Riotous Retirement

by Brian Robertson

  Now, it was certainly true that Bluey was friendly, quiet and obedient for Veronica, but for anyone else he was very choosy and was not slow in letting the person know his feelings. He generally tolerated other women and some he would even allow to pat him. Most he would simply ignore.

  Men were in another category altogether. To Bluey, they were a completely different species and he trusted none of them. There were a few that he learned to just tolerate such as Alex, the caretaker, but none that he trusted and certainly none that he would obey. Even if Alex got just a little too close to Veronica, Bluey would sit up in his basket in the corner of the living room and growl. Not too loud, just enough so that Alex was compelled to look at him and only after he felt that he had Alex’s full attention would he growl again and simultaneously raise the lip closest to Alex, just the one, so that Alex could note his long yellow canine tooth.

  This made Alex a little nervous and, from Bluey’s perspective, he had achieved his goal. Veronica would then tell him to be quiet and Bluey would settle back down into his basket again.

  “You must be able to control that dog, Alex. What if a tradesman or, heaven forbid, an ambo needed to get in to attend to Mrs Churchward? You must be able to go in first and lock the dog in a bedroom. We certainly don’t want headlines about ambulance men being attacked by dogs at Burnside!” Helga lectured Alex.

  Alex had to practice with Veronica and Bluey every Wednesday when he took out the bins. The aim was for Alex to be able to come into the house and, by use of authoritative voice or by physical manoeuvre (if he was brave enough), get Bluey into the bedroom. It would then be clear for anyone else to enter the house—simple!

  Alex, Veronica and Bluey were involved in this exercise every week for at least six months, at the end of which Bluey’s attitude toward Alex had changed not one whit! He still growled, still showed Alex his left, yellow canine and it has to be said that this still intimidated Alex. However, eventually Alex was able to get Bluey into the bedroom under Veronica’s supervision. It required man-handling the dog, which was extremely brave of Alex, because Bluey protested all the way.

  “You’re just an old grouch, aren’t you Bluey?” Veronica would say by way of assurance to Alex. “Wouldn’t harm a fly, would you?”

  About six months into Alex’s training period, all residents were at a monthly evening dinner in the village leisure centre. Alex was also present. As usual at such functions, there is always a group of revellers that outlasts the others. All were seated at the one table enjoying either a coffee or the last of the wine. One of the other residents asked Veronica whether he might be able to buy a jar of her excellent lemon butter.

  “No worries I’ll just get you a jar now,” said Veronica and made to rise from the table, planning to go to her villa, just across the road to get this gentleman a jar of her lemon butter.

  Alex, overhearing the conversation and ever the obliging caretaker as well as the enthusiastic participant at the residents’ social functions, offered to go to Veronica’s house and collect the lemon butter.

  “You sure?” asked Veronica. Her tone of voice telling Alex that Bluey was in the living area of the house.

  “Sure, I’ll be fine,” Alex replied. He got the house keys from Veronica and disappeared.

  Alex was gone about 15 minutes and Veronica was sitting there not saying much but looking a little worried. Alex eventually returned with a huge grin on his face and holding high a jar of Veronica’s famous lemon butter.

  “Oh well done,” said Veronica. She was so relieved that Alex had managed alone in the house with Bluey that she burst into spontaneous clapping, so much that everyone joined in the applause.

  “Congratulations Alex,” and “bravo” were shouted towards Alex. It was the kind of party and the time of night where everyone joined in even although they did not understand exactly why.

  So Alex at the end of the table made a bow to his grateful audience as he handed the lemon butter to the gent who had requested it. He then turned around and with his back to his audience he bowed again.

  There was a gasp and “Oh my God!” from Veronica as everyone burst into howls of laughter.

  Visible to all was a large rip in the seat of Alex’s pants and the tail of his red shirt sticking out. Bluey had had the last laugh!

  Veronica’s Dog

  Man’s best friend lay low as a log

  Canine cunning he sprung like a frog

  Alex’s trousers came to grief

  Defence attack from Bluey’s teeth

  Veronica’s kelpie was Top Dog

  Sustainability

  “Sustainability—so what does that mean exactly?” asked Alex.

  Helga had been going on and on about it for weeks and the topic of this staff meeting was about the sustainability of the village.

  “Well you know, it’s all about looking after the environment and stuff and being safe and productive into the future,” Helga tried to explain. But Alex was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  “What do you mean, productive?”

  “Well yes, we know the old dears here are past the production stage Alex. I think they are referring to the productivity of the company. The safer and better the environment is here in this village, the better or more productive it is for us and the more money the company can make in the long run.” Helga thought that was a pretty good explanation, so she said so. “Yes, that’s what it’s about!” But Alex was not in his usual compliant mood. This morning he was persistent.

  “But why now Helga, and why the paint on the corners of all the drain covers?”

  “Orders from above Alex, just orders from above. We’re all susceptible to orders from above, just as you were when I told you to do that job. But if you really want to know there was a memo from head office—something about a DJS or IJS or something ...” and at this point Helga rifled through a tray on her desk and proceeded to look at a paper. “Yes, that’s right. This email goes on and on about sustainability and the DJSI, the Dow Jones Sustainability Index, but about all I could understand from it was that we had to put blue bits of paint on the corners of all our storm drain covers to warn people not to put stuff down there.

  “Right, thanks,” said Alex, “but you never said the paint had to be blue so I put red paint on the corners of all the drains. You know, red for stop. Don’t put anything down here!”

  “Well, red, blue, what the heck, at least there is a dab of paint on each grating. But the main reason we are all here this morning,” Helga continued, “is that we are about to have another Environmental Health & Safety audit done by Mr Cedric Colliston from the company and it is a chance to regain our self esteem after that last debacle.” Helga paused here and looked at all her staff in turn to emphasise the point. “I am determined about this and we will keep this confidential at the moment. I don’t want anyone, and I won’t even mention names here, such as Gabriel Bovary, mucking things up again—right?”

  And all nodded their assent.

  “Now last, but not least. There will be no more killing of the native wild life in this village, which is definitely against all the sustainability rules and indeed against the law. Alex are you listening? Will you please have a word with your good mate Duncan Stuart, tell him only chicken dip in the future, okay?”

  “So you are telling me that I can’t kill a bloody bush turkey in my own yard?” said Duncan later.

  “No, I am telling you what the village rules are and the legality of the situation, Duncan.”

  “Right mate—received and understood. Now would you like some toast and special dip for your morning break?”

  Both men laughed.

  “You heard about the snakes and the possum then?” said Duncan, and by this time both were enjoying a cuppa in Duncan’s backyard.

  “No, tell me more?”

  “Well, there’s been a real invasion, we’ve had two or three snakes around here since you went on leave last week and you know how most women react to snakes.
”

  “So what did you do about it?” Alex asked.

  “Well they just called on Mrs Milne. She’s the lady to deal with them.”

  “Get the snake man in did she?” Alex asked.

  Duncan laughed and slapped his thigh. “God no, all Mrs Milne did was get her big rubber boots on and chop their heads off with a spade. She’s a bushy you see, just like me!” Duncan explained.

  Alex could see how this information would go down with Helga. He decided there and then to say nothing to her before he found out all the facts.

  “And what did you say about a possum, Duncan?”

  “Well old Mr. and Mrs. Brown had a possum in their roof so I trapped it for them and disposed of it.”

  “But you’re not supposed to do that. That is definitely a no no. And how do you mean disposed of it? Did you take it out to the bush and let it go?”

  “No, I wouldn’t waste the petrol, I just knocked it on the head and wrapped it up properly so nobody got a fright if they looked in the bins. I put it in the wet waste bins. I knew it wasn’t recyclable!”

  Duncan could see that Alex was aghast at what he had just confessed so he thought more explanation was required. “Look, possums are not an endangered species—well not this kind, and if you shift them they get attacked by other possums and die a lonely painful death. It’s much kinder to just bump them on the head!”

  But no matter what Helga or Alex or any of the staff did there was no hiding the story about Mrs Emily Campbell’s grandson, because she was so proud of the young lad.

  “He really is a sweetie and would do anything for me, you know,” Emily told anyone who would listen and would then go on to tell stories about Kenneth, her grandson’s latest activity. “I didn’t know what to do, this snake was curled up on the top of my washing machine. I got such a fright. I was really terrified. So anyway I just messaged Kenneth and he came straight away. He killed it and then I took a photo with my new iPad. Want to see it?”

  Emily would then proceed to show whomever she was talking to the photograph of her grandson and the dead snake. The photograph had been taken in the front yard of her villa and young Kenneth was holding the dead snake up as a fisherman might hold up his catch to display it.

  Helga was really worried when Emily had explained all this to her quite innocently.

  “Don’t you realise that it is illegal to kill snakes?”

  “Oh I am sure Kenneth would not do anything illegal and besides most of us here think snakes are much better dead than alive. Its much safer without them you know.”

  “Do you mean he has killed other snakes in this village?”

  By this time Emily was getting a little worried that she might have said more than she should have, so she backtracked a bit.

  “Oh I don’t think he has killed very many. There is often a bit of a rush amongst his friends to get here if they think anyone is having snake trouble. So his pals also help the residents here.”

  Helga was now getting very worried indeed. What if it got out that all the wildlife at Burnside village was being systematically killed off? She knew she had to do something to stop it.

  “It’s just a bit of harmless competition for the boys on Facebook and Instagram,” said Emily by way of explanation and to calm Helga down.

  This did absolutely nothing to diminish Helga’s stress. She immediately associated words like Facebook and Instagram with other words that she knew about such as YouTube and Going Viral. She could imagine the whole world including head office getting information about snakes being slaughtered at Burnside retirement village before Cedric Colliston had even arrived on the doorstep—and he was due tomorrow.

  “Look Emily I am warning you now, get these boys to take their snake pictures down before I inform the police about this practice!” said Helga. “It has to stop now!” And she stormed off. What else could she do?

  Helga struggled through that day having realised, after a bit of further checking, that she had a whole group of villagers, particularly ladies, who had all suddenly become interested in and, heaven forbid, skilled in using iPads and iPhones. As though that was not bad enough, they were sharing photographs of the snakes killed in this very village and some were even on Facebook. If she could get through tomorrow and convince Cedric Colliston to award them a good rating for EH&S it would be a bloody miracle.

  Cedric arrived the next morning at 9.30 am.

  “Ah Cedric, lovely to see you,” Helga greeted him, shook his hand and offered her cheek for a kiss. She was determined to control him.

  “I thought we could start off with the audit inspection which will, of course, be the basis of the EH&S rating for the village,” Cedric explained.

  As if I didn’t bloody know, Helga thought.

  “Surely Cedric, we can certainly arrange that!” said Helga with a smile.

  So Cedric and Helga set off in the village buggy, Helga intent on making the decisions about exactly where they were going and what they were seeing. However Cedric was not a man who was easily controlled and he asked if they could just walk around the new area of the village where Duncan and Emily lived, the very heart of snake and bush turkey slaughter country.

  The first thing Cedric noticed was the red marks on the storm drain covers. What are these red marks on the drain covers Helga?

  Helga’s heart skipped a beat at the question. “Well, instructions from head office,” Helga reminded Cedric.

  “Yes I know that Helga, they were my instructions, but they were supposed to be in blue paint. You know blue, the universal colour for clean water?”

  Helga’s brain was now in top gear panic mode.

  “Yes yes, we know it has to be blue, but this is just a temporary measure, while we order the blue paint. Our supplier was out of the bright blue in the kind of paint required for outside metal surfaces. We thought red would draw the residents’ attention just as well as a temporary measure.” Helga delivered this along with a broad confident smile to Cedric and he wrote something on his clipboard. She was now sure he would ask what the residents had thought of this brilliant idea of paint on the gratings but he didn’t. Helga allowed herself a sigh of relief because she had not yet notified the residents of what the paint was for!

  Her relief was short lived. They had just got into the buggy again and were moving to another area of the village when around the next corner, in the middle of the road, stood Duncan Stuart, Mrs Milne and Emily Campbell in deep conversation. Oh my God, thought Helga, I know what these three are talking about and we do not want to take part!

  Cedric gave a friendly wave, fully expecting Helga to slow down and allow him to converse with this group of very obviously friendly, happy villagers. Cedric almost fell out of the passenger side of the buggy as Helga, instead of slowing down, speeded up, swerving violently to the right and then to the left again to avoid the three standing in the middle of the road.

  “No time,” said Helga by way of explanation to Cedric’s look of incredulity. “That group would have kept us there for ages.”

  Eventually Helga and Cedric were ensconced safely in her office. The EH&S audit was now over, apart from a chat with the village staff who were all joining Helga and Cedric for morning coffee. Helga was confident her loyal staff would not let her down and she was right. There was pleasant conversation, punctuated by special cake, courtesy of Helga. They talked about what a terrific village Burnside was, how they all enjoyed working there and all appreciated the one big happy family atmosphere that pervaded the village. Tongues were in cheeks in most mouths but it all went off very smoothly.

  Helga was sure that, despite almost tipping Cedric from the buggy in the act of avoiding Duncan and the others, this time the village would get full marks for the EH&S audit.

  Cedric had left, the other staff had returned to their normal duties, and Helga, alone in her office, allowed herself the luxury of two stiff gins as a reward for all the trauma she had suffered the last two hours or so with Cedric. Ten minu
tes had passed and a feeling of normality was returning for Helga when the phone rang. She picked it up. “Yes” she said to her secretary in the outer office.

  “It’s Cedric Colliston for you.”

  Helga sat up as she prepared to talk to Cedric.

  “My goodness you got back to your office pretty smartly. You didn’t break any speed limits I hope?” Helga joked.

  “I’m not in my office. I’m outside villa number 15. Could you come over here now?” And Cedric hung up.

  Oh dear, something was up and not good news, thought Helga. Her first thought was that she could not allow Cedric to smell alcohol on her breath so she would stay her distance. And then it struck her. A panic welled up from deep in her stomach. Number 15, Gabriel Bovary. If it’s got anything to do with that bastard, I’ll murder him.

  Helga walked to number 15 through the narrow roads of the village. It gave her time to clear her mind and prepare for whatever she would have to confront.

  As she turned the corner, she could see the action taking place outside number 15. Blocking the road completely, and preventing Cedric’s escape from the village carrying his positive report, was a huge fire engine. The firemen were gathered around a storm water drain operating a block and tackle apparatus slung from the apex of a huge tripod. Two firemen were carefully pulling on the rope and gradually out of the drain appeared a face that, red and mucky though it was, Helga recognised immediately as belonging to Gabriel Bovary. Gabriel’s abdomen and huge rear end were encased in a special rescue sling, which, once it was clear of the drain was lowered gently onto a stretcher.

  Helga could hardly breathe as she absorbed this scene and its consequences began to play out in her mind. All that Gabriel had suffered was the indignity of the situation. He had got his foot stuck in the last step of the ladder down into the drain. But the amount of damage and pain he had again caused Helga was beyond measure.

  Helga eventually went back to the office knowing she must conduct an investigation into this sad affair. Her report would have to include the fact that a resident, one Gabriel Bovary, had attempted to find out if red paint had been poured down the drain and that his wife had to call the fire brigade to rescue him. But worse than that, much worse than that, she would have to admit that the residents didn’t know why there were red marks on the drain covers.