OH WHAT A PICKLE

OH WHAT A PICKLE

by

Al Donaldson

 It felt good to be back. I’d been working abroad on a four year contract Now I was home and able to pop into The Panmure Arms for a welcome pint. Harry the Landlord greeted me like the long lost friend I was and poured me a beer. I took my seat with the regulars and caught up with the news when in came a regular I’d not met before. He was stocky, broad and had a face like he’d run into a brick wall, several times. I whispered under my breath.

“Who the heck is this?”

“That’s Big Gary,” said Jamie.

Big Gary went to the far end of the bar and plonked himself onto the stool. Without a word being said Harry placed a pint in front of him.

“Watch this, this is the best bit” said Jamie.

Big Gary removed his false eye and placed it on the bar so it looked towards everyone.

“That’s Big Gary’s way of saying . Do Not Disturb”

It was believed by the village that Big Gary had been a Glaswegian gang member, hence the scars and the one eye. He had decided to come to our village for a quiet life. At least that was the hope of everyone.

One Saturday night Harry came round with a hat.

“Would you like to make a donation? “

“For who? Said Jamie.

“For tonight’s entertainment”

“And who is it.?”

“Take my word for it, It’ll blow your mind.”

Intrigued, I tossed in a couple of quid so did Jamie.

Eventually Tam turned up with a little cage and the entertainment began.

He placed it on the bar, opened it and out jumped a white rat.

“Madams and Monsieurs.” Tam said in his best French accent.

“For your delectation tonight I present Doogie.” all eyes turned to the rat.

“If you please, Landlord.”

“Oh aye” said Harry and picked up the pickled onion jar, he scooped one out with a spoon and placed it on the bar in front of Doogie and off he went. He dribbled that pickled onion down the bar and back again just like a professional football player. Harry placed five or six glasses in a line and Doogie drove the pickled onion round them and through them. Doogie stopped every minute or two to get his bearings and his breath. He studied Big Gary and the false eye and squeaked at him. Then Doogie spun round and did it all again. It was quite a sight, the crowded bar were astounded. No one had ever seen anything like it. Eventually with one last kick

Doogie had had enough and retired back to his box. There was a loud cheer and everyone returned to their seats.

 “How long did it take to train him Tam?”

I didn’t. Me and Doogie were sitting on the sofa watching football. I’d left a couple of pickled onions on my plate and I got up to get a beer from the fridge. When I got back he was kicking the onion about like a professional.”

A month later Harry came round again with the hat.

“Would you like to donate to tonight’s entertainment?”

“Is it Doogie? If it’s the same thing I’ll not bother, thanks.” said Jamie.

“It is but I’ve seen what he can do, very different from last time.”

I doled out a couple of quid and so did most of the others.

An hour later Tam came and placed Doogie in his box on the bar.

As Doogie stepped out there was a great big cheer.

Harry scooped a pickle onion out of the jar and placed it in front of the rat. Doogie sniffed it and kicked it off the Bar. Before anyone knew what was happening Doogie had run towards Big Gary, scooped up his false eye and was booting it along the bar. Big Gary tried to grab him but the packed pub got in the way . Doogie stopped and stood on his hind legs. Everyone looked on with wide eyes and dropped jaws as Doogie the Rat started playing “Keepie Uppie” with Big Gary’s false eye.

Doogie kicked it from foot to foot, then bounced it off his head, then from shoulder to shoulder, then up for a few more headers and then back to his feet just like a seasoned footballer. Everyone except for Big Gary gave a loud cheer of appreciation.

Doogie carried on with a few more bounces then he turned and with an almighty kick lobbed the eye so high it nearly touched the ceiling. All eyes apart from Gary’s one followed its path till it plunged into Big Gary’s pint with a splash.

There was such a cheer for that well aimed kick.

 Doogie stared at Gary and gave him a loud squeak, maybe as an act of defiance, as if to say “up yours” then turned its back on him and calmly walked into its box. The look one eyed Gary gave Doogie , well I’m glad it wasn’t me. He picked up his pint and drained it, he retrieved his false eye and walked out of the pub. Everyone waited till he’d gone before the pub exploded with cheering.

It was a week later that a tearful Tam came into the pub to announce that Doogie was dead.

An opened pack of crisps had been pushed through his letter box and an unrestrained Doogie had eaten the lot. Finding the rat in convulsions Tam had rushed him to the vets where he had died. The vets did tests and the contents of Doogie’s stomach was full of crisps laced with rat poison.

Who could have done such a thing?

Everyone had a good idea who the likely poisoner was and even if Gary had Glaswegian gang connections it didn’t stop the village from showing their displeasure. Bricks through windows, things poured or stuffed through his letter box. It took a few weeks but a removal van turned up one morning and Big Gary and his possessions were gone.

Harry had a whip round for a “Commemorative Plaque” for outside the pub, it reads.

“Doogie the Rat, one of the finest footballers Scotland ever produced performed here”

We all wore black armbands for a month.

1056 words