Gripper goes bang

16 December 2002
Victor's is a heart-warming story.

"Uncle David, what's that on the mantelpiece?"

"That, my dear, is a golden coprolite."

"What's one of those?"

"Let me tell you a story..."

This was a welcome prospect. Uncle David always had been a soft touch, and it was a lot easier to persuade him and Auntie Marianna to let me stay up late than it ever was with Mum and Dad. I sat, breathless with anticipation, cross-legged on the hearth rug, so close to the fire that I could feel my trousers scalding my knees. Uncle David began:

"Many years ago, before you were born, before your mummy and daddy had even met, your Auntie Marianna and I had a West Highland Terrier called Gripper. It was about this time of year - everyone was preparing for the holidays, doing their Christmas shopping, dressing the tree and putting up decorations. I was working away on the ships then, and one day Marianna decided to go and get some bits and pieces in town. She left Gripper at home, as we didn't like locking him in the car.

When she returned, she found a guilty-looking Gripper, with a rather brown mouth, rubbing his muzzle on our nice lounge carpet. Gripper had eaten all the chocolate coins from the Christmas tree. "Gripper, you bad boy!", she said, and put the dog outside to teach him a lesson - but only for an hour or so, because it was cold. The next time Auntie Marianna went to the supermarket, she bought some new coins.

The following Saturday, she had to take Grandma Ivy to the hospital for her scan. She was gone all day, and when she came back she found Gripper curled up contentedly on the sofa. His beard was as white as snow, not a trace of chocolate to be found, but the coins had disappeared from the tree again! Where had they gone, do you think? Auntie Marianna had no idea. She just went back to the supermarket and bought some more.

And so this continued until Boxing Day. Your daddy and Grandma Ivy and Grandad George had come over with your Uncle Andrew and Auntie Liz and Samantha, who was just a baby then. We were all quite tired and full after Grandma Ivy's Christmas dinner the day before, so we decided to blow the cobwebs away by going for a walk. Gripper had been a naughty boy, stealing a mince pie from Uncle Andrew's plate, so we left him at home in disgrace. When we got back, the coins had disappeared again, even the ones at the top of the tree near the fairy! Gripper was nowhere to be found, but we concluded that he couldn't have gone far, and got on with our Boxing Day tea.

We were all in the dining room helping ourselves to a buffet of cold meats, pickles and salad, ready to settle down to watching the telly. Suddenly we heard a grumbling noise coming from somewhere in the lounge. The grumbling turned into a roar. Auntie Marianna and I went to investigate: behind the sofa, Gripper was straining to do a number two. I picked him up and deposited him on the other side of the patio doors - after all, we don't want doggies doing their business in the house, do we, Victoria? Then everyone else came in from the dining room with their plates full, and we made ourselves comfy.

About fifteen minutes later, we heard the most almighty noise, like a gunshot, or an explosion. "BANG!", it went. I stepped outside the front door but could see nothing. I then went to have a look out back, and found Gripper lifeless, like a deflated balloon, a shadow of his former self. Globs of canine flesh littered the patio and the shrubbery. To the right of Gripper's shattered rectum sat a neat little ball of gold, the waste product of so many misdemeanours with chocolate coins, the pain attendant on a dog's secret pleasure. The stupid fucking bitch kept leaving the bloody dog in the lounge. And that, my dear, is how there comes to be a shit on the mantelpiece, and why I no longer love your Auntie Marianna. Now then, how about another story?"

"Thanks all the same, Uncle David, but I think I'm about ready for bed now. I'm very sleepy."

Current clown:

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