Windowg Shopping

It was Friday, 5pm and a beer in my hand. The working week was almost over and my intentions were to join the lady (H) no later than 7pm. The troll under the bridge had other thoughts and I was left film editing till 7.45pm. Black books became more so bad books, but all was forgotten over a brew and rich tea.

I stupidly forgot to change my alarm clock and the sounds of Manu Chao ‘King of the bongo’ gradually became louder as I struggle to locate where it’s coming from. The other half is not impressed and I don’t blame her.

Today was ‘windowg’ shopping at Battersea Dogs & Cats home. I can’t tolerate cats.

The Start

The painful memories came back to us from our last visit. We decided to walk last time from Stockwell, 40 minutes according to Google maps. When someone says they know the way there, you tend to trust that person and go with the flow. We got lost and ended up somewhere that looked like Coronation Street on crack. Along the way numerous amounts of bickering transforming to full blown arguments that result in me walking on the other side of the road to H. However, an hour or so later we finally made it to our destination. So after reminiscing from above, and the sun shining down we decided to take the tube, as it would be quicker. For some strange reason we ended up getting a bus on a gloriously sunny day, and got as far as Clapham Junction before thinking we should just walk the rest of the way, because the traffic was shockingly retarded. Almost two hours later we got to the dogs home, beating our PB. This time we stayed on the same path with no childish behaviour, just silence until we smelt the dogs.

There’s £1 charge, so being the man I paid for both of us with £10 note, only for the man to grin at me and give me back £8 coins. Before kicking off the misses dragged me and told me to keep stumped. When I used to work in the corner shop, the best way to annoy a customer would be to give them lots of loose change back, and pretend you have no £5 notes. Touché.

A bet was made on what the percentage of Staffordshire Bull Terriers there would be occupying the cells, just like the lowlifes in prison cells across the country. I went with 85% and H went with 86%. See what she did?

Shame we never put our life savings on because we would have just made an absolute fortune. SBT’s everywhere, barking viciously loud and totally uncontrollably. No wonder they are in here, the vile creatures. I can see the appeal they have to hoodies and dealers, but also see how one must just think fuck it and throw the dog on the streets.

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Both of us felt helpless to the ones we liked. They would just stare at you with those tormented eyes deep in to ours, almost touching brain to brain. You never found out why they were in the kennels so you just thought the worst. Thrown on the streets, beaten and so on.

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As always there are a couple of dogs that get the cute treatment, both from me this time as they were bullmastiffs, and H dislikes them. Fair comment, mainly because they’re big and drool a lot.

Home is now our destination and the over ground is just round the corner. We gamble and realise that our travel cards work because it’s zone 2. We get to Victoria in 10 minutes then back to Stockwell in another 15 minutes. 30 minutes in total to get home. Will remember for next time.

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I will leave you with a visual list of the dogs I want… and if any of you out there need a dog sitter, drop me an email.

Any of those three will do. Bullmastiff, Japanese Akita or finally a Giant Schnauzer.

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