A First

To a soundscape of birds enthusiastically warbling spring refrains under a sun kissed sky, upon waking yesterday morning I pondered which events may make up GJ Strachan’s upcoming Sunday.

Some of the forthcoming affairs, such as an upcoming lunch visit from my son Jonny, his wife Jenny and my daughter Rachel were pre-planned. However, there was one episode in my upcoming plot line which I could’ve never foreseen.

This incident playing out at around 5pm while embarking on a stroll with a friend (Sarah) and her dogs. This life instalment a chapter I’d never have predicted at reveille, or indeed an occurrence previously confronting me during the half century I’ve strolled this dysfunctional planet.

This daytime interlude taking place while walking the dogs past a plastic re-cycling cage close by her home. The scene starting when we heard the cries of a young lad who, as we approached, evidently had climbed into this cage only to inadvertently become wedged in the entrance hole. The wee fella becoming deeply distressed on realisation he was unable to escape back out of the this gap at the 6ft cage’s zenith.

This child, who looked around nine years old, revealing to Sarah and me that “a big lad in a green coat” had despatched him into this bin as a prank. However, it was quite clear to the dog walking adults that even the strongest ‘big lad’ would’ve struggled to drag him 6ft onto the bin top prior to dumping him inside this cube shaped vessel. Well, not without prior consent from the youngster, anyhow.

As Sarah admonished the boy for what she believed were a series of untruths about how he got into this fix, I scaled the cage’s side, coming to a rest on the top with my legs sitting each side of the entrance hole. At this juncture endeavouring to re-assure the boy not to panic as I’d soon have him outta there.

A promise I made good upon a minute or so later when hauling this young reprobate from incarceration via the hole in which he entered. The kid still having his side of events ripped to shreds by my sceptical female companion. At this time I wasn’t sure which was worse for the boy. Sarah’s rollocking for deeming he was lying about how he got into the distressing palaver, or the fact he’d been incarcerated in a plastic recycle bin.

As this episode’s plot line progressed, with both adult humans being otherwise engaged either assisting or reprimanding the youngster, the two dogs (Zella and Deano) looked on unimpressed their stroll’d been temporarily curtailed.

The German Shepherd and Lhasa Apso’s tails, which’d been wagging in unbridled excitement a few moments earlier, now static as they stared up at the boy, probably thinking to themselves “Look at that silly little sod!….. They should’ve just left him in there!”

The sketch ended after I lowered the boy ground ward from the cage’s top and, after a final berating from Sarah for telling pork pies, he cycled off with pilfered plastic bottles replicating sounds of a revving motor bike when upon coming into contact with his spokes.

What did I learn from this 10-15 minute incident playing out on Sunday teatime?….. Well, if nothing else, don’t tell Sarah lies or she’ll rip you a new one!!

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