tick, Tock, shuffled uncomfortably underneath the
ribbed Argyll sock rubbing against his shiny body.
He had now grown to the size of a marble in his quest
to suck the lifeblood from his host and his confidence
and irritation were also growing in equal measure.
he arched himself to retain a firmer grip on Jock's
lower leg, his squirming attracted the attention of
Michael Cade's daschund, Rudy, snuggled at the feet
of his master in Wilkie's bar where Jock had retired
for the afternoon. The curious dog snuffled around
Jock's feet, sticking its nose into his sock to sniff
at the industrious tick.
Tock froze as he felt the beast's damp schnozzle brush
against his back. He considered a swift leap of faith
onto the daschund's face but quickly decided against
it, having fed off canines before and remembering
the disgusting company he endured then. In the world
of parasites, fleas were considered despicable company
with their haughty jumping ways and condescending
attitudes. They were the lightweights of the bloodletting
brotherhood in Tock's opinion. Plus they stunk. No,
he would not be joining the clinging throng with their
arrogant displays of aerial prowess. Now he had a
taste for human, there was no going back.
The daschund was persistent and Tock could feel the
air from its damp nostrils coursing over him. The
trouble with being insect size was that dog's breath
was like a sewage scented hurricane. If only he had
a back leg long enough to kick the stupid mutt in
the face. 'Get off me!' he yelled while trying not
to throw up.
yelped in shock as Jock looked around hurriedly to
see if anyone had heard. There were only three other
punters in the pub along with Fat Boab the barman
- Eddie Thomson, who lived downstairs from Jock, Guy
Pistov, Hibs recent Romanian signing with a taste
for the low life, and Michael Cade.
attempting to kick the dog out of the way, noticed
how limp his foot felt. Leaning over, he whispered
to Tock: 'You're draining the life out o' me.'
Cade called out, 'Rudy, come away from the strange
man,' as he eyed Jock McConnell curiously.
'Ah wasnae talking to yer dug,' said Jock.
who else is down there?' said Michael.
thought it best not to propel Tock into the public
domain just yet and decided to go the John McEnroe
route. 'Ah was talking to maself,' he said. Then,
quickly trying to change the subject, he yelled across
to Guy Pistov, 'Hey, Guy, whit's this Ah hear about
you bein' caught doggin' on Calton Hill?'
that's it!' Michael Cade picked up his beloved Rudy
and scooped his paraffin lamp under his other arm.
He'd never heard of the latest trend in sexual diversions,
dogging, which involved watching and participating
in couples having sex in cars. He assumed it was a
lude slur on dogdom by comparing them to the animalistic
tendencies of randy footballers.
didn't come here to be insulted.' And out he flounced.
Jock, Guy and Eddie Thomson, peered after him and
is it true, Guy?' asked Eddie.
week: High life, low life, park life.