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Shambo III: What Others Call Hell, He Calls Home

Regular readers bemoaning Jewcy's descent into Brit tabloid hell this week will be glad to hear that this will be the final Shambo update. Despite heroic resistance from the Welsh monks fighting (non-violently) to protect the TB-infected temple bull from the clock-punchers … Read More

By / July 27, 2007

Regular readers bemoaning Jewcy's descent into Brit tabloid hell this week will be glad to hear that this will be the final Shambo update. Despite heroic resistance from the Welsh monks fighting (non-violently) to protect the TB-infected temple bull from the clock-punchers and pencil-pushers, I can confirm the worst

After a dramatic day in which officials had to obtain warrant to enter the Llanpumsaint community, the six-year-old Friesian was eventually removed from the site at around 1930 BST on Thursday night.

In a joint statement with Dyfed-Powys Police, the Welsh Assembly Government said it had been "an extremely difficult operation for all concerned".

And on Friday morning, it was confirmed that Shambo had been put down by lethal injection on Thursday evening.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy T-bone, Silence the tambourines and with muffled drums Bring out the burger buns, let the ketchup come. Let cattle trucks circle moaning round the barn Scribbling in the dirt the message, Shambo Is Dead, Put mournful garlands round the white necks of the temple monks, Let the government veterinarians wear black rubber gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My midweek sandwich and my Sunday lunch, My stir-fry, my fillet, my stock, my chop; I thought that leftovers would last for ever: I was wrong. The barbeques are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the mustard and dismantle the grill; Pour away the gravy and sweep up the wood. For no meal now will ever be as good.

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