Posts Tagged ‘anatolian shepherds


Goodbye Rocko

I knew it was going to be rough for J-Rab when she eventually had to say goodbye to Rocko, our favourite of the fourteen Anatolian Sheepdog puppies we’ve been raising, so it was no surprise to me when she called in tears to say he was gone.

But what killed me was how fucking unhelpful the Express Air staff were. They left J-Rab completely by herself to pack the four puppies who were too little to be proper sheepdogs into these tiny crates so they could be flown up to Joburg.

The crates were full of shit-covered old newspaper and were so small the puppies couldn’t turn around in them, so naturally J-Rab lost it completely, tore all the newspaper out the crates and used the puppy blankets she’d brought with to line them instead.

And all the while the puppies didn’t make a peep and let her put all four of them inside their crates without making a sound because they’ve learnt to trust her and they know she’d never hurt them.

But when she had to shut the crates and lock them, one by one the puppies started crying and there was nothing she could do, nothing at all except walk away and probably never see them again for as long as they live.

Fuck, I felt all choked up when she told me the story and I wasn’t the one who watched every one of them be born and who fed them from when they were little furry worms right up until today, when J-Rab kissed them goodbye for the last time.

Life is just plain fucked up sometimes. On Wednesday the rest of the puppies go and I guess life just goes back to normal, like none of it ever happened.

I’ll miss Rocko though, he was an amazing dog. I just hope he gets a good, loving home and people who’ll look after him and treat him right.

Good luck to ya Rocko little buddy, grow up big and strong and brave. Life ain’t gonna be the same without you, but for as long as this junkyard site stands we’ll remember you and probably even if it doesn’t.



Your dad.



The Weekend Gets A Solid 8/10

Even though it’s fucking shitty Monday again and even though we’re all right back here, right where we were last week and even though no one’s boiled up any fucking coffee yet because everyone that works here are jerks and all those emails you chose to ignore on Friday are burning little holes of guilt in your inbox like smouldering cigarette cherries through your prep school blazer, even though all this shit’s happening, I think we can agree that the weekend that just past?

It was pretty awesome.



Mine kicked off with a few rushed beers with my main man SupaDan at Neighbourhood where we hurriedly tried to bang out a fresh storyboard for the next TigerTV extravaganza. All I can say at this stage is we’re taking things to the next level this time around and the shit we’ve got planned is going to make that whole necrophilia thing we did a few months back look like a big fucking joke.

See what I did there? Course you didn’t! Get some coffee in you fer chrissakes, you’re still half asleep 😉

Then right at the end of my drinks with Supa, this guy flags me down like he knows me and I look at him like I know him too, which is completely fucked up, and just as we’re about to do the whole, “Hey man! / Hey bro! / How things? / Yeah good and you? / Yeah good! / Well good to see you! / Yeah you too!” this guy says my favourite fucking sentence to me:

“Hey! Don’t you write that SlickTiger blog?”

To which I replied, “Fuck yeah! I am SlickTiger!” (affirming who you are through a fabricated alias is so fucking cool. It’s like someone coming up to you and saying “Hey! Look everybody! Batman!”).



And that’s how I met Bowlphilosophy, the guy who posted one of my favourite comments on the site so far, right under this post.

After that I went with my boss-lady to the Cape Town convention centre for the annual Highlands Ball hosted by the Keepers Of The Quaich.

For brevity’s sake I’m not going to go into all the details of what went down, but basically I tasted some of the best single malts money can buy, watched an enraged Scott slash a haggis to ribbons (some kind of tradition) and went dressed like this:



Then, as if my life wasn’t fucking weird enough, a crazy thing happened in the wee hours of Saturday morning.

See, right behind where we live on a wine-farm-that-shall-not-be-named, are enclosures for Anatolian Shepherds that we look after. They’re flippin’ MASSIVE dogs that mostly just bark all night and add to my sleep-deprivation-inspired madness but are also a lot of fun to pal around with because they’re so big and friendly.

Anyway, one of the Anatolians (Mercedes) has been pregnant for some time and at 4 on Saturday morning, she gave birth to two puppies.

J-Rab was on call for the puppies and rushed out the second the woman watching Mercedes called to say the puppies were breaching.

I half remember J-Rab running off in the wee hours to attend to the birth and then I went back to sleep. Six hours later, J-Rab still hadn’t returned and when she did, it was with the news that Mercedes had not given birth to two puppies, nor four puppies, but TEN FUCKING PUPPIES AND WAS STILL HAVING CONTRACTIONS!

An hour after that, it was 11 puppies. An hour after THAT I watched as puppy no. 12 was born.

Who knew one mammal could spit out so many little wet furry worms?!



Then while J-Rab and her aunt and cousins and I were all having lunch at Dornier and enjoying some fine Cab Sav, J-Rab gets a call that puppy no. 13 has been born.

At which stage we all poured another glass of wine, more than a little concerned that the world was about to be completely overrun by some kind of puppy apocalypse.

The final count, I shit you not, is 14 puppies. Mercedes was in labour for 18 hours in total before the last little squeaker plopped onto the straw and into the world.

That’s enough for an entire Iditarod Sled Dog team, just like in Iron Will! You know, the movie about the guy whose dad is killed in the mushing accident and so he decides to take part in a dog-sled race to save his family farm starring MacKenzie Astin? C’mon! Everyone knows that movie!

Anyway, bottom line is if this whole blogging gig doesn’t work out for me, I’m taking my Iditarod dog sled team to Alaska and there’s nothing you can say to stop me.

So now here I am, sandwiched between cheetah cubs on one side and 14 Anatolian puppies on the other.

And lemme tell ya, life couldn’t be better 🙂

So yeah, what did you get up to this weekend?



Top Secret Weekend

Fuck, did we get up to some crazy shit this weekend, man-o-man. I fucking wish I could tell you guys about it, but I can’t, aaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!

How lame is that? It’s like starting a joke and then right at the end of it saying, ‘Umm, actually wait… that’s not how it goes… umm…’

[SFX: Crickets]

But yeah, I guess there’s no harm in sharing a few details.

Here is the weekend summed up in completely nonsensical bullet points:

  • I drove up and down the same kilometer of dirt road for nearly two hours
  • J-Rab mastered the art of being dead
  • We walked into a restaurant, ordered a plate of dry Nachos with melted cheese and a plate of bread, with me dressed like Euro-trash kiddie fiddler
  • A dream about a threesome with two other girls was dreamed
  • A fake drive-in was built in our garage
  • My dreams of winning the Xbox dwindled
  • I did grocery shopping
  • Yatse!



It bugged me at first living out here in the total solitude of weekend days when J-Rab had to work, but over time I’ve actually come to really enjoy it.

Cape Town is easing its way into winter. It’s the beginning of May and people are still walking around more often than not in shorts and T-shirts and generally the days still feel long and sunny.

Up here in the loft of ‘The Shed’ (as we now affectionately call our house) I can look out over a wine vineyard as I bash away at this keyboard, acres of neat rows of vines that are slowly turning a brownish red as winter approaches.

The lawn we planted a few weekends back is growing like crazy, it’s small but I still get a real kick out of taking my shoes off and walking around in circles over its surface. It’s especially fun at night, when you can look up at all the stars.

Life is getting better and better down here. Things might have been a bit rough in the beginning, and there were a lot of highs and lows in rapid succession, but overall, the highs are winning and I’m glad we live here in the sticks.



Even if all manner of animals (Anatolian shepherds, owls, geese and rats to name a few) keep us awake at night and The Shed is so badly constructed you can see outside through some of the gaps in the wood, it’s our little corner of the world, and nothing can touch us out here.

That and the fact that there’s just a good feeling I have going about this year right now, are pushing me to finally get off my ass and do what I’ve wanted to do my whole life.

Aaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh! Wish I could tell you, fuck!

What I can say though is that it’s all building up to the 200th Post Celebration that’s going to be happening here on TFW, which lands on the 17th May.

So not long now Party People.

Not long at all 😉



Today Was a car crash

Fahk, today was a car crash.

Didn’t see that comin’ did ya? Ol’ Slick calls the post ‘Today Was A Car Crash’ and then launches right into the opening sentence, ‘Fahk, today was a car crash’!

Hahahahaha! Um, why am I the only one laughing?

On the way to work this morning I saw two taxis all fucked up, twisted out of shape, people (dead people?) being packed into ambulances and driven to state hospitals to get nasty infections.



I drove on in the driving rain and I turned my fog lights on. I don’t know what I hoped to achieve by doing this, but it made me feel marginally more safe.

The whole day, my guts have been melting. They feel like hot coals inside me. The weekend was a harsh mistress and all I can say is thank the good lord that J-Rab was stone cold and able to get us from A to B cause I probably would have been lousy at it.

Friday night we headed out guns blazin’. Bottle of tequila on the backburner and a pile of beer you could build a fort with. We hit The Barbarian’s place first, then Da Vinci’s for the best goddamn pizza I ever tasted, then a house party with some good people, and a man, we’ll call him The Giant, who had hands that were so massive he could probably break your skull if he ever flat-handed you.



He reads this site everyday, The Giant. He said it keeps him sane on days when office life is too boring to handle. My life had a lot of purpose in that moment, and everything, everything was worth it and I guess it still is.

It was his lady’s birthday party and I arrived sprouting tequila like a leaking ship.

It’s not rocket science. If you’re going to a party where you don’t know a lot of people, take a bottle of tequila. The people that drink it, make friends with those people. The people that don’t drink it, tease them until they drink it, then make friends with those people.

No one remembers you this way. But somewhere down the line you’ll be at another random do on another random night and a person from across the room will call out, ‘Hey! You! I know you! You’re the Tequila-guy from that party that one time…’

We drove to Komemtjie after the party, we snuck into my aunt’s house, passed the hell out and slept like dead people.

Saturday my cousin, Captain Albatross, woke me with a beer and a firm pat on the shoulder. ‘Cuzzy’ he said to me, ‘come let’s talk.’

We sat on the upstairs balcony in my aunt’s old comfy blue chairs, sipping cold beer and watching the cloudshapes changing with time and he told me about his crazy night and I told him about mine.



I kicked a soccer ball with The Captain’s kids and taught them to strum a few chords on the guitar. Dylan is a natural. All of seven years old and already he can count a solid 4/4 signature. I could make a rockstar out of that kid.

We ate mountains of braaied meat and it was good. Jimmy’s marinade was the clear winner that day. We drowned everything in it, even the boerewors and fuck me it all tasted like sticky, glazed heaven. I ploughed through a lot of it and afterward I lay on the grass and didn’t do or think of much for a long time.

A few hours later, J-Rab drove us back home and I dozed like a kid in the passenger seat, waking only when we went over bumps, then gazing through half-shut eyes at the spaces where ocean and land met, those brilliant white beaches along Baden Powell, the greeny-blue ocean the sun reflecting red off the mountains.

We ate at Buena Vista that night with The Loub, a good meal, good company, good times. I kinda wished I wasn’t already half dead at that stage. Energy was hard to come by, it had been a long day.



Sunday I got up late, sat on our balcony and played my guitar for 2 hours to a rapt audience of Anatolian Sheep Dogs. The low chords made them growl and the high chords made them howl. I felt like a demon guitarist, dragged back out of hell to play auditoriums full of growling, howling animals for all eternity.

Not a bad gig come to think of it. Better than rolling a rock up a hill.

I met a man who reads this site from time to time on Sunday afternoon. We’re working on a project together, something that’s going to blow people’s fucking minds.

And that’s really where this is all leading up to.

There are things, big things, in the pipeline for this site. I’m stepping up and calling a couple of shots for once and if this works, if I can actually manage to pull this one off, you’ll be proud to stand and be counted as one of the first people that found this crazy, fucked up place.

‘Oh yeah, SlickTiger?’ you’ll say, ‘I was following his blog WAY before …………… happened. Yeah, those days he used to write differently, like he was talking to us, like it was a private conversation. We liked his stuff mainly, but sometimes he clearly had nothing to write about, so he’d just write about his own life.’

‘We enjoyed some of those posts…’

It’s happening people. It’s all coming together and I couldn’t be happier 😉