The Forest

A dachshund and a Hungarian vizsla were noticed to hold a brief conversation along the path at the outer perimeter to the graveyard. The record of their conversation is somewhat piecemeal but this is the entirety of what could be heard. 

‘Nice to meet you, my little sausage fellow,’ said the Hungarian vizsla. 

‘Ah hello,’ the dachshund replied. 

‘Do you live in this vicinity?’

‘Yes, yes – over by the pub.’

‘Very charming. And this is a very pretty church and a very pretty home for finished bodies.’ 

‘Yes … well, I suppose it is.’ 

‘Very pretty.’ 

‘Are you Welsh?’ asked the dachshund.

‘Dear me, no.’ 

‘Oh I see. It’s just you sound like you are foreign. So I thought you might be Welsh.’

‘No, no I am continental.’ 

‘I see. And I noticed that the family on the hill have their canon out. So I thought the Welsh nuns might be about to invade again.’ 

‘The Welsh nuns?’ 

‘It happens,’ said the dachshund. ‘From time to time.’ 

‘It’s a problem you have in these times?’

‘Quite a problem. Welsh nuns disdain order of any kind. They are dangerous and seditious to the core.’ 

‘I had no conception that Cambrian religiosity was so predisposed to violence.’ 

The dachshund raised his eyebrows.

‘When you have been living with it as long as we have, nothing surprises you. Nothing puts fear in your heart like the sight of a Welsh nun hitching up her habit as she charges up the hill. It makes me shudder just to think of it.’ 

‘It sounds most disturbing. And so there must be a suspicion that an invasion is imminent if, as you say, the canons are ready.’

The dachshund looked over his shoulder. 

‘We have our sources of intelligence.’

‘Then these are worrying times. Times of ill-omen, one might say.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Let us hope that neither of us meet any of these fiery and fiendish sisters.’

‘Yes. Well, nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your stay.’

‘Oh, thank you very much.’

The Welsh government have been informed and a special session of the Welsh assembly will address the matter on Thursday.