What the DUCK?
My greedy nuisance tried to have his quack and eat it! Joe Fisher, 39, Nottingham
Along slither of dribble fell from my British bulldog’s chin as he stared up at me mischievously. My slipper clenched between his teeth.
‘I’m getting too old for this, Ronnie!’ I groaned as I chased him round the living room.
What a menace!
He was always getting hold of something. The kids’ school books, a shoe, even my footy shin pads.
But he loved a good game of chase as much as I hated it.
For 10 minutes, I was running around the house after him, breathless.
Eventually, Ronnie got bored and let me snatch my soggy slipper from his dribbly gob.
It was beyond saving.
I was always telling my kids Joseph, then 12, Isaac, 11, and Edie, 9, to keep things out of Ron’s way.
And I bought him endless chewy toys.
‘Please, Ron, just behave yourself,’ I’d beg when I left for work, hoping I wouldn’t come home to another chew-fest.
One morning a few weeks later, in August 2021, I came downstairs and opened the stair gate we’d installed to stop Ron running havoc in the kids’ rooms.
Only, he bounded past me and sprinted upstairs.
‘Ronnie!’ I cried, completely exasperated.
He returned clutching Edie’s yellow rubber duck bath toy.
‘Give that back!’ I demanded as Ron bounced around, the duck clenched between his huge teeth.
‘Not again!’ I sighed, preparing for a game of cat and mouse.
Man and dog more like! And this time, Ron was really on form... Dashing out the dog flap, he shot into the back garden as I ran around after him like a loon.
Only, just as I grabbed him, I heard a gulp. ‘No!’ I gasped. Too late...
The duck had disappeared. ‘Please tell me you haven’t eaten it,’ I frowned as Ron looked at me, a shocked expression on his face.
An hour later, I stood next to the vet, staring at an X-ray of Ron’s tummy...
Plain as day, there was the rubber duck, wedged inside my naughty boy’s belly.
‘That’s never going to come out the other end,’ I cringed.
He’d gulped the whole thing down in one!
The vet was speechless. He explained they’d need to put Ronnie under, send a camera down there and try to get the duck out using a hook.
‘Like at the fair?’ I groaned. Thankfully, it worked. No prize every time, though, as I paid a hefty vet’s bill later that day.
‘You should get the X-rays framed,’ the kids giggled as we fussed over a very waggy-tailed Ron later.
Ron, now 18 months, is still a menace. We have to keep everything out of his reach.
But, while he drives us quackers, we wouldn’t be without him.
Just as I grabbed him, I heard a gulp...