[Dailydrool] The Chicken Story

[Rebecca Stanton]

I thought I would leave this little story until Christmas was out of the way, when turkeys, geese etc had been eaten and no-one could feel put off their Christmas dinner. For this is a Morse story and therefore (of course) it is revolting. About a week before Christmas we headed into the village on our late afternoon stroll and this took us through a bit of waste-ground. There are some overgrown bushes and Morse went toddling off into them and I continued on my merry way. He seemed to be taking longer than usual and I (rightly) suspected trouble. I found him in the thick of the bushes with tail wagging rapidly (a bad sign) and something crammed in his jaws. Something fairly large. And whitish. What hit me first of all was the smell, and that was from a few feet away. I shouted at him to come out and drop it, though why I bothered I cannot imagine, as he of course totally blanked me and (eyes bulging) set about trying to eat whatever it was, whole, if
 necessary. So there was nothing for it but to wade in and grab him. As I waded in I felt my thick warm tights laddering and hands stinging as I was cut to shreds by the brambles. I grabbed his collar and looked at what he had waving in his jaws. A supermarket packed chicken that someone had evidently thrown out. Probably about 2-3 weeks out of date, so almost liquid inside. He was holding the chicken by what flesh was left on it still, and his face\neck\feet were covered in rotting, stinking chicken liquid. My first reaction was to heave as the smell was staggering, but I kept swallowing and breathing inwardly. I got hold of his jaws and shook, shook, shook while I tried to prize his jaws open.  Bits of chicken and liquid covered me as well as him. Finally it fell from his jaws, he made a lunge for it but I snapped the lead back on him and pulled as hard as I could, and we were out of the thicket, both covered in this repulsive gunge. I tried my
 best to wipe my hands on the grass but nothing could mask the smell. He was most relucant to leave but finally I dragged him away. Not to be deterred however, he still felt that he should visit his daily haunts, the first of these being the pub only just up the road. We walk in and the few regulars in there looked startled at the site of me, dishevelled, as though I had been in a hit and run. And within seconds, they said 'what is that smell?'  Morse took the gravy bone offered and we scarpered. Then down to the couple at the quayside that like to see him - again, 'what is that smell?' and we took our leave, but only after Morse decided to have a quick roll on their carpet for sheer joy of life.  We got home; Morse had to be scrubbed and I had a long shower. Still I could smell it but it was at least diluted. The next day I was informed by the regulars in the pub that the smell stayed in the pub for well over an hour and the friendly couple at the
 quayside had to treat the carpet as the smell wouldn't budge. We kept our distance for a few days, as I felt the village really had had its fill of Morse. 
*sigh*
Happy New Year to you all.
 
Becky, Morse and Pumbaa ATB
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