'KIN 'ELL !! been heavy in here today...so......


War Hero
...pull up a sandbag, you ! yeah you there ! get that light swinging, sit down and I'll tell you a story about when I worked with...(looks over both shoulders furtively, leans forward conspiritally and in a hushed voice says)...THEM !

Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a green and boggy land not too far away when I was a stripling youth, I was the brainier half of a Wagtail team. As jobs went it was'nt too bad. Plenty fresh air, guns with real bullets, 50p a day danger money and sometimes we got to go to work in a choppper as we held apart the green,white and gold baddy tribe from the red,white and blue baddy tribe. Some days I could go out in 'mufti' and dressed in my plastic imitation Irvine flying jacket, brutus jeans, Derriboots with white welly socks and my riot helmet with the visor removed, I'd mount my ancient 250 Yam and head off to Lisburn for some hearts and mind action with the colleens that hung about Corkens or the like. Sometimes I'd head off for the Holdfast Disco at Castle D where the RE's had thoughtfully converted the stable next door into a Lurve Shack with blanket GS drapes and swamped mattresses from the SQMS.

It was during my time there that rumours persisted that THEY were there as well. No-one ever saw THEM. No-one had ever met THEM but the 'experts' reckoned you could tell one of THEM by the length of his hair, but, given that every squaddie there grew his hair long at the slightest excuse, you never knew whether it was actually one of THEM you had seen or just some civvy driver or other REMF. Still, the rumours persisted.

Now, one day, twas in the summer as I recall, we were out and about in a green,white and gold part of the land, spreading the peace and impartial goodwill message to the CivPop along with a section from the RHF, in shirt sleeve order, proudly displaying thier 'FOR GOD & ULSTER', RANGERS F.C.' & 'UVF,UDA,F*CK THE POPE AND THE IRA' tatoos for the delictation of the locals. Twas a feckin' long, long day I can tell you and we were mightily glad to RTB that evening.

Anyway, no sooner had I kenneled and fed the oppo, blagged some tinnys from the choggi and settled down for an evening with Gloria and UTV, and the tannoy goes'
'Wagtail to the ops room, Wagtail to the ops room. That is all.'
BA*TARD !!! so off I trots.

'Evening sir, what've got for me ?'
'Ah right. They want you at so and so in an hour. QRF are waiting to take you. Oh, and they want you in civvies.'
'Civvies ? who wants me in civvies ?'
'How the f*ck should I know. No one tells me f*ck all, I'm only the Ops Officer FFS. Now b*gger orf.'

So 'orf' I b*ggered and got into my finest 'I'm not a squaddie, I'm one of you's' outfit and went to get the oppo.

Now, my oppo was one of the finest noses ever to graduate from Melton in the late 70's but he'd been a troubled youth. Abandoned by his parents when barely weeks old he'd ended up being drafted into the Pet Corp as an alternative to the dog pound and after four months basic he found himself on the mean streets of Derry. He'd found that first tour hard. Friend and foe alike would mock him for his lack of stature for although he had the noble head and body of a golden labrador his dad had been a pit bull or some such and as a consequence he had little short legs and a big barrel chest. He was so short arrsed he'd need a bunk up just to get into the pigs. All this and the fact that the Pet Corp had decided that this war dogs given name was to be.... Stumpy !!FFS just made it worse.
Eventually the stress got too much and after a number of collapses on duty he was diagnosed as epileptic and RTU'd to Melton for the needle........



War Hero
Now, as luck would have it, when my oppo was RTU'd to Melton he found that the chap who'd trained him was now the head honcho and he decided that the boy should get another chance. He decided to return him to a rural posting instead of an Urban one as it transpired that not only was he epileptic but he'd developed a psycopathic hatred of all things civilian. So, when I went to wake him that night, in my civvys, I should'nt have been overly surprised when he tore out the bed box and grabbed me by the feckin' leg !!!

'GOB CHA !! CIBBY BABBSTARD !!! he growled through clenched teeth.
'CNUT !' he huffed.
'Enough !! c'mon !'

When we arrived at so and so I headed for the Ops Room,
'Evening sir, what you got for us ?'
'Ah Wagtail, yes, you've been tasked by THEM for something or other, they'll pick you up in 15 minutes and why are your trousers all torn !'
'Long story, Well this should be interesting. Never worked for THEM before and we're not supposed to work in the dark. Still, whats the job.'
'F*cked if I know son, no-one tells me anything, I'm only the Ops Officer. Now b*gger orf.'

So 'orf'we b*ggered and awaited THEM.



War Hero
Now, this place, so and so, had a very small base and because the locals had a habit of taking pot shots at any vehicle entering or leaving there was a sort of drill for getting in and out. Incoming would radio ahead and as they neared the gates they'd give a couple of toots and the guard would swing them open at the last second and in you'd blast, humping on the brakes as you did to stop you ending up in the cookhouse. I know this now. Did'nt at the time tho'.

Me and the boy were sitting at the unloading bay having a fag when all of a sudden all hell appeared to break loose. A distant toot, the guard running to open the gates and in roared this f*ck off big Datsun which screeched to a halt beside me. Down came the passenger window and out looked the scariest f*cker I'd ever clapped eyes on.
'Wagtail ?' he growled through the droopiest bandido 'tache on the planet,
'get in the back, quick !!'

They'd caught me by surprise, I'd just about shit myself. I tried to be cool and flippant,
'Mum said I should never get into cars with strange men !'
'Gerrin the f*cking car arrsehole, now !' snarled the strangest man in the world.

We got in. A screeching three-ish point turn, a toot and a crashing of gates opening and off we shot, up the road and into the darkness.
'My first job with THEM eh? How cool is this ?' I thought.
'F*cking civvy f*cks are gonna get it !!' growled der hund as he stared at the back of thier heads.

'What the f*cks up with the mutt ?' says the strange man in the passenger seat.
'He hates civvys.'
'Well, get a grip of him. I hate f*cking dogs and stop him dribbling on the seat !'
'I'll rip his cnuting head off' snorted the Stump as I held him in his seat by the harness.

Fortunately the scary, grumpy dude in the passenger seat did'nt say much after that and the no less scary, but slightly less grumpy driver briefed me en route. THEY'd been watching some place for the baddie to come and pick up a weapon but he'd failed to trap so they wanted to recover said gat before they pulled out but could'nt pin point it. Thats where we came in. The plan was for them to take us to an RV where we'd be collected by the patrol,
'When the car stops and the lights are out they'll come to the door and get you. Just do what they say, OK ?'
'Sure, no probs.' I said, more confidantly than I felt.

Nice and easy, do as your told, dead simple, no hassle, nothing to go wrong.

Well, so much for the theory.

'I'll bite thier fcuking c*cks off !!! growled the Stump.

Ooops, time for work.


War Hero
Sorry 'bout that. took longer than I thought.

Right where were we ? oh aye,
so anyway, there I was, cruising through the dark lanes of Bandit Country with the hound growling under his breath beside me and the two scary men growling under thier breath in front of me and me, rocking back and forth, humming softly to myself and trying to find a safe, warm place in my mind as I could see this first op with THEM going completely breasts skyward when without warning the engine and lights were cut and we cruised slowly and quietly to a halt in the pitch dark.The Stump and the scary men had stopped growling at each other and the silence was feckin' eerie.

Now, as I said, I'd been briefed as to what would happen when we stopped, but, when after a few seconds the door beside me opened, I feckin crapped myself and stifled a girly squeal as this bush materialised from the dakness and whispered, tactically,
'Wagtail ? This way' and then reached in to grab my arm.
I had barely enough time to think 'Oh fu...!!!!' when 40 lbs of snarling fur and fury leapt across me and siezed the bush by the arm.
'OHYAH F*CKER !!' hissed the bush painfully.
'OH F*CK !!' hissed the two sacry men in the front.
'OH F*CK !!' I thought and wet myself.

'GET YOUR F*CKING DOG OFF MY ARM YOU CNUT' hissed the bush, urgently.
'TAKE THAT YA FECKER !!' rumbled the dog, manicly
'OH FCUK !! ' whispered every body else.

'NOT YOU !!! THE FECKING DOG !!! ' I whispered, desperately.
'OH FCUK !!' whispered the scary men, groaningly
'GNARR, GNARR, GNARRR' growled the culprit, determindly.

The only way I could convinve the little f*cker to release the bush was to squeeze his eyeballs with my thumbs
'OHYAH CNUT !!!!' he yelped as he flew back in his seat after letting the bush go.
'OYAH CNUT !!!!' hissed the bush as he went the other way and landed on his arrse on the verge.
'OH FCUK !!' moaned the scary men in the car.

I did'nt have time to think or say anything before I was grabbed by the collar and hoiked bodily out of the car swiftly followed by the dog courtesy of the lead I still clutched and we landed in a bundle of legs, arms, paws and curses beside the Datsun's rear wheel which just about ran over my head as the scary men. who'd obviously decided enough was enough, sped off into the night.

'CNUT !! get it sorted and follow me !!' hissed the bush, menacingly,
'COME ON THEN B*STARD !!!' challenged the dog, aggresively.
'What the fcuk is the problem with that fcucking animal ?' asked the bush, equally as aggresively.
'He does'ny like civvys' I replied, miserably, 'or bushes either it would appear.'
'Cnuts !' muttered the bush as he headed off through the hedgerow, 'C'mon, follow me !'

So we did. The epileptic, psycopathic canine dwarf and his miserable, doom laden handler.



War Hero
Sorry, pretty shoite at this inputing thing. Gorra do it batches as I keep feckin deleting things or wrong posting them.

So, after a whiley, staggering through the ooloo, we stopped and another couple of bushes emerged from the darkness. The sight of them even shut the nutter up and the chief bush came over and whispered, tactically, in my ear'
'What the fcuk happened to your trouser leg ?'
'EH ?, oh that, look it's a long story. Could we just crack on with this feckin job my nerves are shredded as it is !'

'Righ-ho' whispers the chief bush,
'here's the story ....whissy ....whissy....whissy... and we think it's over there.'
he announces, pointing into the darkness where I could see the sum total of fcuk all.
'Right' said the chief bush, when I pointed this out, 'we'll take you down to that gate. It's just beyond there.'

So away we went, the chief bush, followed by me with the dog in front of me choking and gagging, as the only way I could keep him quiet was to grip him by the back of the collar and lift his front feet off the gound.

We stopped at the gate and I tried to calm the psycopathic hoo-er down before we started searching. I did this by whispering the most blood curling threats I could think off in his lug hole and, getting him as calm as he was ever going to be, got him in a full lift and leaned over the gate to drop him on the other side to start the search.

'CRACK !!' went the top spar of the gate as it gave way under my chest.
'CRACK !!' went the second spar as my chest hit that on the way down and pitched me and the dog arrse over tit through what remained of the gate.
'OOOOHHHHHYYYYYAAAAAA FFFFFCCCCCUUUUKKKKKEERR!!' howled the dog as I landed on his soft bits,
'BOW WOW WOW, HOWL HOWL HOWL, BARK BARK BARK !!!' replied every dog in the feckin' neighbourhood,

'CNUT !!!' hissed the chief bush in my ear as he gripped me by the scruff of me neck, 'ARE YOU FCUCKING PAIR DELIBERATELY TRYING TO MAKE A CNUT OF THIS, YOU'VE WOKEN UP THE WHOLE FCUKING COUNTY !!'
'COWBOYS, FCUKING COWBOYS !!!!' even in the dark I could see the viens popping in his head, 'YOU'RE A PAIR OF USELESS T*ATS. I SHOULD SLOT THE FCUKING PAIR OF YOU NOW AND BURY YOU HERE !!'

As the chief bush and I traded whispered insults the Stump had recovered his composure and wandered off,

'SSSSTTTT !!! LOOK !!!' hissed another of the bushes and pointed at the dog who had his nose down at the base of a stack of bales not twelve feet from where we crouched. As we watched he snuffled back and forth a couple of times and then stuck his nose into a gap in the bales and then the tail started going ten to the dozen!! He paused for a sec and looked back to check if we were paying attention then whacked his nose back into the bales,
'BOSS, BOSS, BOSS !! A GUN, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN LOOK,LOOK,LOOK, LOOK, A GUN, A GUN, A GUN !!!' he excitedly indicated.

I gripped him by the harness and pulled him off,
'BOSS, BOSS, BOSS, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN ISSAGUN !!!!' I could hardly keep hold of him.

One of the bushes stuck his hand into the space between the bales and pulled out a wrapped bundle and to a cacophany of howling and barking local dogs he slowly unwrapped the top of the thing and there its was,

'FCUKING TOLD YA, FCUKING TOLD YA, FCUKING TOLD YA, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN, ISSAGUN !!! GIMME IT, GIMME IT, GIMME IT !!!' the Stump was beside himself. The bushes were chuffed too,
'GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY, FCUKING RESULT, GOOD DOG, GOOD DOG.!! they hissed delightedly as they patted the dog.
'I KNOW I AM, I KNOW I AM, GIMME THE GUN, GIMME THE GUN !!' replied the Stump.
Me ? I watched this unbridled scene of joy, reflected on how we had snatched a win from the jaws of certain disaster, and nearly fainted with relief !!!

The RTB was pretty uneventful and even finding that the soap dodging RHF porridge wogs had proffed my tinnies and the choggi was shut, it could'nt spoil the result. I gave the poison dwarf a treat and let him kip in the room that night and as I lay in my scratcher and watched him chew on the remains of my jeans I thought ' you're pretty good when ye wanna be ye wee fcuk'.
'Fcukig right I am,' he looked back, 'and I hauled your sorry arrse out the sh!te tonight, eh ?'

The End


War Hero
A couple of post scripts.

As a result of our experience that night we did some training and selection of the less.. erm... highly strung mutts, just in case THEY ever tasked us again. THEY never did, strangely enough.

THEY told me that they would send a note to the OC ADU re the job and when I got the summons to Kesh to see the old man I was pretty chuffed tho' a bit wary. I assumed, rightly, that they'd leave out MOST of what happened on the night and concentrate on the result which they did and the old man was dully happy.
Not so the Unit S'rnt Major. Had to endure a thirty minute lecture off the Pet Corp cnut for disobeying TUoD(NI) Tactical Use of Dogs(NI) ..no handler should operate his dog in conditions of light where the dog cannot be seen...or some such bollox.

But, hey, even his slavvering sh!te did'nt really matter. Me and the Stump had worked with THEM !

A few months later I was at the Bde HQ for the night to see one of those feckin' awful CSE shows they used to put on, ye know , two or three bored, saggy breested strippers, an unfunny comedian and a kids entertainer who made animals out of balloons (I fcuking kid you not !!!). Anyway, I was waiting at the bar when this bod appears at my side,
'How you doing Jock ?' says he'
'Fine ta mate, erm, do I know you ?'
'You should, you're fcuking dog tried to rip my arm off near so and so a while back !'
'Oh heavens !' I thought to myself, or some such.
'The rest of the boys are over there, gonna join us ?' he continued.
'Oh, heavens to mergatroyd !' I thought, or some such.

But they were fine, we had a hoot and I told the Stump all about it later that night when I got in,
'Fcukin pussies' he grunted while ripping the soles off my new dessies,
' I could've taken the lot of them !'

The End (really)


War Hero
Book Reviewer
A story of real soldiering. Eat your heart out Andy McNab.

When is the book/film out? Have you picked someone to play your four legged boss? Did he get the doggie VC? or at least GOC's commendation.

Encore :lol:
A_S, that was fcuking brilliant. I can't remember when I last laughed so much, an' allthe other feckers in the orrifice are lookin'at me like I've got
two heids! :lol: :lol:


War Hero
:D Cheers peeps. Have to go and lie down in a dark room now, not written so much since I had to fill in the reports of how the Bde Pet Corp trainer ruptured himself trying to clear the boudary fence at Drummadd after a guard dog training session went...erm.....wrong.

Cheers the noo ! :wink:


War Hero
8O Wow, what response !! :D Cheers folks, glad ye enjoyed it. I've been racking me brains here, Christ, it's 25-ish years since me and Stump tramped the bally bogs of the green place and I doubt I can top the THEM tale (I've been 'dining out' on that fecker for years) but here's a wee tale that might tickle ye.

Sorry, this may ramble a bit !! but by way of an intro..........

For those of you that don't know the Army Dog Unit(NI) was run run by the Pet Corp(R.A.V.C.) but all the handlers were volunteers from every other unit in the Army, I'll stand corrected, but I don't know of any other unit where you'd have found such an all arms mix and they were a truly eclectic and...erm...interesting bunch.

Anyhow, the permenant Pet Corp presence was tiny, and the only other Pet Corp we came across were dog trainers they imposed on us from Melton to get some operational time under thier belts and thier GSM. Mostly the guys were OK but thier presence was a pain in the arrse as someone had to accompany them on ops. However,one particular arrsehole full screw arrived and was put in charge of the biggest section in the Bde. Now, not only was this unfair on the incumbent, a Plank who'd been dogging in the Province longer than Gerry A's had a beard, but it was unfair on the Pet Corp tube to leave him to the tender mercys of some of the cut throats and brigands that inhabited the Section at the time.

Anyhow, it took about three weeks for this prick to annoy just about everyone in the Brigade which was some going given that we were spread far and wide but the issue that sealed his fate was his treatment of the dog he'd been given when he arrived.



War Hero
I know, I know, bear wi' me. Please !

Now, dog handlers, whatever you think of them (and I've heard all the comments over the years) have one thing in common. You can spit in thier eye, p!ss in thier beer or molest thier children, but, the dog !!! Don't feck with the dog !!! and certainly don't mistreat one of the guys favourite dogs, 'specially if someones out too get you.
The dog in question was a gorgeous,smokey grey, long haired shepherd who'd been in the Provence for a couple of years and was everyones favourite . Unfortunately the Tube got him when his previous handler RTU'd.
And he mistreated him.
So, anyway, one day me and two of the other handlers arrived at the place from our one man swamps elsewhere in the Bde to cover for some big local op that the sections dogs were out on and to our relief found the the Tube had departed on a weeks leave that morning. While the other two turned the accomodation over looking for the hidden beer and porn stashes I went out to the kennels and renewed my aquaintance with the dog and found him in shit state. His coat was in rag order and he had patches of weeping skin the size of your hands under his coat. The poor cnut was miserable. I took him in and, over some of the beer the other two had liberated, we formed a plan.

It was a fairly straight forward plan I have too say. We decided to shop the t*at.



War Hero
Now, when it came to dealing with the Pet Corp ye had to be careful as a 'Them and Us' culture existed sometimes, so instead of going through the Pet Corp BDE Sgt ( "could'nt contact him, sir" "Thought this was a case you'd want to see straight away,sir" ..ahem..ahem) we grabbed a van and took the dog straight to the vet, a Pet Corp Captain, who went truly and awesomely, feckin ballistic, hit the roof, and launched into a tirade as only a Rupert with a yah yah accent can. 'Facking' Unit handlers this and 'Facking' Unit handlers that.....blah...blah..facking blah...who's facking dawrg is this anyway !!
'It's Cpl ****** dog, sir'
An extremly pregnant paws (geddit ?)
'WHO's facking dawrg !?!?'
Realisation dawning.
'Erm, Cpl ********dog,sir. Y'know, one of your facking handlers. Oh, and a trainer to boot.....sir!'

Well, his eyes just about popped oot his heed, he went a funny shade of purple, let out a strangled curse that sounded like 'STRAGAFOOKOLODDO !!' and stomped out the room !

'Ha !' we thought 'Fcuking result !'

But, it was'nt to be. The usual Pet Corp cover up ensued and the Tube remained in situ. But, he knew that we knew that he knew that we knew what he'd done to the dog and despite the bollox about 'rare skin disorders' and other such cobblers the dog was properly cared for after that.


The Tubes nemisis was just arriving in the shape of the meanest, funniest, and it has to be said, the most downright feckin ugliest Argyll and Sutherland Highlander you ever saw who took over as the Section 2i/c about this time.



War Hero
Now, the town where this section was based was quite big and on a Friday and Saurday night the two local tribes would entertain themselves by getting p!shed as arrses until closing time and then meeting in the main street where they would club the fcuking daylights out of each other until they all got bored. The SF view of this was 'Fine, saves us doing it.' The end result was usually some martyers to either 'Ra Cause' or 'Quain and Coontry' in the A&E and few broken windows. Then a new Unit took over.

The new OC decided he was having none of this and started deploying bricks into the town at shutting time to control the unrest, the end result of which was it went on longer and the PBI got bricked by both sides.

One particular night it really did get out of hand and someone in thier wisdom decided to 'SEND FOR THE DOGS !!' which the Ops Room duly did.

Now, obviously, who ever sent up the the cry did'nt expect the rag bag of Heinz 57's, doey eyed alsations and baby loving labradors that turned up but the flap had obviously go the better off him.
'You lot, get in there and do something !!' he commanded the ugliest A&SH on the planet and pointed towards a heaving throng of celtic and rangers scarves, DPM and assorted weaponry.
'Wharra fcuk dae ye expect me tae dae ?' came the reply, 'it's fookin search dugs a've goat, no fookin grizzly bears !'
'Well I don't fcuking know !!!' came the reply, 'Do something !!'

So he did. He got the dogs back in the Rovers and went back to camp.

After a 'debrief' the next day which was liberally puncuated with lots of
'Ah dinny fookin' care, suurr' , 'Dae whit the fook ye want surr' and 'Thur ma fookin dugs an thall dae whit Ah fooking tell tham, surr !' the ugliest Argyll on the planet arranged to have some guard dogs brought down from Long Kesh for the weekends bun fights.

Which brings us right back.....

........ to the Tube.

A_S with your permission, could I cut and paste your story onto a Bluey and sent it to my mate in Iraq. I think he needs a boost. 8)


War Hero
Guard dogs or 'Snappers' are the GSD's that joined the Army but were too aggresive to be trained as anything else. The best ones were kept for training the handlers at Melton and UK deployment. The psycopathic, croccodile on legs ,barely controlable death machine remainder went to Long Kesh to guard the Maze prison. These were'nt to be fcuked about with and I doubt there's many GD handlers going about that don't carry some kind of souviner from the day thier Snapper decided he was going to be boss for the day.

Anyhow, I pitched up at the camp one day and saw there was something going at the footie pitch beside the kennels. The pitch was right on the edge of the camp and surrounded on all sides by six feet chain link and topped with the usual barbldee wire. There was as entrance by the kennels and in the far corner a thirty foot high block built sanger with a door at the bottom. The sanger was'nt used usually.

When I got there I found the ugliest Argyll in the world standing watching the Tube who was lecturing the four snapper handlers who'd arrived from Kesh for the weekends fun.

'Ut's ra same uvry weekend' he glottled when I asked, 'yon coont teechin the boyz hoo tae suck eggs. He'll be oaf in a meenit. Live baiting yon bear thair.' he indicated a particulary impressive killing machine who was balefully sizing up the Tube.

'Livebaiting' was a technique that Pet Corp trainers used for GD training instead of the full padded suit and helmet. They put themselves in a position where they could run from the dog and get to safety, say, up a tree or the like, before the dog got too you. It stopped dogs getting 'suit focused' but you had to use it with care.

'Aye, livebaiting, ra posin' coont' says the ugliest Argyll on the planet when I asked him, 'he'll start at yon half way line an' run like fook when the dugs released and hide in the bottom of yon sanger.T*at. Watch, hurr ee goes.'

Sure enough all six foot four of gangly Tube saunters out to the half way line and starts jumping up and down and baiting the dog which by this time was gnashing,howling and doing summersaults on the end of the lead,
'HALT,HALT,HALT !! OR I RELEASE MY DOG !!' click 'GERRUMMM!!!' and woosh !! the dog took off like a hairy guided missile and the Tube started legging it for the sanger. I glanced at the ugliest Argyll on the planet and saw a smile spread across his puss,
'What the fcuk are you up too ?' I asked,
saying nothing he took his hand out of his pocket, opened it and there was a key !
'Don't fcuking tell me !?!'
'Aye, key tae ra sanger door. Watch this !'

And we did, with a horrible fascination, as the Tube reached the door of the sanger and started tugging on the handle just sort of stiffly at first then more and more franticly as he gazed, horrified, over his shoulder at the ever closing death on legs. Giving up on the door he started legging it along the fenceline, arms going like pistons and his knees damn near reaching ear level. The dog, which looked as though it was about to go supersonic, tried to change direction, tripped, and went rolling arrse over tit which gave the Tube time to get half way along the fence before the pursuit was on again, Everybody was transfixed, including the handler who belatedly took off after his dog and joined in the chase.

The Tube gained the corner but instead of using the extra posts there to climb out of the way he careened round the bend and started tearing down the next straight. The dog, seeing this, took the direct route and headed to intercept him, there seemed to be a dreadful inevitablity about it, but, last gasp, the Tube saw him coming and did a most impressive full stop and volte face for such a gangly fcuker and bolted back for the corner as the dog smashed into the fence where he'd been mere seconds before, recovered, and shot after him again. Christ my heart was in my mouth as we watched the Tube gain the corner and start scrambling up the post, a look of complete terror on his face as he watched the land based hairy cruise missle go airborne and...
'OOOOO, YA CNUT HE'S GOT HIM !!!!' as we all averted our gaze.
'Naw he's naw,' said the ugliest Argyll on the planet, who was grinning from ear to ear by this time, 'he's only nailed his combat jaiket.'

and sure enough there was the Tube, hanging on to the barbldee wire for grim death with 90lbs of snarling fur and fury hanging and jerking from the arrse of his jacket for the few seconds it took for the handler to get there and wrestle a now completely berserk dog off him.

Fcuk me ! I was completely drained, but, the sniggers soon started kicking in,
'Rat'll teach ra posin' coont !' grinned the ugliest Argyll in the world, who, just too finish us off completely walked towards the red, sweating, shredded Tube as he approached and telling him,
'Haw, ****, yuu'll bay needin thus if yur livebaitin'
handed him the key !!!

i can vouch for how aggressive those f**king dogs are , one of my tours was spent at the maze as engineer roulement sqn , they're basically life support machines for a set of teeth , and they used to use us occasionally as "target practice" strictly on a volunteer basis of course , i think i've still got bruises on my arms , but an invite to the "dogs bar" always made up for any damage done

good yarn A-S keep em coming.