Tie Me Dingo Down, Sport [FICTOID]

The dingo floated into the butcher shop.

“Gawddamn dingos!” Sidney shouted.  Actually all of Sydney shouted, “Gawddamn dingoes!” several times a day, but this particular Sidney owned Sidney’s Sydney Butcher Shop – “We specialize in kidneys.”

This led to a lot of confusion regarding black market surgery procurers but that has nothing to do with our story.

The dingo floated a good seven feet above the floor (a little more than twp meters for those of you anal about such things).  Its big, bloated body gave it the impression of a filthy, furry, feces stained blimp swarming with fleas.

The dingo sniffed the delicious carnal smells of Sidney's butcher shop and did whatever the hell it is that dingoes do when they do the equivalent of smiling.  

“Shoo! Get out! Beat it!” Sydney shouted, flapping his apron in the general direction of the dingo.

The dingo ignored him, propelling itself along with a series of short, sharp farts in the direction of the meat counter.  

Sydney's wife, Bidney, came out.  Bidney is an old Irish name but Bidney was only middle-aged Irish.  “Sure, and what be the ruckus going on out here -- oh, for the sweet love of Mary and all the saints!  Get that dingo out of here!”  

“I'm trying, woman!” Sidney said, still impotently flapping his apron at the floating dingo. 
“Useless,” Bidney said.  “How typical.”  This is a profound insight into the contentious nature of their relationship and how they were trapped with each other due to their strict conservative Catholic upbringing, but again, but again has nothing to do with our story about a floating dingo -- focus, people!  Focus!

Bidney ducked in back and emerged a split second later wielding a broom.

“Out!” she said.  “Out!  Out!  Out”

She started swinging wildly at the dingo, missing the first two times, hitting Sidney in the face the third time (accidentally?  Hard to say; resentment can run deep and subtly influence our behavior), finally swatting the floating carnivore on the side of its head, spinning it like a top in midair.

Now at this point we shall pause our narrative to explain how dingoes came to float.  The official explanation is that the e. coli bacteria in their gut mutated to produce hydrogen instead of methane, causing them to bloat up and float.  According to current theory, dingoes had been doing this for centuries but only recently learned how to regulate the expulsion of hydrogen to give them neutral buoyancy and provide direction, earlier victims of the mutation simply floating off into the upper atmosphere where they exploded.

That, or leprechauns did it.  Take your pick.

Back to our narrative:  The spinning dingo began slinging saliva and parasites in all directions.

“Woman, stop what you're doing!” Sidney shouted, but Bidney refused to listen and administered another blow to the dingo's head that would have earned her a tryout for the New York Yankees.  

Dizzy from spinning rapidly, the dingo exploded from both ends:  Vomit and feces, spraying the interior of Sidney’s Sydney butcher shop as well as Sidney and Bidney themselves. 

Bidney shrieked an outrage, swinging her broom overhead and down on the floating dingo, bouncing it off the floor and ricocheting it off all the walls, thoroughly contaminating Sidney’s Sydney Butcher Shop.

“What's all this then?” the state health inspector asked, pulling out his violations book as he entered the shop.

The dingo took this diversion to snatch a long string of sausages in its jaws before propelling itself out the door in a series of derisive farts aimed in Bidney's direction.

Sidney and Bidney looked at the health inspector, literally pointing their fingers at each other.  “It's his / her fault,” they said.

“I don't care whose fault it is,” said the health inspector, writing up a citation.  “This shop is ordered closed until you clean it up and it's reinspected.”

Sidney gloomily took the citation.  “We can clean this up in a day,” he said.  “How soon can we schedule a reinspection?”

“My current docket is booked through next February,” said the health inspector.  “However, for a small surcharge, I can put you on my expedited list and schedule you for next week.”

Sidney sighed.  It would put a massive dent on their credit card -- no vacation in Tasmania that year -- but a necessity to stay in business.  “Very well, we'll pay.”  

The health inspector handed him a card, eager to get out on the street to follow the floating dingo to the next catastrophic health violation.  “Send the payment to this address, I'll see you next week.”  

As the health inspector dashed out the door, Bidney said, “That does it, we're going vegan.”

© Buzz Dixon