door is opened before he can come into the kitchen, and then has to wait for both little Matthew and David to begin their breakfast before he gets dry dog biscuits and a bowl of water. But Mac doesn't mind because he knows — he rules the roost.

Across the road at 27 Scamp still asleep in his basket-weave bed and on his feathered filled mattress ... dreaming of the day to come. There are no children to wake him and his mistress (old mrs Overton,) will not rise from her bed till after 10. However he came come and go as he pleases ... in and out through his dog door; and with his breakfast (placed on a plate — the night before,) he can have when he requires it. Ah! The life of a dog.

'Up you get you old thing, time to go outside,' this is how my mornings start. My master is kind old Jack. He makes sure my breakfast is always there for me with fresh clean water. I never met mrs Jack, she died awhile back and I believe I was her replacement — someone for company. It was Jack's daughter (June) who introduced us; from a dormitory to a single bed ... heaven. (That was me, not the daughter.) Before I go to sleep, Jack makes sure all my toys are close by so I have company; on cooler nights he does not object if I pop onto his bed by his feet.

Coming to Rodger at 28 and Fido at 30; we have been neighbours for about 6 years. Rodger although being German ... speaks good English — even if very slowly. Fido is your typical Dachshund ... good for going into small places. I can't understand why he did volunteer to go down this dam waste water drain man hole to retrieve Bobby. I guess because he is very clever?

We all know rats have as many friends as they have enemies (a lot like sheep, if you believe the stories.) Let's not forget the rat ... Ryan; master rodent of the park made the mistake of getting to Bobby's sardines before she this morning, making off with three of the best ... dripping with mineral water.

Bobby was off, not bothering to finish her griming, leaving a large area of fur in-brushed.

'You come back with my fish, you dirty rat,' Bobby was mellowing at the top of her vocal cords. Across the back yard, over the herb garden ... here noticing her morning business (she had forgotten to cover over) at top speed she jump the small brick fence. Ryan was covering good ground, although having only two of the stolen sardines. Bobby decided not to stop and enjoy this part of her breakfast ... the challenge of the chase wining over the digestion of the fish.

On hearing all the commotion Mac left the bay window for one upstairs; there he saw Bobby, chasing a rat, with a fish tightly secured in its mouth. With only a sound a Rottweiler can make it was a wonder the whole street was not aware of the chase. Mac was at my door, telling me to come.

'Get your arse into gear,' he was telling me. (what large teeth I was thinking.) I was asked. 'Why?'

'Why and where are we going?' Mac told me what he had seen.

We were at 27. Rodger was having a morning brush down, he was on his back with all four legs in the air. Mac told him there was no time for that.

'You don't time for that you pervert,' he barked ... showing all eleven teeth and his wet orange tongue.

'Don't you be gone long Rodger,' mrs Wales called. Rodger confirmed ... not long.

By this time Fido was up and feed, although old mrs Overton was not.

'Follow us. ' I told the dachshund ... and hurry up.' I can be so mean sometimes. I'll make it up to him later.

The school bus nearly skittle all four of us, the driver honked on his horn, the children's faces at the window were faces of anticipation. Safely across, we lost no time following the escaping sardine, leading us to the opened waste water drain man hole.

The grass had been recently cut, the smell of fresh cut grass filled our nostrils; cut grass and twigs were cast a side in our wake. Rodger led the way, 'telly ho' ... he barked.

'You be home in half an hour.' Rodger's owners voice was heard.

Mac next took over the led, his large orange tongue flapping in the wind. I then put on a spur ... taking to the front, my ears flapping to the left and then to the right.

Scamp never was in front once; no matter if the grass was cut or was long (it was always the same to him;) his stomach rubbed the earth.

So here we are. Mac asked who is going down to find Bobby and get her breakfast back. He looked at us, first with a smile, then with less of a smile, then with a little anger, then with more anger, then he said,

'I will flip this coin.'

'I can't go down,' said Scamp. 'I'm too small.' And he was right, we all agreed.

'I can't go down,' said Rodger. 'I have to be home in half an hour.' And we all knew he was right.

So it was me who called heads ... when the coin came down tails.

Ryan woke first in his rat hole as he did every morning, washed his face from the left over dish water from last night. Twisted his whiskers, removed a slice of last nights dinner and sharpen his two eye teeth on the stone door step. Brushed down a section of hair ... he found it was the same section of offending hair every morning. Along with his own family, his wife and seven children — lived his mother, father and his sister's family of eight — from her first husband. He disappeared two summers ago. It had not taken long for her to bed another rodent and have another three children. She produces like rabbits, he said to himself.

The town clock struck 9 o'clock. It was time to scavenge breakfast. Ryan had his tour of duty off by heart. 9.10 scraps from the council rubbish bins, crumbs from under the picnic tables (not always a success, due to the sparrows, seagulls and paradise ducks,) however worth the effort. 9.30 a rampage through the waste containers at the rear of the shops. With his shoulder pack almost fill Ryan was making his way home when his every sensitive nose ... picked up the aroma of sardines. He couldn't help himself; diverting from his path he found himself at Bobby breakfast plate. Before he knew it he had three large fillets between his teeth.

It so happen at that every monument (we know,) Bobby looked up from her griming.

'You dirty rat. You come back with my sardines,' she yelled.

Ahead; my eyes now accustomed to the dark are focused on the tail end of the cat — moving like a salmon swimming up stream.

Bobby, her eyes fixed on the leader of the rat pack (Ryan.)

I'm doing the dog paddle, all four legs working in rotation, Bobby the cat doing a cat paddle, front legs first followed by the rear legs and a nice wobble of her rear end. I cannot see the rat from here, but can imagine his head, legs and tail — going like stink .

The pipe was about a metre in diameter, there are serval joining pipes and junctions; a number of vertical outlets with metal ladders to the surface. None I could take right now. The water was reasonably clean, with only the occasional discolouring, the smell was not to bad. I'm able to keep my head above the water most of the time, only when another pipe joined ... did my nose get wet.

I could hear Bobby screaming. 'Come back with my sardines, you dirty rat.'

The things people (and animals,) do. They are only sardines in mineral water after all.

So here I am, swimming along doing the best I can to keep head above the water: chasing a cat (only because we are friends,) a cat chasing a rat ... who had stolen its breakfast. Lucky for me some smart arse has painted distance markings on the walls of this waste water dram pipe (which was heading out to sea.) 100 metres, 90 metres, 80 metres. Cheviot; mural of a post office... now a Community information office; concrete vertical columns (painted in blue,) double hung sash windows (painted yellow,) and double timber doors (painted red.) 70 metres, 60 metres. Hokitika; mural of an iron swing bridge (painted red,) with victorian style lamp posts, and cast bronze figures of old time miners ... with lanterns, picks and shovels. 50 metres, 40 metres. I still have Bobby in my sight, although not the rat. Tasman; mural of a WW1 monument; soldiers, their heads — resting on upside down rifles. 30 metres, now I can hear the ocean. The last twenty metres came to an end in quick time.

Out I shot, flying almost three metres (in a straight line,) and landing on my belly — with all four legs spread like an Eagle.

I woke. My front left leg and my rear right leg — both in plaster. Jane humming around me like Florence Nightingale.

Jack had purchased me a new cane bed and mattress; I was being treated like a king.

'How you feeling buddy,' Jacks asks, his voice soft and full of love. I think he saw me as his late wife, fussing all over me ... tucking in my blanket (new, it came with the mattress.) Jane looked good today, I thought. Specially when she bent down facing me.

'Hi.' Said Mac. Interrupting my vision.

'Hi.' Said Rodger. Sniffing the new blanket.

'Hi,' Said Fido. Inspecting my breakfast, sitting in my new bowl (came with the new cane bed.)

'Hi,' Said Scamp. Rubbing his back leg dangerously near my rear leg.

Bobby just licked my ear, purring at the top of her meow. Of all my friends I like her best ... I guess that's why I called tails when I could have call heads (or was it the other way round?) Either way, I was always going down that dam waste water drain. No way was any rodent — no matter how big and brave it thought it was ... was going to get away with my Bobby's breakfast of sardines.

The End