Walking in the House

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22nd October 2017

Love Your Local
Love Your Local

I thought this might be my last pic of Percy pissing. It was about midnight in Stretford. After pleasing me by pissing outside the Robin Hood Pub he wriggled under a parked car. I don‘t like to pull on his lead as it can‘t be good for his neck, and anyway I thought it was probably a cat and he would do as he normally does: snarl and brandish his teeth, and then when the cat hissed, spat or raised a paw, retire snarling backwards to piss swaggeringly on everything standing. But I couldn‘t hear snarling. I could hear eating. And he wouldn‘t enjoy spending another half week again slowly sicking up an old kebab. I cajoled my body downwards, and chin on the pavement, grabbed two back legs. As his jaws appeared I saw very briefly the corner of a cling-film wrapped sandwich disappear.
I slept badly. He slept well. On today‘s first walk, concentrating, he poohed out eight inches of cling film.


         

Pissapointing


20th October 2017

Percy Missing
Percy Missing

Last night was disappointing. Percy failed to loiter near the sign for Barton Road – probably, and sensibly, because it would have necessitated actually standing on Barton Road. I was prepared to risk him but he wasn‘t. He then failed to wet a poster with just the initials P P on it, really big too. I‘ve started taking photographs of some of his Near Pisses so as I sighed I pressed the button as he pissed on a National Lottery poster next to it. ‘You‘ve done that lottery joke ages ago, Perce,‘ I muttered. He ignored me. He never bothers much with me when we‘re out. He‘s friendly enough in the house, but outside I only get two looks: ‘Hurry up,‘ and ‘Oi! Can‘t you see I‘m busy here.‘
The evening before he didn‘t piss on the Sun (see above) that all the way towards I was silently begging him to. Go on, Percy, plunge the Solar System into perpetual black.
He‘s walked past every Gents we‘ve walked towards.


         

Pissing and Pointing.


16th October 2017

Percy Pissing on Holiday
Percy Pissing on Holiday

This year we took our holiday at Silloth on the coast of Cumbria. It‘s got everything we (Percy and me) need for a photograph: space. Usually the first part of most of these photographs is me elbowing stuff out of the way to make room for Percy‘s performance. In Manchester I end up getting close to keep out attention-seeking stuff. In Silloth, on the beach, on the promenade, in fields, even in front gardens, any objects tend to be nicely far off from each other, as do people. It was easy. Percy pissed: I pointed.

Rose Garden
Rose Garden