Doggone Story
Beware, this is too!
I felt sorry for Keith Pritchard; after all, it can’t be any fun having a leg amputated, unable to ride his off-rode superbike. It’s a long story, one I won’t bore you with. In short, a dog bit him, and the wound became infected with gangrene. The dog probably would have reconsidered biting Keith had he known the consequences.
The dog, a cross between a mastiff and a dachshund and fondly named Bonkers by his owner, JK Growling, the manager of the High Street Body Shop, had to be executed after the biting incident. He was laid to rest in Barking, Essex, on the outskirts of London.
Keith had been a keep-fit maniac, proud of his physique, and at great cost had his leg buried at the cemetery where it would wait for the rest of him. I had many a conversation with Keith, trying to get him out of his depression. He wanted to know how his leg was doing in heaven. I admit he’s had a drink or two, but such questions did cause me to wonder what God would do with a leg while waiting for the rest of him. Think me weird, but I always have these kinds of thoughts. My other thought was to wonder how Keith was going to continue climbing the corporate ladder. And, lastly, was Bonkers waiting for the other leg?
Naturally, Keith went to see a lawyer and agreed to let Ted Hooch, a junior partner in Ruff-Ruff and Ruff Associates take his case. Ted told Keith that the owner of the Body Shop had filed a counter suit blaming Keith for riling her dog but assured him that the suit had no legs. Keith asked if JK Growling’s suit was revenge for Bonker’s execution, but Ted assured him that she didn’t have a legal foot to stand on.
Half a million pounds was what Ted told Keith his leg was worth. Keith asked if Bonkers had been executed. With half a million pounds he wouldn’t need to climb the corporate ladder, he was there in a hop and a skip.
Sadly, before the case could be heard, Keith got news that not all the gangrene had been caught, and it had spread. At the hospital, he was rushed to the operating room for surgery, but it was in vain.
The church was crowded. Keith was a good sort, and I had not a doubt in my mind that he would be reunited with his leg.
On the morning of his burial, held next to his leg in Barking Cemetery, Keith received a letter informing him that his prosthetic leg was ready for fitting.
Harry Hogg was raised in Scotland, and now lives with his family in the United States and travels back to Scotland frequently.
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