Rosie: Deed I do. Shall we feck off scunging Pads? See what we can rustle up?
Scruff: Youse are desprit hoors for the scunging. Nelly’s gonna be feckin’ ragin’ at ye.
Rosie: Ah shut yer Kerry yap. That’s all ye’re good for is suckin’ up tae Nelly and Bert.
Paddy: Aye. Ye think ye’re their brown-eyed boy right enough. But we think you’re not wise. Don’t we Rose?
Rosie: Aye we do. Sure you’re a powerful oul eedjit running round in circles barking at crows. D’ye iver catch one ye eedjit?
Scruff: D’ye ever catch a fox then?
Rosie: I wis that close tae one wunst the hairs of its oul brush wis ticklin’ me nose.
Scruff: Yer hole!
Paddy: Ye’ve no bisness speakin’ tae Rose like that. She’s a good Antrim collie worth a dozen o’ ye, ye Kerry mongrel.
Scruff: Mongrel? Ye’re calling me a mongrel? I’ll have ye know my father was a Crufts champion! He served bitches on rosewood dining tables in Mayfair!
Rosie: Aye! And yer ma was some oul ride from a tinker’s camp in Ballyferriter! That makes you a mongrel.
Scruff: Feck yez both! I’m away back tae Bert’s good stove.
Rosie: Away on then ye big pansy! Mind some bird disnae shite on ye!
And here's one I took earlier. On this occasion they did not run away. Well not far. I could still see them. ...in the distance.