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

Discussion in 'NOW That's What I Call ARRSE 1' started by Auld_Sapper, Jul 12, 2004.

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  1. AS, don't knock yourself. :D
    You could use this forum to generate more ideas, and develop them yourself using your special style.
    There's no way that all James Heriott's vet stories happened to him.
    Your branding image could be "James Heriott - the Dark Side." :lol:
  2. In further attempts of trying to make my in laws dog more like stumpy. I watched the bitch Shit all over my sister inlaws new living room.

    Now thats what I call a moving in present
  3. Don't knock myself !! 8O
    Fack me Timbo, at 27 stone & wi' tits that dangle like a spaniels lugs there's no other facker knocking me !!

    Ubique ya bass !!!
  4. Fack me SKJOLD, brings back memories of a runny, brown, stinky trail that the Stump left in a Department store in Armagh during a Bombwatch. Started in the Mothercare Department, where I spied what he was about to do and grabbed him by the harness, passed the Waterford Crystal and Ladies Lingerie displays and oot the door via the Bargin Basement where he squatted on the pavement and let out a wet fart as he'd deposited the rest of his skitter throughout the store.

    And, if I may be so bold,

    I feel that your endevours to 'Stumpify' this hound of yours will only result in failure until you crack some of the basics.

    Squaddie dugs ARE squaddies and have to THINK squaddie, therefore you will have to ENLIST it so to speak. EXPOSE it to all the things that MAKE a squaddie a squaddie, drink, hoo-ers, pish ups, skiffing, stupid dares etc. etc.
    You should get an Action Man, dress it in a Chav outfit and beat the dog o'er the heed with the thing to get the 'I hate civvies' attitude that is so important. Ye get the picture ?

    However, that being said, I feel that even with this type of training you'll ultimately fail because the dug is, unfortunately...

    ...a feckin GIRL !!!
  5. X-Inf

    X-Inf War Hero Book Reviewer

    And a Sapper to boot. If it was not for the fact that you tell the most brilliant stories you would not have a lot going for yourself :lol:

    Thanks for belly laughs, I hope you have a few more stories waiting airing ion ARRSE.

    One for the Mods - how about some decent medals for A_S. he is worth it and his posts are worth 3 times everyone else's.

    C'mon guys & gals lets get a 'Medals for A-S Campaign' going. Plus, how about a postumous for the glorious Stumpy, the hardest squaddie to serve in the green place.
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  6. Luck in dog handling, as in all things military, and in all things generally I suppose, plays it's part.
    'You make you're own luck.' snear the lucky ones.
    'He's a lucky cnut.' shimf the unlucky ones.
    But whether it comes from the lap of the Gods, the spin of the dice, the turn of a card or is just dumb, come it does and a brass neck to exploit it when it does is damn handy.

    We had a handler in Belfast who had the only Submarine Detecting Dog in the world ! I kid you not ! A wily Greenjacket as I do recall.

    Now given that all the city dogs and handlers, both there and in Derry, were puffs and handbags of the first order, they did have a cabby op they used to get involved in called, em, Grenada or Granada or some such like.

    This invovled the Wagtail team being attached to the Matelots for a couple of days to go boating in Belfast Lough to assist in searches of ships and other floaty things and was generally regarded as a top skive.

    So this Green Jackets oot on the water and they're generally havinga nice days boating when the ship heaves-to. Almost immediately the dog becomes all adjitated, runs up to the bows and starts barking like a hoo-er at the sea. The Matlots and the handler had'nt the first clue as to why the mutt was going mental. when all of sudden about 30m off the bow up pops this sub. Honest this is true ! And the dog goes berserk.

    Now the Matelots knew they were going to RV with the sub but had'nt told the handler and the handler knew that the reason the dog had gone ballistic is because it heard the sub before it surfaced but he had the brass neck.
    'How'd yer dog know the sub was there ?' asked the Matelots,
    'What the fcuk d'ye expect ?' came the cool reply, ' it's a weapons detecting dog. Submarines a weapon innit ?'

    Aye, on such chances are reputations built.

    Of course, it's not always the deserving fcukers that get the luck.

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  7. There was a fat, odious, usless wert of a cnut arrived in Bde. A fellow Corpsman I'm ashamed to say. He'd been told that if he wanted to extend his tour with the ADU he'd have to go Spec and get his lardy arrse off the Snappers and away from Kesh. He'd pulled a few strings and had it arranged that he'd end up in Belfast when he finished his training, but, in one of the few examples we ever saw of the USM displaying a sense of humour, he changed this cnuts posting while he was on the course and sent him too the cuds. Unfortunately we ended up with him and it was like carrying a spare man. Mind you, you had too hand it to the cnut, so desperate was he not to go on ops he would actually expend more energy getting out of a job than he would if he'd actually done the fecker.

    On the other hand, the longest serving member of the Section was a Tankie who lived in a broom cupboard in The Mill. He'd been there forever by the time I arrived and the consumate proffesional. Every job, every shout, he'd be there. Knew the patch like the back of his hand and was on first name terms with most of the baddies. Worked feckin hard and had a fair deal of success with the dog.

    Guess which cnut, when forced down to The Mill to cover for a few days when the Tankie was on leave, tripped over the biggest find in the Section for years ? GOC's commendation ? Picture in Visor ?

    Aye, you guessed it.

    Like I say. It's not always the deserving that get the luck.

    Then theres me and the Stump !

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  8. I'd been 'persuaded' into taking over one of the farthest flung corners of the boggy empire and we were going through a change over. At the time units were on four month tours and they seemed to come and go really quickly. Some were keen to use the dogs others not so. Some would seek us out for the local knowledge we had, some, usually the ones with a keen, young Intelligence Officer (there's an oxymoron for ye !) who'd fcuk off in civvies and 'Winthrope' all over place, seemed to think we did'nt exist.

    We were a fortnight or so into the tour with some planks and despite constantly heckling the Ops Room we were getting feck all except some spin off work from the RE's and it was getting boring.

    Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good skive as much as the next idle fcuker, but in a base the size of a couple of football pitches with the UDR club being the only boozer in the place, doing nothing started to wear thin.

    So, this night I was in the cookhouse proffing some of the egg banjo kit left out for the night sentries. I had a fair cowp on as we'd managed to bribe the Choggi, Wullie, into giving us more than the two cans per man per day ration. Twas desperate measures, getting ratarrsed on Tartan Special, but as we'd been banned from the UDR bar, it was our last recourse.

    Anyhow, in comes this plank section cmdr and starts asking me about what the dog can and can't find weaponswise,
    'Ra Shtum ?? Wee bashtard can find feckin anyshing. Facking awshum shearsh duggle, how ?'

    It transpired that one of his section had lost a mag on a patrol in the sticks earlier in the day and the BSM had promised not to hang the guilty plank by the nadjers if they could recover it.
    'Nae fackin bother for ush !' I bragged, 'me an ra boy'll find it fer ye'sh.' I boasted and a date was set for first light.

  9. So, next morning at the helipad, with the effects of the slavvering juice wearing off, I met up with the section and listened while the sec cmdr regaled his chaps about how me and the Stump were the answer to thier prayers.
    'Bollox !' I thought, 'me and my big gob.

    A dog detects a weapon because of the cocktail of smells that come from it, human scent, oil, traces of cordite. A magazine, even full of bullets, is really just a tin box to a dog, especially if it's not been on a weapon thats been fired or if its not been oiled etc. An extremly difficult traget for a dog.
    'Feckin Tartan. Feckin Wullie, Feckin feck !' I reflected calmly.

    We dropped off and traced the route the section had taken, up hill, down dale, through hedges, to where they'd finished. Fcuk all. Nothing. Zip. There was dark mutterings starting. We headed back to the PUP.

    Now at one point on this fecking odyessy we went though a hole in the hedge. Nothing particular about it and we'd been through it already. There was a puddle of muddy water at the bottom and, don't ask me why, but I stuck my hand into it as I bent to go though the hole and lo and fcuking behold !! One SLR magazine c/w twenty rounds !! I glanced around. No-one had noticed. I dropped it back into the puddle.
    'Stumpy ! Wassis then ?!' I called him over and indicated the puddle.
    'Issa a fecking puddle innit ?' he looked quizzically.
    'No, IN the puddle, IN the puddle ye feckin eejit, !'
    'Eh ??' he just was'nt getting it.
    'Oh FFS !' I reached into the puddle and lifted the mag just enough for him to see it, 'Warra fcuk is THIS then ?' I hissed.
    'Fcuked if I kno...OYAH CNUT !! ISSA BIT O A GUN, ISSA BIT O A GUN !!!' he barked in eventual feckin recognition. 'Thank fcuk !'

    His racket got the attention of the planks,

    'Hey lads !! I think the dogs got someth.......OW MA FINGERS !!!' the Dwarf had decided to play this for what it was worth and snatching the mag from me hand took off at the canter like some posing tw*t, head up, mag in the gob and tail going in a real 'look how clever I am' routine.

    Needless to say the planks were delighted and rained plaudits down on the head of the shameless little cnut.
    'Brill dog, Jock !! he's the bizz !!! blah feckin blah !'
    'Yeah,' I muttered sourly as I nursed my fingers. 'True fcuking hero !'

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  10. The jobs picked up a bit after that, still not hugely busy, but enough to get out with the boys and start forming some bonds.

    A week or so later I was robbing the night shift egg banjos again when the Ops Officer came in.
    'Ah dog handler !' he observed, as I stood there with egg yolk and brown sauce dribbling down my front thinking in my stupour 'O fcuk, wonder what the penalty for robbing the night shifts egg banjos is !'
    'I hear your dogs just the man to find missing magazines,eh what ?'
    'Er, aye sir, we've found one.' I mumbled through banjo.
    'Splendid. One of the patrols thats out has lost one. I've arranged for you to nip out and find it for them. OK ?'
    'What, right now, sir ?' I banjoed.
    'Gawd, thats what I like ! Keen to get right on with it !!' he wrongly concluded, ' no, no, first light will be fine.Good Chap !.'

    'Aw, bollox ! ' I thought,
    as I smeared the egg yolk into sweatshirt. Thoughtfully.

    Later that morning we flew out into a typically grey shitty dawn which matched my mood exactly.
    'We're gonna get caught out this time Stump.' I whinged to the mutt,' no way we'll be jammy twice.'
    'Dum dee dum dee la la ....I love helicopters !' cared the Stump not a fig.

    The pilot came on the headset and explained that he was dropping us off in the same spot that he'd dumped the patrol,
    'Out the door and head for the edge of the field. They'll be waiting for you.'

    The Lynx bumped down and we did as instructed. We ran to the hedegrow and as I knelt down,
    'OUCH ! what the fcuks that ?' I looked down, and I'm no shitting ye here, there was the mag !!
    'Stumpy wassis !?'
    'It's yer knee'...clack...'OOWW...OH ISSA ANOTHER BIT OF A GUN !!! etc etc.'
    He did'nt get my fingers this time and as the patrol came over too meet us I was able to, rather smugly I have too admit, present them with the mag.

    Fcuking A. Shortest search in history !! Even the Lynx was still in the area and came back to uplift us. Splendid, job done and back to base for tiffin.

    We did'nt do particularly well findswise for the rest of the tour but our reputations were complete and, fortunately, the planks stopped dropping mags all over the shop. Thank fcuk, I doubt our luck would have held.

    Aye, sometimes it IS the good that get the luck.

    Ubique ya bass !!!
    • Like Like x 5
  11. AS:

    Aren't your kits equipped with latching magazine pouches? ;)

    What breed of dog? Mostly German shepherds?

    Again...fantastic tales! :lol:
  12. Twas '58 patt webbing at the time Aubrey, not the most securest fastners on the planet as I recall and one of the guys had lost his mag off his gat when they'd deplaned from a chopper and only noticed later, after they'd moved !
    But, hey, I would'nt criticise, these things happen, I lost two planties and a CET on Ex once !

    Stumpy was a Lab cross and the ADU used anything really as long as it could do the job, but, they tended to be mostly Labs or GSD's or 'derivatives' therefrom.


    Ubique ya bass !!!
  13. X-Inf

    X-Inf War Hero Book Reviewer

    A-S looks like your stories are now being critically acclaimed internationally. You will have to put up a glossary of terms for the Septics. That should be good fun for you and we can add as we go along.

    'egg banjo' a sandwich made from (usually) half stale white bread, spread on both insides with margarine and slotted in with at least one greasy fried egg, preferrably soft yolk to distribute better, covered with sauce of own choice, brown or tomato(ketchup to the Spams). :lol: Delicious :!:

    How is that for a start.
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  14. [quote="X-Inf
    A-S looks like your stories are now being critically acclaimed internationally. You will have to put up a glossary of terms for the Septics. That should be good fun for you and we can add as we go along.

    'egg banjo' a sandwich made from (usually) half stale white bread, spread on both insides with margarine and slotted in with at least one greasy fried egg, preferrably soft yolk to distribute better, covered with sauce of own choice, brown or tomato(ketchup to the Spams). :lol: Delicious :!:

    How is that for a start.[/quote]

    Nearly there dude, but, as described above it's merely an egg sandwich, it becomes a banjo when....

    ...the yolk and sauce dribble down your front. You move the hand containing the sandwich away and up to a point level with your ear as you look down your front and ususally to an accompanying 'Aw bollox' you wipe/smear the said yolk & sauce into your shirt with you're free hand giving a passing imitation of playing 'air banjo' !

    Go on try to remind your self, try it, right now :wink:
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  15. :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: ..I've got this brilliant mental picture of people sitting at comuters around the world pretending to eat egg banjos and stroking thier fronts as they mutter 'Fack, he's right you know !!. :lol: :lol: :lol:

    I know I've just done it to make sure I had the story right !!!

    Ubique ya bass !!!
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