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This story appeared on the forums in a much earler state under the name 'Trouble Afoot' some time ago. I recently gave it a bit of a polish, and though it wasn't a winner, it did get on the stort list in a recent competition. I'm pleased.
Here it is:
My Right Foot
“Well it all started last year when my uncle Bert was taken ill. I'd recently lost my job at the jam factory, so I said I'd help out on Bert's farm until he was feeling better. My cousin Paul, Bert's son, was also helping out, and we were having quite a laugh together. One of the routine jobs was to let cows out of the cattle shed to graze, normally not a problem, but this time a disaster. To stop the cows getting out there was a cattle grid in front of the gates. We had to lower a metal ramp down onto it, so the cows could walk over it. I was making some daft joke about the cows, 'pull the udder one', I think I said.
Yeah, I can see you smiling at that. I'll tell you what though, I wasn't smiling when I felt the ramp coming down on my right foot. I yelled, and Paul looked round, not knowing what was going on. All of my noise was making the cows panic, which led to a stampede out of the shed, putting their weight on top of the already considerable pressure of that metal ramp on my foot.
Do you know how much the average cow weighs? No, don't answer, it's a rhetorical question, I'll tell you. A Holstein cow can weigh up to 1500 pounds, but these were Jerseys, and they tend to be smaller, usually no more than 1000 pounds. But that’s still a hell of a lot of weight, especially when the whole herd of cows were bustling over the ramp. Anyway, I was screaming in pain whilst Paul was panicking because he thought the fuss would turn the cow’s milk sour, when he should have been helping me. As I was trapped and the pain was getting worse I passed out, waking up later that day in hospital.
'Mr Dickinson' said the doctor, that’s me by the way, Stuart Dickinson, 'your foot is in a terrible state, every bone has suffered incredible damage.'
Do you know how many bones there are in the foot? Before you open your mouth, it's another rhetorical question. There are 26, 28 if you count the two sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe. All damaged beyond repair. That David Beckham broke a metatarsal and the whole nation took notice, I broke all the bones in my foot, and I get nothing at all. Well, there was that piece in 'The Herald', you might have seen it? No probably not, we're not in 'Herald' circulation area here, are we?
I'm going a bit off track here, sorry about that, I'll get back to my foot. So the doctors are saying that it's irreparable, and ask if I'd consider a foot transplant operation. Of course I jumped at the chance, well, no I didn't jump, I couldn't with my foot the way it was. Actually, I probably could have jumped, as it's all in the knees, but the landing would have hurt like bloody hell. So anyway, I agreed to the operation, but I was told I'd have to wait for a donor. I went home and had to use a wheelchair to get around, as my battered club of a foot couldn't be used at all. It was awful, I couldn't dance, not that I could before but I couldn't even do any of my old moves. I couldn't go to the shops or down to the pub without a struggle, but worst of all I couldn't drive. So when I was called into the hospital for the operation a couple of months ago I was over the moon.
The operation went well, I went in, was put under anaesthetic, and woke up with a brand new foot. It was a size 8, just like the one I had before, which was great as I didn't have to buy any new shoes. I suppose they try to match up donated feet with people that need them so they get the right size and stuff though, otherwise I could well have ended up with two left feet,. That wouldn't have helped the dancing either! Anyway, the doctors gave me crutches to use for a while, give the foot a bit of time to heal up where it had been stitched on, and the bones fused together properly at the ankle. I didn't really understand how it all worked, but apparently the ligaments needed time to readjust to their new elasticity, whatever that meant.
My new foot looked great though, it was good to have a proper pair of feet again. The funny thing is though, when I started walking on this foot, things didn't quite seem right. I'd be walking down the street, and I would find it leading me places I didn't really want to go. I once found myself walking into a sex shop and I also found myself kicking bits of litter down the street, and I never used to do that. The worst thing was when I was walking through the park and saw a football. These boys asked me to kick it back, but I booted it into the pond. I followed that up by kicking a small dog in the stomach. Imagine having to explain that to the owner! It was like the foot had a life of its own.
Anyway, this is my first time I’ve driven a car since the accident, and it happened again. I'm normally the kind of bloke that sticks to speed limits, but the foot took over, kept pushing on the pedal, making me go faster than I wanted to. So that, officer, is the reason I was speeding. Hell, you're lucky I was able to keep the foot off the accelerator, it was trying to make a getaway! I swear it’s possessed or cursed or something. Please don't give me a ticket, not after all I’ve been through.”
Here it is:
My Right Foot
“Well it all started last year when my uncle Bert was taken ill. I'd recently lost my job at the jam factory, so I said I'd help out on Bert's farm until he was feeling better. My cousin Paul, Bert's son, was also helping out, and we were having quite a laugh together. One of the routine jobs was to let cows out of the cattle shed to graze, normally not a problem, but this time a disaster. To stop the cows getting out there was a cattle grid in front of the gates. We had to lower a metal ramp down onto it, so the cows could walk over it. I was making some daft joke about the cows, 'pull the udder one', I think I said.
Yeah, I can see you smiling at that. I'll tell you what though, I wasn't smiling when I felt the ramp coming down on my right foot. I yelled, and Paul looked round, not knowing what was going on. All of my noise was making the cows panic, which led to a stampede out of the shed, putting their weight on top of the already considerable pressure of that metal ramp on my foot.
Do you know how much the average cow weighs? No, don't answer, it's a rhetorical question, I'll tell you. A Holstein cow can weigh up to 1500 pounds, but these were Jerseys, and they tend to be smaller, usually no more than 1000 pounds. But that’s still a hell of a lot of weight, especially when the whole herd of cows were bustling over the ramp. Anyway, I was screaming in pain whilst Paul was panicking because he thought the fuss would turn the cow’s milk sour, when he should have been helping me. As I was trapped and the pain was getting worse I passed out, waking up later that day in hospital.
'Mr Dickinson' said the doctor, that’s me by the way, Stuart Dickinson, 'your foot is in a terrible state, every bone has suffered incredible damage.'
Do you know how many bones there are in the foot? Before you open your mouth, it's another rhetorical question. There are 26, 28 if you count the two sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe. All damaged beyond repair. That David Beckham broke a metatarsal and the whole nation took notice, I broke all the bones in my foot, and I get nothing at all. Well, there was that piece in 'The Herald', you might have seen it? No probably not, we're not in 'Herald' circulation area here, are we?
I'm going a bit off track here, sorry about that, I'll get back to my foot. So the doctors are saying that it's irreparable, and ask if I'd consider a foot transplant operation. Of course I jumped at the chance, well, no I didn't jump, I couldn't with my foot the way it was. Actually, I probably could have jumped, as it's all in the knees, but the landing would have hurt like bloody hell. So anyway, I agreed to the operation, but I was told I'd have to wait for a donor. I went home and had to use a wheelchair to get around, as my battered club of a foot couldn't be used at all. It was awful, I couldn't dance, not that I could before but I couldn't even do any of my old moves. I couldn't go to the shops or down to the pub without a struggle, but worst of all I couldn't drive. So when I was called into the hospital for the operation a couple of months ago I was over the moon.
The operation went well, I went in, was put under anaesthetic, and woke up with a brand new foot. It was a size 8, just like the one I had before, which was great as I didn't have to buy any new shoes. I suppose they try to match up donated feet with people that need them so they get the right size and stuff though, otherwise I could well have ended up with two left feet,. That wouldn't have helped the dancing either! Anyway, the doctors gave me crutches to use for a while, give the foot a bit of time to heal up where it had been stitched on, and the bones fused together properly at the ankle. I didn't really understand how it all worked, but apparently the ligaments needed time to readjust to their new elasticity, whatever that meant.
My new foot looked great though, it was good to have a proper pair of feet again. The funny thing is though, when I started walking on this foot, things didn't quite seem right. I'd be walking down the street, and I would find it leading me places I didn't really want to go. I once found myself walking into a sex shop and I also found myself kicking bits of litter down the street, and I never used to do that. The worst thing was when I was walking through the park and saw a football. These boys asked me to kick it back, but I booted it into the pond. I followed that up by kicking a small dog in the stomach. Imagine having to explain that to the owner! It was like the foot had a life of its own.
Anyway, this is my first time I’ve driven a car since the accident, and it happened again. I'm normally the kind of bloke that sticks to speed limits, but the foot took over, kept pushing on the pedal, making me go faster than I wanted to. So that, officer, is the reason I was speeding. Hell, you're lucky I was able to keep the foot off the accelerator, it was trying to make a getaway! I swear it’s possessed or cursed or something. Please don't give me a ticket, not after all I’ve been through.”
Ha ha! What an excuse :)
I was thinking: this is a bit far-fenched [but in a good way], and then came the ending - excellent.
I was thinking: this is a bit far-fenched [but in a good way], and then came the ending - excellent.
Bleh...
This story appeared on the forums in a much earler state under the name 'Trouble Afoot' some time ago. I recently gave it a bit of a polish, and though it wasn't a winner, it did get on the stort list in a recent competition. I'm pleased.
Here it is:
My Right Foot
“Well it all started last year when my uncle Bert was taken ill. I'd recently lost my job at the jam factory, so I said I'd help out on Bert's farm until he was feeling better. My cousin Paul, Bert's son, was also helping out, and we were having quite a laugh together. One of the routine jobs was to let cows out of the cattle shed to graze, normally not a problem, but this time a disaster. To stop the cows getting out there was a cattle grid in front of the gates. We had to lower a metal ramp down onto it, so the cows could walk over it. I was making some daft joke about the cows, 'pull the udder one', I think I said.
Yeah, I can see you smiling at that. I'll tell you what though, I wasn't smiling when I felt the ramp coming down on my right foot. I yelled, and Paul looked round, not knowing what was going on. All of my noise was making the cows panic, which led to a stampede out of the shed, putting their weight on top of the already considerable pressure of that metal ramp on my foot.
Do you know how much the average cow weighs? No, don't answer, it's a rhetorical question, I'll tell you. A Holstein cow can weigh up to 1500 pounds, but these were Jerseys, and they tend to be smaller, usually no more than 1000 pounds. But that’s still a hell of a lot of weight, especially when the whole herd of cows were bustling over the ramp. Anyway, I was screaming in pain whilst Paul was panicking because he thought the fuss would turn the cow’s milk sour, when he should have been helping me. As I was trapped and the pain was getting worse I passed out, waking up later that day in hospital.
'Mr Dickinson' said the doctor, that’s me by the way, Stuart Dickinson, 'your foot is in a terrible state, every bone has suffered incredible damage.'
Do you know how many bones there are in the foot? Before you open your mouth, it's another rhetorical question. There are 26, 28 if you count the two sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe. All damaged beyond repair. That David Beckham broke a metatarsal and the whole nation took notice, I broke all the bones in my foot, and I get nothing at all. Well, there was that piece in 'The Herald', you might have seen it? No probably not, we're not in 'Herald' circulation area here, are we?
I'm going a bit off track here, sorry about that, I'll get back to my foot. So the doctors are saying that it's irreparable, and ask if I'd consider a foot transplant operation. Of course I jumped at the chance, well, no I didn't jump, I couldn't with my foot the way it was. Actually, I probably could have jumped, as it's all in the knees, but the landing would have hurt like bloody hell. So anyway, I agreed to the operation, but I was told I'd have to wait for a donor. I went home and had to use a wheelchair to get around, as my battered club of a foot couldn't be used at all. It was awful, I couldn't dance, not that I could before but I couldn't even do any of my old moves. I couldn't go to the shops or down to the pub without a struggle, but worst of all I couldn't drive. So when I was called into the hospital for the operation a couple of months ago I was over the moon.
The operation went well, I went in, was put under anaesthetic, and woke up with a brand new foot. It was a size 8, just like the one I had before, which was great as I didn't have to buy any new shoes. I suppose they try to match up donated feet with people that need them so they get the right size and stuff though, otherwise I could well have ended up with two left feet,. That wouldn't have helped the dancing either! Anyway, the doctors gave me crutches to use for a while, give the foot a bit of time to heal up where it had been stitched on, and the bones fused together properly at the ankle. I didn't really understand how it all worked, but apparently the ligaments needed time to readjust to their new elasticity, whatever that meant.
My new foot looked great though, it was good to have a proper pair of feet again. The funny thing is though, when I started walking on this foot, things didn't quite seem right. I'd be walking down the street, and I would find it leading me places I didn't really want to go. I once found myself walking into a sex shop and I also found myself kicking bits of litter down the street, and I never used to do that. The worst thing was when I was walking through the park and saw a football. These boys asked me to kick it back, but I booted it into the pond. I followed that up by kicking a small dog in the stomach. Imagine having to explain that to the owner! It was like the foot had a life of its own.
Anyway, this is my first time I’ve driven a car since the accident, and it happened again. I'm normally the kind of bloke that sticks to speed limits, but the foot took over, kept pushing on the pedal, making me go faster than I wanted to. So that, officer, is the reason I was speeding. Hell, you're lucky I was able to keep the foot off the accelerator, it was trying to make a getaway! I swear it’s possessed or cursed or something. Please don't give me a ticket, not after all I’ve been through.”
Here it is:
My Right Foot
“Well it all started last year when my uncle Bert was taken ill. I'd recently lost my job at the jam factory, so I said I'd help out on Bert's farm until he was feeling better. My cousin Paul, Bert's son, was also helping out, and we were having quite a laugh together. One of the routine jobs was to let cows out of the cattle shed to graze, normally not a problem, but this time a disaster. To stop the cows getting out there was a cattle grid in front of the gates. We had to lower a metal ramp down onto it, so the cows could walk over it. I was making some daft joke about the cows, 'pull the udder one', I think I said.
Yeah, I can see you smiling at that. I'll tell you what though, I wasn't smiling when I felt the ramp coming down on my right foot. I yelled, and Paul looked round, not knowing what was going on. All of my noise was making the cows panic, which led to a stampede out of the shed, putting their weight on top of the already considerable pressure of that metal ramp on my foot.
Do you know how much the average cow weighs? No, don't answer, it's a rhetorical question, I'll tell you. A Holstein cow can weigh up to 1500 pounds, but these were Jerseys, and they tend to be smaller, usually no more than 1000 pounds. But that’s still a hell of a lot of weight, especially when the whole herd of cows were bustling over the ramp. Anyway, I was screaming in pain whilst Paul was panicking because he thought the fuss would turn the cow’s milk sour, when he should have been helping me. As I was trapped and the pain was getting worse I passed out, waking up later that day in hospital.
'Mr Dickinson' said the doctor, that’s me by the way, Stuart Dickinson, 'your foot is in a terrible state, every bone has suffered incredible damage.'
Do you know how many bones there are in the foot? Before you open your mouth, it's another rhetorical question. There are 26, 28 if you count the two sesamoid bones at the base of the big toe. All damaged beyond repair. That David Beckham broke a metatarsal and the whole nation took notice, I broke all the bones in my foot, and I get nothing at all. Well, there was that piece in 'The Herald', you might have seen it? No probably not, we're not in 'Herald' circulation area here, are we?
I'm going a bit off track here, sorry about that, I'll get back to my foot. So the doctors are saying that it's irreparable, and ask if I'd consider a foot transplant operation. Of course I jumped at the chance, well, no I didn't jump, I couldn't with my foot the way it was. Actually, I probably could have jumped, as it's all in the knees, but the landing would have hurt like bloody hell. So anyway, I agreed to the operation, but I was told I'd have to wait for a donor. I went home and had to use a wheelchair to get around, as my battered club of a foot couldn't be used at all. It was awful, I couldn't dance, not that I could before but I couldn't even do any of my old moves. I couldn't go to the shops or down to the pub without a struggle, but worst of all I couldn't drive. So when I was called into the hospital for the operation a couple of months ago I was over the moon.
The operation went well, I went in, was put under anaesthetic, and woke up with a brand new foot. It was a size 8, just like the one I had before, which was great as I didn't have to buy any new shoes. I suppose they try to match up donated feet with people that need them so they get the right size and stuff though, otherwise I could well have ended up with two left feet,. That wouldn't have helped the dancing either! Anyway, the doctors gave me crutches to use for a while, give the foot a bit of time to heal up where it had been stitched on, and the bones fused together properly at the ankle. I didn't really understand how it all worked, but apparently the ligaments needed time to readjust to their new elasticity, whatever that meant.
My new foot looked great though, it was good to have a proper pair of feet again. The funny thing is though, when I started walking on this foot, things didn't quite seem right. I'd be walking down the street, and I would find it leading me places I didn't really want to go. I once found myself walking into a sex shop and I also found myself kicking bits of litter down the street, and I never used to do that. The worst thing was when I was walking through the park and saw a football. These boys asked me to kick it back, but I booted it into the pond. I followed that up by kicking a small dog in the stomach. Imagine having to explain that to the owner! It was like the foot had a life of its own.
Anyway, this is my first time I’ve driven a car since the accident, and it happened again. I'm normally the kind of bloke that sticks to speed limits, but the foot took over, kept pushing on the pedal, making me go faster than I wanted to. So that, officer, is the reason I was speeding. Hell, you're lucky I was able to keep the foot off the accelerator, it was trying to make a getaway! I swear it’s possessed or cursed or something. Please don't give me a ticket, not after all I’ve been through.”