Episode 88 – Scrap Heaps and Swinging D*ks…

Scrap Heaps and Swinging D*ks: A Bully Tale…

Did you ever notice how some people can’t leave well enough alone? Like, the world could be spinning happily on its axis, the birds chirping, the dogs wagging, and here comes Bully, striding in like a constipated sheriff in a one-horse town, ready to declare war on something nobody asked him to look at.

Take Huff and Heff, for example. Two alpha males with zero tolerance for each other. Every time they locked eyes, it was like an unspoken agreement: “one of us leaves on a stretcher“. So we kept them separate. Huff was happy enough outdoors in his run, thank you very much. He had his plastic kennel, a sad little thing, more like a rejected wheelie bin than a shelter, but it was his.

Fanny, of course, decided she was the patron saint of winter rescues and dragged poor Huff inside like she was saving him from a Dickensian workhouse. Made a holy show of it too, you’d swear she was waiting for a slow clap or a letter from the President.

Now, me being me, I spotted a beauty of a cedar kennel down at the charity shop. Needed a new roof. Saul slapped a tin one on it. Job done. Huff had himself a palace.

Then Bully turns up.

Stands there eyeing Huff’s run, the one attached to the shiny new kennel, and declares it a “scrap heap.” Tells Saul he is going to clear it. The same man whose backyard looks like Mad Max built a retirement village.

Now, Saul and Bully aren’t the real alpha males here, that’s Huff and Heff’s department, but they like to circle each other like bad-tempered stags at rutting season. I’m stuck in the middle, watching the testosterone show, wishing I’d invested in earplugs and gin.

Fast forward a bit. Spring rolls in, Huff’s ready to head back out, and I had everything rigged and ready to go. A lovely space for Huff. Real homespun charm. And just when I think we’re in the clear, here comes Bully. Trailer and all. Rocks up like a backwater warlord and takes the run he called scrap. Just hooks it up and hauls it off like he’s repossessing Excalibur.

And you sit there thinking, what in the actual fuck is wrong with this man?

I’ll tell you what. Some people can’t stand peace they didn’t create. They’ve got to mark everything, own everything, and if they can’t, they’ll smash it just to remind you who’s boss.

The moral?
Lock your gates.
Hide your fences.
And never trust a man who calls things ‘scrap’ but carts it off with a glint in his eye and a trailer at the ready.

And as for the swinging?
Oh, always swinging. Whether it’s a trailer, a tantrum, or a sad little pissing contest nobody asked for, there’s always one strutting around like he’s got the crown jewels clanging between his knees.

Message from Granny Frass:

“A man who steals scrap will steal your soul if you let him.”

And as usual, the old girl is never wrong.