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Scatology - My Contribution to that Field

Don Caswell


Scatology - My Contribution to that Field

  Copyright 2014 Don Caswell

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people and events is purely coincidental.

  A proportion of the population find humour in scatological references. Unfortunately perhaps, I am one of them. If you are offended by such attempts at humour then you should exit this book right now. For the rest of you - enjoy.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - Parasite Horror

  Chapter Two - Carlo's Revenge

  Chapter Three - Pooper-Scooper

  Chapter Four - Yowie Poo

  About Don Caswell

  Other books by Don Caswell

  Connect with Don Caswell

  Chapter One - Parasite Horror

  Great Aunt Maude used to visit us most years. She was Mum's aunty. Mum's mother had passed on long before and there was some sort of implied obligation to host Maude when she caught the train up to see us. I remember her visits from when I was not much more than a toddler. And, of course, her last visit which took place when I was a teenager is engraved indelibly in my memory, and the family's too.

  We never got much pleasure out of her two week invasion of our otherwise harmonious domain. She was always a dour old thing, but in later years became a dreadful snob as well. Not that she was anything special, just plain working class folk like us. However, after her children went through university, with Kevin eventually becoming a professor, and her daughter Claire high in the Federal Public Service, well you would have thought she was the Queen Mother.

  In her later years, once her children had reached what was in her eyes the stratosphere, she suddenly affected a sophisticated accent. In reality it was gratingly fake; an absolute parody of a real sophisticated voice. She was prone to putting her nose disdainfully in the air and say, "Oh, yaiss," quite a lot. Dad used to say she was a character straight out of Dickens and occasionally in asides to Mum, which he thought we could not hear, would refer to her as Eliza, or Miss D. As a youngster I thought that was some sort of confirmation of her self-declared greatness and so my younger siblings and I held old Maude in awe for a long time.

  Dad normally did not say much at all about Maude, or anyone for that matter, so when he expressed a rare opinion of somebody in our presence it seemed to have great authority. It was not until I was a bit more mature and in junior high school that I began reading Shaw and Dickens. When I did, suddenly the true import of my Dad's thoughts on Maude became clear to me. It was a bit of a shock, but meshed with a growing feeling of dislike for her that had been quietly dwelling within me for some years.

  The starting point for what transpired began quite innocently enough. We were mercifully nearing the end of Maude's latest visit. The conversation around the dinner table was becoming more strained with each successive evening. Even us kids could feel it. Maude was utterly oblivious to such signs of social unease however. She was completely self absorbed, I reckon.

  We had just finished our main meal when Mum, striving to maintain pleasant small talk, asked with a wan smile, "I noticed you got a letter from Claire today. Anything interesting to report?"

  "Well, yaiss as a matter of fact, I do. Claire has sent a photo of her friends in Canberra. They are all very important women, you know. All very highly qualified. From university."

  Maude passed the photo to Mum. After some scrutiny, Mum passed the photo to me.

  "Pass that along to your father please. That is a nice outfit Claire is wearing. Very business like. They all have rather short, severe haircuts, don't they?"

  "Oh, yaiss. It's all the latest fashion, you know. Amongst important and well qualified ladies like Claire and her friends, at least. The clothes are tailor made, naturally. Power suits they are, for women in positions of great authority, you know. Oh, yaiss."

  I glanced at the photo. It looked like a group of women wrestlers, squeezed into men's business suits and on their way to a fancy dress party. They were all big solid women. The haircuts were really short, military style. Crew-cuts we used to call them. There was no make up to be seen. Even to my tender years and emerging understanding, the photo just screamed butch!

  I passed the photo on to Dad. We made brief eye contact and I raised my eyebrows as he took the photo. He studied it for a time.

  "Hmm?" he said. That was mostly all he said, in any conversation with Maude, at least. But after a pause, he surprised us by expanding on that.

  "Have Claire and ... her chums ... joined the Marines then?"

  I had just enough understanding to fully appreciate that comment. An involuntary snort of laughter escaped me, but I managed to disguise it, poorly, as a cough. Mum looked askance, at me and Dad. She gave Dad the rarely seen, but ominous, look of daggers.

  "Well, of course not. You don't say much Gerald, but when you do it's the strangest things. I wonder just what goes through your mind sometimes. Claire is way too qualified to go into the services. They would not let her. She has a very important role in Canberra. Her group advise the Prime Minister you know. Oh, yaiss."

  "Hmm! That big Maori girl there, with her arm, the big tattooed arm, around Claire, looks like Sergeant Major material to me."

  Mum's look of daggers turned into the look of swords, but Dad seemed hell-bent and committed to this fascinating new path in the conversation.

  "Oh, that's Naomi. Lovely girl. She's a princess in Tonga you know. Oh yaiss. Why, just before I came up here I visited Claire in Canberra. Naomi and her family organised a traditional mu-mu in my honour. Wonderful it was. Roast pig and all that. Oh yaiss. Her father and brothers actually hunt the pig and prepare it for the feast. The royal way, of course, oh yaiss."

  "What? They eat wild pig?"

  "Oh yaiss. But, of course, it's not just any old pig. Naturally, they are experts in all that. They take only the very best wild pigs, of course. Not just any old pig, like the hunters up here chase. Oh, no. These chaps are the top of the game, you know, in a class of their own. Oh, yaiss."

  "Eating wild pig can be dangerous Maude. There are parasites you can catch, like tapeworms, and worse. Things that can kill you or make you very ill."

  "That's right Aunty Maude. Nobody we know eats wild pig," Mum agreed with Dad.

  Maude chuckled derisively, "Well, the hillbillies up here wouldn't know anything about that. These Tongan Royals are extremely knowledgeable. They could run rings around your pig hunters up here. Oh, yaiss. Anyway, that was nearly a month ago and I never had the slightest reaction. Beautiful pork it was. Cooked perfectly, of course. Oh, yaiss."

  "Well, some of the things like tapeworm and other nasty parasites don't always show their hand immediately. It can be quite some time."

  "Well really Gerry. You don't seem to realise that these people are way above all that mundane stuff. They are leagues above and beyond all that, Claire and her friends are. Oh yaiss."

  "Hmm."

  Mum tried to rescue the deteriorating situation. Dad was sitting there, looking grim.

  "Gerry's getting up early in the morning to go fishing, so we should have fish for lunch, that'll be nice, won't it?"

  "Well, I do like fish. Sometimes. Only some fish mind you. Kevin fly fishes for trout in the Snowy Mountains. Now that's fishing. It requires great skill and only the very best in fishing gear. Very expensive. It's quite exclusive, you know. Not any old Tom, Dick or Harry can hope to fish like that. Oh. Yaiss."

  "Gerry catches Whiting. They have lovely, delicate flesh. Fresh pan fried whiting with salad from our garden and homemade deep fries is one of our favourite weekend lu
nches," Mum smiled reassuringly at Maude.

  "Whiting, well yes, Claire and I often order whiting from the magnificent restaurant near her unit. The chef always comes out to talk to Claire because she is such a foodie. The chef recognises that of course and goes out of his way to try and please her. The whiting is not just any old whiting, naturally. It's caught by master fisherman and flown straight to the restaurant. You couldn't possibly get fish of that quality in these parts," she put her nose in the air and sniffed disdainfully, "Oh, yaiss."

  "The whiting that Gerry brings home, fresh from the sea, are beautiful Maude."

  Maude smirked condescendingly, "Really Deidre, you don't know much about fish. Then, I suppose you haven't had the opportunities that Claire and Kevin have had. Or have acquired that degree of sophistication, either. Never mind, oh yaiss."

  For the first time I saw Mum visibly burr. Every meal for the last ten days had pretty much followed that script, as it always did. Jibe, after condescending jibe from the pompous, nasty old Maude. Mum had the patience of a saint with a prevailing kindness of epic proportions, but she came so close to losing it that night.

  Dad saved the day by neatly diverting Mum's simmering wrath. "Darling! What's for dessert tonight, again? You did tell me, but I've forgotten."

  We moved past that awkward moment. Maude was oblivious to that, as she always was, and rolled on with her dominating monologue about how wonderful Kevin and Claire were. Mum and Dad pleaded tiredness after a busy week and the need for an early night given Dad's early start in the morning. After I went to bed, and before I went to sleep, I could hear the quiet murmur of my parents talking in bed. I reckon old Maude gave them plenty to talk about.

  The next morning, with Dad gone fishing, Mum went on a baking frenzy. I figured she just needed something to keep her occupied while Maude droned on and on. By mid morning the house was filled with the wonderful aroma of homemade baking. The kitchen table was covered with a great selection of cakes and biscuits. Perhaps alerted by the delightful smell, one of Mum's friends called in. Mum was busy whipping up a large bowl of brightly coloured icing. It was one of our favourites. We lined up and took the warm cupcakes, slathered with rich icing, as fast as Mum could trowel the icing on and pass them to us.

  "Goodness gracious Deidre, surely you are not letting the children eat all those cakes and that icing? I never let my Kevin or Claire eat such things."

  "That figures," commented Mum dryly, without pausing in her feeding cakes to us.

  "Of course, I don't normally eat such sweet thing myself either. I don't really like sweet icing or cakes. Claire and I normally get proper French pastries from the most amazing shop. Pierre is a wonderful pastry chef. He just adores Claire. Because she knows so much about French cuisine, of course. Oh, yaiss."

  Despite her protestations to the contrary, the old girl was fairly hoeing into the cakes and icing. Mum made a pot of tea and took cups and a plate of cake out on to the veranda.

  "You and your friend have a chat over a cuppa. I'll help the boys to clean up the kitchen while you have a rest," Maude offered. Her idea of helping us clean the kitchen was to sit on a kitchen chair and continue to eat icing-laden cakes while issuing commands to us.

  Sometime later, as I passed through the kitchen, Mum asked, "Where did you guys put the leftover icing and the last tray of cakes?"

  "There wasn't any leftover icing, or cakes."

  "Don't tell me you boys ate it all?"

  "No Mum."

  "Then where is it?"

  "Aunty Maude ate it."

  "What! All of it?"

  "Yes Mum."

  "Good grief!"

  At that moment we heard Dad coming up the back steps. He put a bulging bag in the sink and walked over to put his arm around Mum and give her a kiss.

  "How was your morning, Love?"

  "Phew! Okay, I guess. I did a heap of baking and the boys were extra good and cleaned up for me."

  "Cool!" Dad reached out to tussle my hair, "good on you Spike!"

  "You caught some fish I see," observed Mum.

  "Yes indeed my Dear. Twenty nice whiting," Dad paused then corrected himself, "well, not proper whiting, of course! Just the hillbilly rubbish we catch up here."

  Mum smiled and gave him a hug, "Don't be like that Honey. Only a couple more days. You've been so wonderful. I'm proud of you. But, you stink of fish and sweat! Go and have a shower, please."

  "I'll scale them for you Dad, while you are having a shower."

  "Crikey, my day is getting better and better. Good one Spike! Maybe next time you better come and help me catch a few, eh?"

  I took the bag of fish to the laundry and tipped them into the wash tub. Having filled the tub with water I began scaling the whiting. Suddenly the laundry door burst open and Maude barged through in a great hurry. She was half doubled over and clutching her lower stomach.

  "Oh! I have a terrible tummy ache."

  "You might have to wait. Dad's just gone in for a shower."

  Our house was a simple three bedroom house with a single bathroom that included the WC.

  "No, no, no. I have to go, Right now! Oh!"

  With that she ran off through the house and hammered loudly on the bathroom door.

  "Gerry, quick. Let me in please. I have to use the loo. It's urgent, hurry! Hurry!"

  After a short delay Dad emerged with a towel wrapped around him. Maude nearly bowled him off his feet as she leapt into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Dad wandered into the kitchen as Mum came in.

  "What's up?"

  "Maude's got a ferocious gut ache, I reckon."

  "That's no surprise, she gobbled a whole tray of cakes and a huge bowl of icing."

  "I thought she didn't eat sweets?"

  "Well, she protests that all the time, but put anything sweet near and she vacuums it up real quick, I can tell you."

  Mum made a cup of tea for Dad, who was perched awkwardly on a kitchen chair, holding his towel tight around his waist. The minutes passed, the suddenly there was an horrendous shriek from the bathroom. Mum spit her tea and leapt up, running to the bathroom door.

  "Aunty Maude, are you alright?" Maude wailed loudly again before replying.

  "No, call a doctor. I need a doctor right away, hurry."

  "What's wrong. Let me in to help."

  "No. Call the doctor. Hurry. Get him here fast."

  Mum spent a few more moments trying to cajole Maude into letting her into the bathroom, but to no avail. So, Mum raced off to grab the phone and call our family doctor. Dad and I waited in the kitchen. Mum paused to talk quietly to Maude through the bathroom door for a while, before joining us in the kitchen.

  "Maude won't let me in or tell me what's wrong."

  "Is Doctor Carson coming?"

  "Oh, yes. Luckily, he had just finished his Saturday morning clinic and was about to go home. He should be here soon. He said he would call an ambulance as well."

  "Bloody Hell," said Dad.

  We heard the siren first. It was faint and a long way off, but very distinct in that quiet weekend neighbourhood. Doctor Carson drove up a bit ahead of the ambulance. Mum met him at his car and gave him a quick briefing before leading him through to the bathroom.

  "Aunty Maude, Doctor Carson is here to see you."

  Maude opened the door a crack. Her face was deathly white and she was trembling. Having assessed the doctor, she let him in to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. We could hear the murmur of their voices. Outside the ambulance arrived in a blaze of flashing lights and its blaring siren. A posse of kids on bicycles trailed it into our street. Up and down the road neighbours were coming out to see what manner of catastrophe was unfolding. The ambulance guys finally shut the siren off and then busied themselves in getting the folding stretcher out of the ambulance.

  The bathroom door opened a crack and the doctor looked out.

  "Deidre?
Could you get me a small glass, or jar. Nothing special. You might not get it back."

  Mum looked a little puzzled, but took one of her stash of clean, empty small bottles that she used when making jam. She walked down to the bathroom.

  "Ah! Excellent. I'll take the screw top lid as well, please."

  The doctor withdrew into the bathroom and closed the door. The two ambulance men now managed to wheel their stretcher into the house.

  "Where's the patient?"

  "Doctor is in the bathroom with her at the moment. I expect he'll be out soon."

  Inside we could hear the low murmur of voices, which suddenly escalated.

  "What?" we heard Maude yell loudly, followed by some more murmuring. Again we could hear Maude's clearly agitated voice but could not hear what she was actually saying. The murmur of the doctor's voice had a reassuring tone .

  Suddenly the bathroom door swung wide open. Maude strode out of the bathroom without looking left or right, not saying a word to anybody. She stormed through the house to her bedroom and slammed the door shut.

  The gathered family and the ambulance men looked to the doctor in some bewilderment.

  "Ahem," said Doctor Carson, "your Aunty Maude thought she was suffering from some sort of gruesome parasite as a result of having recently eaten wild pork."

  "Yes, we were only just talking about that. Is she alright?"

  "Yes. I have no evidence that she is suffering anything of the sort. Mind you, eating wild pork is a risk factor that I would not recommend. However, your aunty has not been the victim of a cruel joke, I hope?"

  "No of course not. Why would she think that? We said pretty much what you just said about eating wild pork. That's all."

  The doctor raised the jar for all to see.

  Mum stifled a shriek and looked faint. She clutched at Dad's arm.

  "Oh My God! What is that horrible thing? Is it a tapeworm?" Mum looked sick at the thought of it. Dad looked sheepish. The ambulance men laughed heartily.

  No, it's not a tapeworm. Or anything like that," replied the stern looking doctor.

  Mum took a tentative step closer to the jar, without relinquishing hold of Dad's arm. In the water filled bottle a semi-transparent, viscera-coloured, segmented shape with multiple legs and feelers was swimming vigorously about.

  "It's not a tapeworm?" Mum sought assurance.

  "No," said the doctor, who I could see was struggling to keep a straight face while glaring at the sniggering ambulance bearers, "but I am sure Gerry can tell you exactly what it is."

  "It's a yabby. Some people call them ghost shrimp. I use them for bait when I go fishing. They're a soft shelled sort of prawn that lives deep in the sand."

  "But how? ...."

  "When I go fishing I put a handful of them in my shirt pocket, after breaking off their nipper, so they can't pinch me. I forgot to let the last few of them go at the beach before I came home, so I was going to flush them down the loo. When Maude kicked me out of the bathroom I didn't notice this one was still swimming about. Sorry."

  "Yes. When your aunty suffered severe diarrhoea, and then saw this thing paddling about, she leapt to the conclusion it was a parasite of some sort related to her recent eating of wild pork. As we have all seen, it gave her a terrible fright."

  "Is she alright Doctor?" Mum's caring nature quickly resurfaced.

  "Well, she is a bit distressed, so I am leaving her these tablets, which she can begin taking immediately. That will help calm her down. She is also angry as all get out, but that's your problem. Good afternoon."

  The doctor wasted no time in getting into his car. I was pretty sure I could see him laughing as he drove away. The ambulance bearers were trying to curtail their chuckles. One of the guys developed severe hiccoughs as a result. They seemed to be in a great hurry to be packed up and be gone as well.

  The next couple of days were very quiet. Maude had gone silent and only the barest monosyllabic responses could be drawn from her. It was a great relief to all when we got Maude to the railway station for her return trip. She had saved a few words for her departure.

  "Goodbye Deidre. I've never been so embarrassed in my life and I am never coming back!"

  With that she took her seat and stared steadfastly ahead waiting for the train to depart. Clearly there was no need for us to be there anymore so we walked back out into the car park. Mum was a bit upset and went on ahead with my little brothers while I walked with Dad. He leaned in close to me and, in the quietest of whispers so Mum would not hear, he said, "Oh yaiss!"