Thursday, 28 November 2013

An angel, right here on Earth


People dump the strangest of things out at my country workshop. The other day it was this child's jumper - in very good condition - and the cute little dead puppy below - also in good condition. I think the one originally wrapped the other before being thrown out of a car.

I get people who have gardens big enough to produce large quantities of grass-cuttings, but not enough space to keep a compost heap, apparently.

The last rogue builder to dump a ton of rubbish out here was stupid enough to leave paperwork with his name and address on it. He was fined £8000.

The last stolen car to be dumped and burnt-out there was registered to Cardiff Prison - I would have liked to have known the story behind that. I imagine a daring break-out, but I expect the reality was much more mundane.

The policeman in attendance warned me that burnt-out cars are extremely dangerous, but could not say how or why. I later discovered that if you set fire to rubber O-ring seals, they created hydrofluoric acid, which will carry on eating through skin, flesh and bone until it comes out of the other side - like the blood of the creature in 'Alien'.

It was this same policeman who was entrusted with the task of identifying the man found hanging from a short length of baler-twine right opposite my workshop, and this task was made all the more difficult because the man had been hanging there for over two weeks in mid-summer. Well I didn't smell him.

I arrived at the yard one day to find it full of police, including forensic scientists, and found out that they were treating the hanging as murder, for the simple reason that the corpse had both its hands and feet bound together in the same twine.

For the next two weeks, it was very creepy around the place, as I imagined that the area was an execution ground for a local band of ruthless gangsters. Eventually, it was decided that the man had somehow managed to tie himself up before launching into the void, so the atmosphere became a little less tense. Just a little.

The same policeman turned up one day to inform me that they had traced the father of the dead man, who lived in Liverpool. When the Liverpool policeman knocked on the father's door and told him of the tragic death of his son, the father dropped dead on the doorstep through shock. This was the most extreme example of how the repercussions of suicide spread far further than the suicide itself that I have ever heard of.

I looked at the forlorn little body of the doggie and wondered what to do with it. There was no sign of injury, so I guess it had just pegged out through exposure or whatever. Then I remembered that I have a young taxidermist friend.

She took one look at it and decided it was going to become an angel, right here on Earth.


28 comments:

  1. Christ Tom, this is shaping up nicely for a Nordic crime drama.

    I hope you'll post a picture once the the dog is stuffed, poor little thing.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. She has a few animals donated by me, still sitting in a freezer awaiting her attention... the lazy cow... but I will show pics if I am still alive.

      Delete
  2. Yes......today's blog smacks of reality tv's " masons that kill" series

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Never did any killing. I'm the one who stumbles over the bodies.

      Delete
    2. And the case for the defence rests

      Delete
  3. Replies
    1. It could be, but you should never eat a dog's liver - the vitamins can kill you by overload.

      Delete
  4. Tom you certainly see life where you are - or should I say death after reading this blog. I have never understood how people can just dump animals, alive or dead - but then perhaps it is me that is odd.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Good gracious! After reading your blog posts I am overcome by the feeling that nothing much 'exciting' ever happens to me! Unless you count someone giving me a bunch of flowers... Poor wee dog.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Oh my God! I thought, "at least he's not going to show a picture of the dead puppy."
    My second thought was, "where does he live?"
    And now I can't remember all my thoughts because they came fast and furious as almost each line brought on some new and disturbing feeling.
    Excellent writing! I'm going now and try to find my happy place.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This isn't an unhappy place, but it's a shame that Poirot is now dead.

      Delete
  7. My goodness. Murder, suicides, death, intrigue and a dead puppy thrown in for good measure! Are you going to display it in your trophy room?

    ReplyDelete
  8. Do you live in the Midsummer Murder village?

    Why do people still live in places like that? murderers all over. Maybe the houses are cheap

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. There's something breaking in this town which puts all this in the shadows right now. I'll let you know.

      Delete
    2. Oh dear. We wait with nervous anticipation...

      Delete
  9. Poor pup.

    You're reminding me of Miss Marple, who always happens to be nearby when there's some sort of mayhem...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I just remind John of Miss Marple. Full stop.

      Delete
    2. Margaret Rutherford more like

      Delete
    3. That's what I meant (you bitch).

      Delete
    4. My head swung around to see who you were talking about for a second.

      Delete
  10. Keep those chisels sharpened, you never know when they might be needed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I prefer blunt instruments - like the mallets. Why do you think I have a little obsession with old candlesticks? Got the idea from a Cluedo set.

      Delete
  11. I am both confused and disturbed by this!

    ReplyDelete