Can we cram within this wooden O........

With 'umble apologies to Bill the Bard. 
(Henry V Act 1 prologue)

‘O to amuse we offer, that which might transcend
The slightest bit of invention,
Old Lowtown for a stage, pieces to act
And sweet folk to behold our telling scene!
Then should this worklike ‘Charlie’ as himself
Presume the part of guv, and at his heels,
Unleashed the likeable hound, whose gamin, words and desire
Crouches for enjoyment!'

[Exit chorus to sound of his own slippers.]

We have, in our little blog perambulations, often touched on the subject of a certain chaps ‘hooter’ and his ability to ‘sniff’ out scents amongst all the general fragrances in the daily round.

In short, he can be absolutely........ 

‘out like a light,’ 

...with tail occasionally wagging, back and front legs stirring. Add to this the twitch of hooter and tremble of chops the odd gentle sigh and low growl, and there you have the fully ‘out like a light’ lad!

Yet, and yet - from this deep state, you will suddenly observe the oscillation of snozzle, as from a distance, a new scent enters the ‘radar’ of the boy Bing.  Still asleep, ears prick, nostrils flare and lips gently smack. Eyebrows flutter, then one eye pops open, quickly followed by its companion. An enormous stre---tch follows, and moments later the lad is up and off on the trail!

As old Will the Wordsmith would say, 

‘…..let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work.’

[another part of the field….]

At the other end of the ‘trail’ the old poop has just made fresh coffee.  Toast has been placed in the rack, and is cooling, as the aged gent reads the back of a cereal box.

With a certain amount of ceremony, he’s loaded up a slice, and is raising the sustenance to his receiving mouth……

A hooter appears from the other side of the kitchen table.

‘Wotcher guv!’

‘Bing, I thought you were snoozing?’

‘Just resting the eyes and such.’

‘Ah.’

‘So what’s on the menu this a.m?’

‘Menu?’

‘That’s it old creaky knees, the jolly old Me-and-you!’

We are, sadly, about to lock horns, as I’m under strict orders. The instructions are, "There’s to be no tit-bits or ‘noggins’ to be passed from codger to pooch!"

(Will of Avon is about to observe……..)

‘Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies.’

The toasted slice has been returned to plate, a chin has settled upon the cloth opposite, and a winsome expression gazes at me!

‘Bing?’

‘Yes guv?’

‘You are aware of the instructions I’ve been given?’

‘Yes guv.’

‘And the need for at least some decorum to be observed at the table?’

‘Certainly guv’nor, certainly.

‘Well, um…..’

The sparkling eyes are giving me their full attention, and inevitably I’m now loosing the thread of my argument.

‘Well you see Bing, it really is um…important that er……..’

The lad decides to take control of my rambling.

‘Guv, I’m not above the alternative receipt of a suitable gratuity, rather than a taster from the spread before you.’

‘Ah…I see….um…’

‘Therefore, may I suggest a stroll over to the tin marked ‘mini bonios?’  This indubitably, will enable us to bring a convenient end to this current impasse!’

Needless to say, this tricky bit of diplomacy has reached a more than adequate conclusion, and we’re soon able to settle down to a period of delightful and, for this old poop, much needed time of peace……………

…………………the head is back!

　
‘Fancy a little stroll later guv?’

(Hello………....old W.S. is about to round things off!)

'For ‘tis your thoughts that now must check these things,
Carry them (bonios) here to there; Bing jumping o’er the receiving ground;
And thus….
Unto an hour-glass: for which supply, eggs are timed.
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prod-like, upon your humble patience I pray
Gently to hear, kindly to judge………. us at play!'

[exeunt]