Do Animals Have Souls? (part 2)

'So Uncle Tuppy.  Five years ago you set off in the coracle to free a boatload of lactating ewes held captive on a prison ship (please see my five e-book tales on Amazon, if you want to know more). Now, you're wolfing down your third bacon sandwich of the day, and wiping grease off your chin. Isn't there some kind of APPALLING CONTRADICTION there?  In short, aren't you a hypocrite?'
'Well, I - '
'Let me complete my train of thought before you start with the weasel-worded reply. You're not only a hypocrite - you're a PSYCHOPATH,' Tuppence continued, folding his arms. 'You're devoid of compassion and moral integrity.  You've a black hole instead of a conscience.'
'That's a nice thing to say to someone who bought you Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas for your birthday.  And a Smartie pencil case.'
'You're not even attempting to defend yourself.  You're resorting to feeble sarcasm and personal attacks.'
'Isn't that always the best way?'
'It's lazy.  Where are your facts?  Your counter-arguments?'
'I have none.  I admit everything.  I saved the ewes because I could.  I eat bacon because I can.  They sell it shrink-wrapped for one ninety-nine a packet off the back of the grocer's van.  It would be rude to say no.  I'm human, therefore I'm fallible - what can I say?'
'You've said plenty.  And you aren't human - as well you know.  You're a sheep.  You're supposed to be a herbivore, yet you eat dead pigs. What's wrong with you?'
'I don't know.  I'm weak. I know that what I'm doing is wrong. I don't think of bacon and sausages as being real.  They're like biscuits or crisps...'
'Oh shut up. I wanted a proper argument with dialectics and everything. But all you can do is waffle about crisps.  No wonder I'm delinquent.'

Bacon sandwich, anyone?

It was a wet and windy night and me, Geoffrey and the T-G were all sitting round a roaring driftwood fire back at the Outcrop.
"Wonder where B.O. is now?" I mused, packing some Black Bogey into the Meerschaum.
"I'm sure he won't be too far away. Here - have my Swan Vestas. Those disposable lighters are useless," said the T-G.
"Awful if he got turned into fish fingers," said Geoffrey.
"Meat fingers, actually," said Peter Edant, pushing up the sash window and sticking his oar in.
"I suppose you better come in before we all expire from the cold, Edant. But do try to control your more boring propensities," I said.
"Oooh! get you uncle Tuppy! Porpensities!" it was Tuppence - sticking his oar in as well. They both clambered in the window.
"PROpensities, actually," murmured Edant.
"Tuppence! what on earth are you doing here?"
"Yes! You see? You can't get rid of me so easily. I was wearing a life preserver, remember!"
We all exchanged glances.
"You don't still want to harpoon baby Orca and turn him into fish fingers, I hope?"
"Of course I do! think of it - we'd have our own food supply right through the winter and beyond, and that's AFTER we've sold the bulk of it to Speedispend and made our fortunes!"
"But that's WRONG, Tuppence."
"In what respect?" frowned my nephew.
"Killing your fellow creatures, and eating them. Let me explain why," began the T-G.
"Okay - I can see this is going to take a while so I'll just put a few sausage rolls in the oven and make up some ham sandwiches to keep us going..."
They all stared at me.
"Well? oh - I see. Well, let me remind you that I was key to the release of the lactating ewes from the Hulks in summer 2008. Remember?" ( see previous posts)
"That's all very well Tuppy. But you only did that because they were sheep like yourself. What about other animals? You don't seem to bother so much about pigs and cows."
I rushed into the kitchen in a huff and didn't come out for four days...

Tuppence takes a liberty

Tuppence arrived this morning, willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave. Haven't seen him for ages - and for once, he seemed not to be armed to the teeth. Instead, he was clutching a piece of paper, which someone with "leccy" had printed off their "computer".
"Uncle Tuppy, uncle Tuppy," he shouted. "Over on Shatner's Toupee, they have suggested that "toups" or "toup-like material" could/should be used to clear up the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought maybe when you get sheared next month, you could use your spare wool to mop up the overspill from the Fulmar's cesspit? everyone complains about the stench once the weather heats up - and the flies!!"
"Yes all right Tuppence. We get the picture", I said testily. I hate people mentioning my wool, and the annual shearing. It's terribly embarrassing - a personal issue, which I loathe discussing. "But what I do with my spare wool is my own business, thank you. Anyway, what are you babbling about all that for at this ungodly hour? it's not half ten yet and I'm still in my P.J.s. Wait till I put the kettle on and fire up my pipe. And by the way - where are your pistols?" (Tuppence usually has a brace of pistols stuck in his belt).
"Right here, uncle Tuppy!" he shrilled, whipping them out from somewhere around ankle level. I glanced downwards.
"Where in the name of the T-G did you get THOSE? are you wearing them for a bet?"
"One of the rats stowed away on a ship bound for the Americas, and brought them back with him when he returned," explained Tuppence proudly, twirling round to show off an enormous pair of cowboy boots. "A souvenir of his trip. I took them off him in exchange for a debt. They're real snakeskin."
"You're not money-lending again?" I said worriedly. I'd heard that Tuppence was cashing in on the credit crunch. Geoffrey and I don't use actual money, and neither do many folks Hereabouts, but Tuppence often travels to Overthere, and gets up to "Allsorts" - none of it good.
"Yes uncle Tuppy. I've been up to no good again, money lending to prisoners on the hulks (see gazetteer for details). To people who can't possibly pay me back - and I don't care! I always get my pound of flesh in the end! ha -ha-ha!!" he laughed coldly. He then proceeded to turn his back to the fireplace, close his eyes and aim the pistols over each shoulder with arms crossed.
"Not again," wailed Geoffrey, hiding under the table and covering his eyes.
"I'm afraid so," I sighed, reaching for the sal volatile.
Readers will recall that some time ago Tuppence managed to write the letter "T" above our fireplace, in bullet holes. Well, he managed it again on this occasion - and I must say his aim is excellent - specially given he had his eyes closed.
"The bullets went in exactly the same holes as last time!" we chorused.
"You fools! I was firing blanks!! can't you tell the difference? you're SO naive!" Tuppence laughed again, in an annoyingly chilling, high-pitched manner.
Suddenly the ceiling fell in and everything went dark for a while.