Tom and Jerry.
Itchy and Scratchy.
Now - welcome Rocky and Ping-Pong to the pantheon of the toothesome twosomes.
Brothers, indistinguishable in their black and white coats, they were part labrador and part bull-mastiff. There was something else in the oven when they were being cooked - and it might have been Fresian.
This meant they had the muzzles of a gun dog and the barrel chests of a fighting variety. The colour scheme was definitely bovine and their temperament was a mixture of everything.
When they were alone, they were placid.
When free to roam with the other four members of their extended family, they hunted like a pack and posed a serious threat to anything on two legs or four.
The rest of the time they lay in the sunshine in a prolonged stretch, one eye propped open in case there was food to be had.
They barked in the darkness and their howls echoed off the crater walls like the soundscape of a Hammer Horror. In the daylight they ran with us as we rode Renato's horses and frolicked with us as we wandered the quiet roads that crisscross the crater floor.
They have their own You Tube presence.
When they worried the neighbour's fowl - and by worried I mean shredded - Renato's response was ruthless and effective. He tied them to different trees outside the hostel, all day. Every hour, he came out with the remains of the dead chicken and slapped them roundly and repeatedly about the face until the message was received.
They still fight with the neighbour's dogs.
They never touch the chickens, though.
Itchy and Scratchy.
Now - welcome Rocky and Ping-Pong to the pantheon of the toothesome twosomes.
Brothers, indistinguishable in their black and white coats, they were part labrador and part bull-mastiff. There was something else in the oven when they were being cooked - and it might have been Fresian.
This meant they had the muzzles of a gun dog and the barrel chests of a fighting variety. The colour scheme was definitely bovine and their temperament was a mixture of everything.
When they were alone, they were placid.
When free to roam with the other four members of their extended family, they hunted like a pack and posed a serious threat to anything on two legs or four.
The rest of the time they lay in the sunshine in a prolonged stretch, one eye propped open in case there was food to be had.
They barked in the darkness and their howls echoed off the crater walls like the soundscape of a Hammer Horror. In the daylight they ran with us as we rode Renato's horses and frolicked with us as we wandered the quiet roads that crisscross the crater floor.
They have their own You Tube presence.
When they worried the neighbour's fowl - and by worried I mean shredded - Renato's response was ruthless and effective. He tied them to different trees outside the hostel, all day. Every hour, he came out with the remains of the dead chicken and slapped them roundly and repeatedly about the face until the message was received.
They still fight with the neighbour's dogs.
They never touch the chickens, though.
No comments:
Post a Comment