The Newspaper says that the Prime Minister says he is as Fit as a Butcher’s Dog, I say.
Indeed, says the Owner, perhaps he is.
If a Butcher has a Dog, I say, One might imagine it might be quite Lardy.
It depends which Butcher you are referring to, says the Owner, and which Dog.
Which Butcher was he talking about? I ask.
I do not know, says the Owner. I was not Privy to the Detail.
Well how fit is he Claiming to be? I ask.
I believe he can do a Press-Up, says the Owner.
Butcher’s Dogs do not do Press-Ups, I say. How does a Press-Up convert into Dog terms?
I do not know, says the Owner. It is fitter than not being able to do a Press-Up, says the Owner. I do not think there is a Conversion Chart, says the Owner.
We may be able to work out from his Level of Fitness which Butcher and which Dog he was referring to, I say.
I suppose the Moral Dog could try to do a Press-Up to work it out, says the Owner.
That is a terrible Suggestion, I say. The Moral Dog’s Elbows are not up to it, I say. Dogline would have something to say about that, I say. Do you suppose the Butcher’s Dog was Forced to do a Press Up in order to establish the comparison? I ask. That is terrible, I say.
I do not think any Specific Butcher’s Dog was involved, says the Owner. I think the Prime Minister was speaking Generally, says the Owner.
So the Prime Minister was trying to suggest that he was Fit by reference to a Nonspecific Butcher’s Dog which May or May Not be Fit and indeed which May or May Not Exist at all, I say. This is terrible, I say. The Poor Dog, I say.
I think you are taking this too Literally, says the Owner.
On the contrary, I say, it seems to be the Prime Minister who is taking things too Literally, I say. One cannot make Statements about Butcher’s Dogs Willy Nilly without Verifying the Facts, I say.
I do not think the Prime Minister even knows a Butcher’s Dog, says the Owner.
Cast aside, I say. Forgotten, I say. how many Butcher’s Dogs were dragged into this Ghastly generalisation, I say.
Please can we stop talking about the Butcher’s Dog, says the Owner.
I suppose he thinks Butcher’s Dogs are beneath him, I say. that is typical, I say. If Prime Ministers are going to claim kinship with Butchers’ Dogs, I say, they should get it right, I say.
Argh, says the Owner.
They should show them some respect as Fellow Moral Beings, I say. What about Informed Consent? I ask. What about Anonymity? I ask. What about Serialisation Rights? I ask.
I am going to bed, says the Owner.
The Butcher’s Dog did not expect this kind of Exposure, I say.
I think I am losing the Will to Live, says the Owner.
I do not know what is wrong with her. It is the Butcher’s Dog we should be worrying about.
Hergest the Hound
I am a dog of many thoughts.