Poppet: Westley Piddle Summer Fayre.Part Four.

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Part 4. Poppet

Knew it! Worrisome snifz really woz bad news Sparky eyeballs the unfolding events. 

The brown fourlegs is all large head, solid limbs and sculptured muscle, a crease of silky hair rippling along his spine as he runs.  The pretty Afghan, her coat shimmering in soft movement, following him.  For a moment Sparky stares in appreciation at these two magnificent gods racing in and out between outraged fourlegs and slow witted hindlegs, to freedom – before common sense slams in sideways and he barks a panicky warning. 

No Poppet, don’t do it!

“wot’syourproblem,matey?”

KevLegs, we gotta stop Poppet

“alrightmatey,I’mhungrytoo”

No. We gotta stop Poppet before it’s too late

“hotdogorburger?”

We gotta sto– dog-dammit! in a burst of insane speed – wot Whippets are famous for – he sprints away from KevLegs, leash snapping from handpaw, and races off to save Poppet.

Poppet, I’m coming.  I’m coming

And Sparky is transformed from tingly Whippet into Fenrir, the gigantic wolfmate of Tyr, Norse god of legend. At least, he thinks he is. Always sez so.  An ultra-sleek lightning fast grey battledog, zeroing onto thems, zig-zagging corners and cutting air to catch up. Lessening the distance with each bound. God of acceleration chasing gods of good looks.

Poppet! he barks Poppet, I’m com-iiing!

Poppet hears Sparky behind her – his bark closing fast.  But she’s got no time for this nows.  That big brown backside ahead pumping sturdy legs through the drink puddles is calling to her in irresistible colourful song.  Summoning up all she ever wants, needs, must have. Nows.

Poppet, wait up!

Leave me alone Sparky she manages to pant can’t yu see I’m – preoccupied?

Poppet, stop

I cannot – no – never as she crashes into the wonderful brown backside of the big fourlegs who has, in fact, stopped to face their pursuer.

Snifz yuz Drizzle roars keep away, she’s mine his body vibrating with heat, licking at Poppet and leaving her in no doubt who’s in charge here. 

Solid Rhodesian Ridgeback awaits sleek grey Whippet speeding towards him.

Sparky skids to a halt on outstretched pads, not winded in the slightest. 

Hey, girl, stop what yu doin’ he pleads to Poppet the only way he knows how hey girl, yu’ll drive me to ruin

Wha? Poppet blurts, astonished.

Zeppelin, init he licks his chops first album, the bestest  

Who?

Changed rock forever, erh, anyways  thin tail protectively curled between his back legs Poppet don’t do this 

“Sparky,comehere,comehereboy” KevLegs longways off, wobbling fast as he can wobble to try and catch up.

Poppet? Nice snifz-name Drizzle shakes his head approvingly before dropping it menacingly towards Sparky’s own delicate snout and my conquest

Over my dead paws 

Leave off, Sparky, we’re a pair Poppet sez, dizzy from all this wonderful male attention.

Sparky knocks snouts with Drizzle so nows yu’d better stop and rebuild all yor ruins

No Sparky Poppet pleads I want this

Not gonna happen

Really?  Drizzle lunges so quickly Sparky don’t see it happening. Blinding white pain behind his earflaps, ‘round his scruff.

SUBMIT! Drizzle roars

The pain, the pain without quarter Sparky chokes, pinned down the d-dogs of doom are h-howling m-more

Poppet finds herself jumping in to separate thems stop Drizzle, please stop, it’s only Sparky

Good advice, streetlegs Duncan irrupts onto the scene.  Snout cold and wet, eyeballs smoldering, his badge of office bright across his black and tan chest: Thames Valley PD Unit.  

Step away from the little fella he slaps his snout against Drizzle sharpish

Drizzle releases Sparky, who gets up, shakes himself down and determined to get back into the fight.

Sparky! Duncan’s commanding growl making the whippet pause in mid-leap.  

Not Sparky, Fenrir sez Sparky

Wotever, just do it

Sparky starts tingling violently but does wot he’s told and backs away.

She’s with me, nows Drizzle sez, not giving ground my conquest, that’s fourlegs rules, and yu knows it 

“easyboy” PC Andersen pulls Duncan to heel.

Duncan twitches earflaps, reluctantly agreeing the streetlegs is right.  He turns his snout away, dismissing the problem.

Thought so Drizzle replies, returning the compliment.  Nudging Poppet he whispers in her earflap run darling!

They sprint away into the distance, out of Herdwick pooping park, gone.

No wonder Poppet screwed up doggy intellectuals sighs Duncan.

Dog dammit, Duncan, why didn’t yu stop thems?  Sparky tingles, aghast.

Duncan looks down at him, his eyeballs cooling yu know I cannot. He ain’t broken no laws he grates between his teeth and he ain’t broken our ways 

Wotz broken? Henry lumbers out of nowhere, all loose limbs and slobbery jowls.

Hello Henry Duncan looks at him didn’t see yuz down at doggy’s intellectuals?

Doggy’s wotzits?

The trouble with hindlegs, PD Duncan muses, is they get all sorts of excited about nothing.  PC Andersen is scritching into his handpaw to Roger which, to start with ain’t natural and, to end with, coz he’s got himself agitated.

“domesticdog,goneintowoods” PC Andersen is scritching in agitation 

“nonsense,nonsense,nonsense” Roger scritches out of thin air.

“rogerthat,Poppet,Afghanhound,plusonelargemale,stray”  

Listen yu twos Duncan advises Henry and Sparky in a soft growl don’t go thinking of doing anything stupid

Some mutts gotta go save Poppet? explains Sparky.

That’s her problem, not yors

And not yors either, s’pose Sparky is hoping about on tiny paws.

Yu twos got any common sense–  

Sense? Henry quizzes.

Yes, sense repeats Duncan yu’ll both ignore that big brown muttwit and go grab some free nosh while it lasts

All yuz police fours ever think ‘bout is noshing Sparky yaps.

Dog-damned right! PD Duncan trots off towards the nosh stalls, PC Andersen still scritching into his handpaw at Roger.

Come on Henry, let’s get after ’ems

Both fourlegs wait for Duncan to disappear before dashing out of Herdwick pooping park, all stealthy lyk.  Stealthily as a stout English Mastiff and tingly Whippet can manage.

They’re wearing steel that’s bright and true. 

They carry news that must get through. 

They choose the path where no-one goes. 

The song bounces ‘round between Sparky’s earflaps.

Sparky? Henry whispers in a loud voice I got common sense, ain’t I?

Aww, buckets, mate

Poppet and Drizzle find the nearest street corner to squirt off some of the excitement.  Running from the law may not be new to the streetlegs Rhodesian Ridgeback but it certainly is to the pretty Afghan hound.

Come on we need to move Drizzle nudges her forward.

Where?

Follow me

Drizzle leads Poppet up Nelson Avenue and across Westley Piddle High Street, dodging between roundlegs.

“stupidanimals!” hindlegs shouts.

Drizzle trots a maze of back streets in a wide circle towards home, taking the long way to throw off any pursuit, his sporting female close at tail – just how he lyks it.

Caught up in the danger, Poppet starts considering wot she’s gone and done.  Deserted Stonks at the Doggy Intellectuals Show.  On the one paw, she’s never gonna hear the end of her scritching over that. On the other paw, she’s run off, init?  So she’s probably never gonna hear about it, anyways.  

Wot about Stonks?

Who?

Sharonpackmate, me companion

Wot about it without lessening his trot beforenows, init?

S’pose so! 

Poppet’s can hardly get earflaps ‘round this new nows. Wotz harder is getting earflaps ‘round this big male with his earthy orange-snifz and meaty hindquarters wotz nows all hers.  All hers!  Wet snout holes pinch together in lustful delight. Honest to dog, there’s gonna be no probs in getting her earflaps ‘round any of that meat loaf up front. Thank yu!

Scraping clouds let fall a right load of rainlick, soaking both fourlegs.  Drizzle’s fur stains black under all the drink  – another alluring feature of his, Poppet thinks.  She’s also thinks that Stonks always makes a B-line for the nearest coffee shop when its rainlicking. Unexpected memories of the snifz of coffee falters her step.

Keep up Drizzle barks

Stonks needs her coffee she whines.

Don’t bark poop he grunts, dismissively keep on trotting

Rainlick is bouncing up from the pavement into Poppet’s eyeballs, her beautiful hair is dripping in black tails, her pads are soaked and she stops to lick thems.

Wot nows? Drizzle turns on her we gotta reach thems woods and safety

Givvus a second

Two muttwits saunter ‘round the corner at the far end of the street.

Argh, not thems again!

Who?

That skinny muttwit, Fenrir and some right ugly wrencher

Fenrir? Nah, that’s Sparky.  Right dreamer is wot that Whippet is

Don’t know, don’t care.  Cock a leg and keep up!

Poppet wants to flop down and throw a sulk but, wotz even more important, she don’t want to lose her stud muffin, neither.  They hurry through the rainlick, pursued by the two muttwits. After a squirtz or two further on West Pid’s housedens give way to woods and hedgerows.

Keep up Drizzle shoots left into the undergrowth beneath the trees.

More to come from Usual Muttwits

A Quick Pint down the Pig and Ferret.

Time for another pint down at the Pig and Ferret.

Zozo and Jools

Get over to Westly Piddle and see what’s happening NOW!

Wordless Wednesday : Friends.

Image

Poppet: Wesley Piddle Summer Fayre Part Three.

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Part 3. Poppet

 “you’relate!” Armitage scritches. 

“keepyourhaton,we’rehere,ain’twe?” 

“stickthisnumberonthedoggy” Armitage thrusts a No.11 rosette into her handpaw.

Stonks and Poppet stand at the edge of the showground with loads other fourlegs. Sitting, reclining, licking at essentials, and all hard eyeballing Poppet.

Oi, shaggy teets, brains not beauty wanted, init? Sasha, the cute Shih Tzu, spits. 

Shuttit, fluffy butt growls Poppet.

Ooo, stupid animaux  Marie-Antoinette, the French Poodle shrills at thems both no beauty, no brains, no intellect-tuels.  No clarss!

Stonks pulls out a curry comb, spinning silver from Poppet’s fur “needbrushing,needbrushing”

I’ll bang this Poppet’s beauty dazzles not so hard, izit?

“numberten,numberten” Armitage scritches, making all the fourlegs wince “getyerdoggyhere,NOW”

“isthatyou?” Stonks is checking the rosette number on Poppet’s collar.

Is that me – wot?  daft hindlegs with all their daft numbers, wotever thems are.

That’ll be me, sir Gunther, the curly-haired Standard Schnauzer marches onto the showground number ten

Him! Sasha is shaking earflaps in disgust would be that jerry melt, wunnit?  

Attention, attention, muttwits all Gunther barks fiercely at his audience now follows ze demonstration of right posture, fine precision and ze German art of canine intellektuelles

He trots precisely to the designated starting point. 

I am prepared! he instructs fräuleinmate, his hindlegs companion.

“startingnow“ Armitage scritches“dogswotpoop,willbedisqualified“

He is one big German poop! Sasha barks.

Vatch and learn Gunther barks loudly sad English muttwits, French muttwits, Japanese muttwits…miscreant mutt-

“disqualified!“ Armitage scritches.

Vot!

“toomuchbarking,zerointelligence“

Zero intellek– sputters Gunther Ha! On four legs or two I am, by far, ze most intellektuelle. Sir, be advised, I am ver– 

“enoughnoise,disqualified…NEXT!“

Hoots of derision explode from English, French, Japanse an other miscreant muttwits. 

Schnell fräuleinmate, let’s spritzen some German roundlegs 

Gunther marches from the field of battle, disdainful snout held aloft.

“numberteleven,numberELEVEN” Armitage scritches “bringthedoggy,andnobarking”

“OhPoppet,that’sus” Stonks almost trips over the rope barrier to get at the showring.

Cultureless beetch the French Poodle daintily trills at Poppet.

In less time than it takes a large fourlegs to squirtz three times, end on end, Drizzle has already stuffed his snout with pizza bits, pork rinds, fried noodles, doner kebab, and sticks of chicken satay.  He indolently cocks a leg against the corner of the Cornish pasties and starts to – 

Put a stopper on that! PD Duncan barks, stepping into view, PC Andersen on a lead beside him.

Snifz yu, big fella Drizzle sez, mid squirtz and stopper wot?

Cocking a leg lyk yu owns the place

Squirtings against the law, officer? Drizzle raises his solid black snout, eyeballing the Thames Valley Police Dobermann.

Yes. Within proximity of hindlegs nosh Duncan eyeballs back, unblinking, snout twitching easily.

Within wot?

Close to, nearby, within range of…

So, whys that then?

Coz fourlegs are not permitted to squirtz in non-designated squirting areas

Hmm Drizzle flashes a big maw of teeth, slowly lowering his cocked leg.

Duncan steps forward to bump snouts thems are the squirting rules of law. Understood streetlegs?

Drizzle wants to fight. He snifz ready for it, expecting the PD to do the same, but the Dobermann stands rock steady, relaxed, disinterested.

Drizzle snorts and backs off. 

Thought so Duncan watches him slouch away and disappear into the crowds. 

Shaking his head, he forgets Drizzle and eyeballs PC Andersen right then, ‘bout time for some well-earned police lunch, constable?

Rainlick, wotz been dripping on and off all morning nows decides to turn it full on.

Better find some earflaps shelter

Earflaps battened down, Drizzle quickens his pace towards the pooping woods behind the park, his homeden. He stops in mid trot, snout up, sniffing colours of extreme interest: female colours. Lots of ‘ems.

Ah-ha!

One colour is particularly overpowering. Snout holes twitching – a sporting female on the cusp of ragging it red.

An ugly grey Whippet is eyeballing him from the distance.

Mind yor own dinner he barks in his direction.

Trotting on he soon finds himself amongst a pack of fourlegs.  Females all turn and snifz in his direction.  Their daft hindlegs companions don’t notice, eyeballing straight ahead at something – wotz the same direction that overpowering colour is sniffing from. He pushes through the pack to snout it out for himself.

Snifz vous some Frenchie whispers at him. Ordinarily that’s enough to get some sporting action going but all he wants now is to follow his snout towards the most exciting colour he’s ever sniffed. Today anyways.

In front of Drizzle, across an empty space, Armitage is scritching nonsense at Stonks. Drizzle begins licking his chops.

“nonsense,andnonsense”

And Stonks, in turn, is scritching nonsense at Poppet “turnleft”

..and turning left

More scritching.

..turning right

..sitting, lying down, and staying

Ha, we’re burying it, Stonks!

Erh, wot – wot?

Nah, easier I come with yu, init, not wait ‘round abouts here? 

“STAY!”

Nah, I’m coming with yuz.  Definitely coming with yu–

 “disqualified!”

“leaveoff,youold-erh,mrArmitage” Stonks is flicking handpaws at Armitage.

“Isaiddisqualified-nonsensenonsense-idiotcanine”

Givvus another chance, mate

“DISQUALIFIED!”

All of a sudden she don’t care.  She ain’t listening, ain’t sniffing, and ain’t being intellectual.  Coz Poppet’s life is being turned upside down, inside out.

Onto the show ground trots the most dog-damned solid stud muffin she’s ever sniffed. Trots right up to her without a care in the world and bumps snoutz.

Snifz yu, kitten he nuzzles

S-nifz – snifz yu

“PoppetNO,PoppetNO!”

Poppet ain’t part of this world no more.  She allows this stranger to go do something no other fourlegs is ever allowed to do beforenows.  To trot ‘round back and snout her necessaries.

Ooooh-ahhhhh female fourlegs from all ‘round the show area swoon in unison.

Before Stonks can overcome her shock, before Armitage can scritch any more nonsense – Poppet is flying for her life.  Following this wonderfully sniffy fourlegs off the show ground.  Flying headlong towards the exit of Herdwick pooping park, and beyond. 

“Poppet,comebackhere,youslut”

More to come from Usual Muttwits

Poppet : Westley Piddle Summer Fayre. Part Two.

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Part 2. Poppet

The bright hot ball is high in the sky.  Herdwick pooping park is full of hindlegs enjoying the summer fayre. 

“Cockfest,Poppet,purecockfest!” Stonks sweats orange-sniffy lust. One handpaw covering her chops in a frenzy of excitement, other tightly clutching Poppet’s lead.

Stop it! Yor sh-strangling me

Stonks don’t listen.  She’ surveying the lie of the land.  First, she spies the large area for best of show. Second, the lavvies. Third, the beer tent.  And fourth, eyeballs lock on, coordinate, and memorise all the fit looking cocksters wobbling ‘round abouts.  

Sh-stop it!

“oops!sorry”

Nows her turn.  Able to breathe again, Poppet lifts her snout, both snout holes twitching.  First, she snifz out other fourlegs – zero immediate threats. Second, she snifz for fit males – zero immediate eightleggers.  

Pff!

Third, the line of nosh stalls all sniffing right tasty: Greggs, KFC, Pizzahut, PizzaRiot, Jimmy Thai’s, the Istanbool kebab joint, Fong’s Noodles, and Best Cornish Bakery with its eyeball-popping variety of Cornish pasties. 

Blimmey! Get a nosh-load of all that 

As it happens, Stonks starts wobbling fast towards the hindlegs marker posts.

“needthelavvy” she scritches “needaslash” 

A sniffy blue purply-sniffy mist billows out from a row of portaloos stuck close to the entrance of the park, spreading its colours everywhere. Poppet knows the portaloo marker posts is where Stonks squirtz. Wotz wrong with just squirting on the ground, against a lamppost or corner of a wall? Hindlegs got no sense.

Hurry up Stonks, noshing time

Stonks wobbles inside.  A moment later Poppet can snifz today’s brekkers and yesterday’s take-out dinner. 

Two grey furrylegs are chasing each other across the branches above the portaloos, heading towards the nosh stalls.

Thems want noshing, too

While Stonks does her thing Poppet snifz out all the usual muttwits attracted to the nosh.

Greedy muttwits, the load of ’ems

Over by rural crafts tent are the Jack Russell brothers, Nutz and Boltz, a right pair of muttwits. Over by the beer tent is Gitorrf!, scrounging something alcoholic for Halfleg. Closer by is Giblets, the young Boxer, all big chest and tight little rear end. Thinks he’s dog’s answer to all the females.

Ah doggit, please don’t turn round as Giblets turns round, sniffing the air and eyeballing Poppet. He starts strutting her way, pulling along his hindlegs companion.

Oi, hello darling, Snifz yu

Snifz yu too, Giblets, but nows not a good time

They bump snoutz.

As it happens ‘nows’ is always a good time

Giblets muscles his way towards her rear, his stump wagging in anticipation of Afghan eightleggers. Poppet snaps at his earflaps.

Leave off, doggy

Ouch! he squeals.

He tries for another rear-ender, both fourlegs jostling ‘round in a tight circle.

Yu ain’t my type yer squash-snouted, short-haired mutt and gives him another nip.

Giblets leaps out of range.

“Oi,Giblets” his hindlegs companion scritches, hauling him off.

Laters, yer nasty witch

Nevers!

Poppet shakes her head, soft blond earflaps shaking it all about.  And that there’s the problem, init? Every dog-eared muttwit with plum bobs attached wants to try his chance, at every opportunity.

And none of thems are mister right! 

“that’sbetterPoppet,feelhumanagain” Stonks steps out the portaloo, shaking it side to side while wobbling down the three steps to the grass.  

“comeon,needtobangthepiss,beforetheshow” she makes towards the beer tent, hauling along Poppet.

Inside the beer tent the wotz-a-nice-dog-like-yuz-doing-in-a-place-like-this only gets worse.

Snifz yu love-bug!

Henry leave off, mate

The slab-sided English mastiff bangs into her suggestively submit, girl, submit

Woz a time Henry had all the big gun assets. But after the vets, sadly, he’s out of ammo.

Henry, I loves yers to death really, but…

Big Knickers ‘enry, nows

Yeah, so I heard, but no thanks

SUBMIT!

Nah means nah, gettit?

“leaveit,Henry,LEAVEIT!” Franks, his companion tries hauling him off, Guinness in one handpaw, English Mastiff in the other.  But Henry ain’t having any hauling off.

Only one thing for it Poppet howls an ear-splitting territory fit Get Away!  Get Away!  Get Away! all gnashing teeth and flying blond braids.

The beer tent flaps outwards in the pressure of fourlegs barking.  Franks tugging, hauling, dragging a bewildered Henry out of the tent in a shower of Guinness.

“naughtyPoppet,wot’swrongwithyu,naughtyPoppet,embarrassingmelikethat!” Stonks tap-tap-taps each word on Poppet’s chain.

Wotz wrong with me? Me?

“andstopyapping,yernastycreature” Stonks scritches in a rising red-sniffy temper, raising her handpaw to give Poppet a right slapping. Some old hindlegs in a white smock and white trilby hatfurs is giving thems hard eyeballs over at the Pims punch table. 

“oh,shite” Stonks smoothly turns slapping handpaw into waving handpaw “Armitage,thebleedin’judge,init” and starts wobbling fast towards the tent flaps “let’sgetouttaherePoppet”.

“notsofast,younglady” Armitage wobbles to block the way.

Pff! Good one, Stonks

“ha,finedisplayofcaninecontrol” Armitage scritchy slurs down his long snout, alcohol yellow-snifz pouring off him.

“erh…stagefrightbeforethebestofshow,misterArmitage” Stonks flutters. 

Armitage sways on his footpaws ”bestof…wot?”

“bestofshow,misterArmitage” Stonks repeats.

“cancelled!”  Armitage scritches, belching. 

Erh? Poppet slips an involuntary squirtz of shock.

“cc-cancelled?” Stonks gasps.

“aye,cancelled,andreplacedwith…doggyintelligence”

“dd-doggy?”

Intelligence! Wotz that?

“so,goodluckwiththat,ha,ha,ha” Armitage gurgles on his Pims.

Poppet’s turn to be half-dragged outside the beer tent, front paws bouncing off the grass.

“thatsillyold– ” Stonks scritches under her breath. 

Slow down yu ch-choking me again

“doggyintelligence!”

Ahhgaakaa…

Stonks stops, Poppet wheezing. A strong handpaw grips Poppet under the jaw and thrusts her snout level with Stonks’ own miniature hooter “listentome,Poppet” she threatens ‘yougonnawinthis…or,it’stheChinesetakeway”

Chnntkkssswy?

“beautyain’tenough” she continues “needbrains,too”

Needs wot?

“EDICATION,girl!”

?…

Poppet don’t have a hope in hell.  Stonks ain’t joking about the Chinese take-away, neither. They nosh fourlegs, thems pagans.

All Poppet wants right this moment is to trot away for good. Preferably sniffing behind some handsome stud muffin! 

If only she squats and squirtz on the grass.

Brekkers over and Drizzle is still hungry.  The clouds are working themselves up to give it a good green-sniffing rainlicking with thems endless whooshing scratchy noises. Seems lyk there’s never a time when rainlick ain’t making Drizzle wet. 

Ah, leave off he accuses the clouds noshing first, yer buggas

And that leaves the next big question: wotz on the noshing menu? 

Sitting on his haunches outside the High Street HSBC he weighs his noshing options on one front paw. Toe one: trot back down the High Street and hit Greggs. 

Nah, been there, noshed that

Toe two: turn left into Huntsville Road and hit Chuckles chippy.

Fish? Nah, need nosh with legs

Toe three: wander down Nelson Ave and hit KFC.  Chicken strips.  Chicken wings. Or chicken anything really, in thems bins ‘round back.

Sounds lyk a plan 

He quickly follows his snout, rainlick dripping from earflaps.

As it happens, KFC is close to Herdwick pooping park.  Gob loads of sniffy colours are wafting out the park. Overriding thems blue-purply hindlegs portaloos is the chop-slobbery orange-snifz of nosh.  Lots of nosh.

Worth a butcher’s hook he quickens his pace.

His snout don’t lie. Plenty’s going on in Herdwick pooping park. It points him through the front gate into a wonderful world of meaty-leg colours. 

Right noshfest, this! 

But nosh is not always enough. Eyeballing thems two Jack Russell brothers playing with some hindlegs pups invades his good humour. He recalls the colourful memories of his own hindlegs pups – lyk a sharp, confusing snifz in both snout holes. 

Ah… memory snifz, only.

Shakes earflaps. Shakes off the fugue.

In the heres and nows, what he really needs is a right tasty noshing followed by a bit of sporty eightleggers.  He stops and poops on the grass. Yes indeedy!  Contemplating a sporting mood is actually putting him into a hot-bloodied sporting mood.

Get ready juicy butts, I’m a’coming he licks his whiskers and shakes his way into the park.

”Going,goingtoChicago” 

Sorry but I can’t take yuz

Snifz of fresh fourlegs poop whacks Sparky up the snout. A foreign snifz he don’t recognise.  Some fourlegs in Westley Piddle he ain’t bumped snoutz with!  Worrisome. He starts tingling all over.

 “goingdown,goingdownnow” KevLegs scritches before noticing Sparky, trembly all over “wot’s upmate?” squatting down, snout to snout “Sparkymate?youalright?” 

KevLegs suddenly points with one handpaw “StarWarsdisplay,let’sgocheckitout”

There’s a stranger in the camp! Sparky raises muzzle and barks snifz yuz…Snifz yuz?

“maybe,I’llmeetPrincessLeia,haha” 

Sparky looks up with big eyeballs, twitching his snout at an awful sniffy loneliness suddenly rising off KevLegs. He hopes KevLegs can snifz up his own female. Guaranteed to make packmommy happy.  And a happy packmommy means plenty of happy food treats dropping under the table.  Happily, guaranteed, forever!

The star Wars exhibition is crap, corss. Local toy store displaying some naff spin-off cac, not even original 70s trilogy stuff.

“complete,shite!” KevLegs dismisses it and wobbles away.

“pissoffthen,HarrisonFord” the hindlegs vendor scritches after him “gostickyerlightsaberup–

Shut it, yer sniffy git! Sparky tugs at his lead and growls, still tingling from that worrisome stranger and in no mood for additional ag.

“harrisonforddon’tusealightsaber,yerknob” KevLegs shakes his head, disbelievingly.

Some hindlegs got no culture Sparky agrees.

Trotting on. 

Snifz yuz, Poppet

Snifz yuz, Sparky they bump snoutz.  

Sparky stares at her with eyeballs of pure worship.  All silver braids, sharp snout and glittery eyeballs. The fittest shield maiden in West Pid, no argument.

Getta load of that nosh she pants.

Yu in that dog intellectuals show, then? he asks, tingling more than ever.

Cors.  All dog, all intellectuals, that’s me shaking her pretty earflaps.

Well…all dog, anyways Sparky wags his tail in a big smile.

Yor so funny Sparky, I just wish..

..I was bigger, stronger, furrier, and not a whippet?

Well, yeah

“that’sanEDS1275,init?” Stonks scritches in amazement, staring at KevLegs belly 

“wot?” KevLegs mumbles, surprised that a female hindlegs has actually noticed his existence, ‘part from his mom.

“coolT-shirt”

Wotz she scritching about? Sparky looks up, equally surprised.

Forget it sighs Poppet she’ll eyeball any hindlegs with tackle

Tackle?

“comealongPoppet,” Stonks pulls Poppet away “wegotashowtowin”

Nice seeing yu Sparky

Me too – oh, and careful of that stranger?

Wot stranger?  

Both fourlegs prod at the air.

That stranger.

Urh? Poppet lifts her snout higher and snifz harder hmm!

KevLegs can’t stop eyeballing his own belly. The first hindlegs female that’s ever talked to him without a shop counter in between. 

Try not to fart, Kev

“Oh,youmeanthe…?” he starts to reply, recognition dawning, but she’s walking away, already history. 

“comeonSparkymate,I’mhungry” he sullenly scritches.

That’s the spirit, mate! hauling KevLegs towards the nosh stalls kicking off with tandoori kebabs this end and noshing ‘it all the way down to Cornish pasties that end. Ripe plan?

Kev lets off a whooooosh of breaking news in agreement.

More to come from Usual Muttwits

USUAL MUTTWITS DONUTS – PART 5.

I knew it, and didn’t I say I knew it beforenows…and didn’t I say, beforenows, I told yuz so?

Mister Park is sitting before his shiny stainless-steel drinking bowl – ‘cept it ain’t so shiny no more.  Puke-coloured scratch furs are everywhere. He eyeballs the hard evidence, eyeballs Profit&Loss and eyeballs Sherbet, wot sitting on the stairs, head deliberately turned away.

The bowl is whipped away, washed in the sink, and replaced brimming with cold clean water.  Mister Park immediately slurps fast before any other nasty surprises.

notsofast,Jindywindy” Loss scolds him “you’llmakeamess

Me? slurp slurp slurp Mess?

Sherbet swivels its head and observes him between the bannisters. Waiting.

Stare, why don’t yu he barks yu guilty party, yu!

Continue Reading over at Usual Muttwits.

What Zozo and Jools Say About International Dog Day.

Zozo & Jools

Today is International Dog Day. If you love muttwits, why not do the following:

– Go for a long walk in a new place. Most dogs love exploring
new and interesting places with their best friend. …
– Bake a dog friendly treat. …
– Donate to your local animal shelter. …
– Tell your muttwit you love them.

And… if you haven’t got a muttwit then maybe it’s time to think about it seriously. Ain’t nothing better 🐾 Love from all the muttwits in Westley Piddle! Go and Visit Them.

International Dog Day.

Read about International Dog Day Here.

Zozo&Jools

Join Usual Muttwits at Westly Piddle 🐕

Visit them now 💜

Poppet and the Westley Piddle’s Summer Fayre

At last it’s here!

Do visit Usual Muttwits

Part 1. Poppet

can’t heart it over Dazed and Confused.  Packmommy bashes the bannisters but fails to get his attenti Westley Piddle’s summer fayre is back in town. Poppet, the willowy Afghan blond, is sort of humpy coz she’s expected to win first prize at Best of Show.  Wot she really wants to win is some sniffy sweet eightleggers with Drizzle, the fittest muttwit ‘round abouts.

A particularly quite morning in Westley Piddle, that unremarkable town on the Thameslick between Bisham and Cock Marsh. The only sound a drip of rainlick from damp trees. Stillness. Peace. The air holding its breath. Until, that is, some daft flaplegs decides peace is dead and sqwarks.  Soon enough, flaplegs across the whole gaff are sqwarking out of their tiny minds.  Mental.

As it happens, a convoy of roundlegs are growling into Herdwick pooping park – wot upsets the flaplegs in the first place.  Now, sniffy looking hindlegs are wobbling all over carrying stuff to build tents, arcades, pavilions and noshing stalls.  The long-awaited West Pid summer fayre is back. 

The fourlegs morning chorus can’t wait to bark all about it – 

Helloooo, here we goooo

Gonna be a right noshfest

Chicken, beef, lamb, loadsa mammal-leggy nosh 

Kicking off down the park, bowl-mates

Oh. My. Dog.

All in all, not a particularly quite morning in Westley Piddle.

Sparky, the tingly Whippet, is out early with Kevin, his hindlegs companion. KevLegs to the intimates.  Neon green Beats wrapped across his head furs, KevLegs is oblivious to flaplegs, fourlegs and sniffy hindlegs in the park. He ain’t hearing nothing but sounds of the 70’s.

 “Ah-ah, ah!” scritches the muted sound of Robert Plant from the Beats.

“Ah-ah, ah!” KevLegs scritchy scritches right along with him.
We come from the land of the ice and snow Sparky joins thems for the next verse from the midnight sun, where the hot springs flow

Sparky is tingly – coz tingly is chilled-looking and ain’t nervous-looking. Whippets move in jerky spasms. Each step of a Whippet paw is lyk being nervously poked in the eyeball.  Stopping to cock a jerky leg is a poke. Stepping along the street is a continuous poke.  Even standing still is a poke of sorts. 

Not Sparky, coz he’s into 70’s rock. A jingly Whippet hammering to the gods. 

“Ah-ah, ah!” KevLegs scritches “ah-ah, ah!” he eyeballs Sparky lost in songs of immigrants.  

“Ouronlygoal,willbethewesternshore…Ah-ah, ah! Sohurryup,and…erh…pissmate,gottagettowork”

So now yu better stop and rebuild all yor ruins
Sparky and KevLegs. Westley Piddle’s power rock duo.

“for,peaceandtrustcanwintheday,despiteallyour…erh…lackofpissing” KevLegs laughs so violently he farts.

Uh-Oh Sparky needs to finish his squirtz and get KevLegs home, fast.  

From the snifz of it KevLegs is starting his daily gas probs. A very sniffy problem, indeed.  But Sparky adores his KevLegs. Coz life with KevLegs is all about vibes.  Of rock.  Real rock – not alt, not goth, not thrash, not prog, not any of thems wannabe rock sounds.  Just the three riff genuine article: 70’s rock, as taught him by KevLegs and Led Zep. Sparky loves it. Maybe that’s why he believes he’s not just a tingly whippet – but Fenrir, the gigantic wolfmate of Tyr, that Norse god of war. 

“andnowforsomebreakingnews,Sparky…” KevLegs teases Sparky with a fart.  Sparky wags tail in adoration.  The snifz of last night’s Rogan Josht intoxicating.  He trots homewards as fast as tingly paws can trot. 

Valhalla, I am coming!

Poppet, the Afghan temptress of three summers, admires herself in front of the hallway mirror. Excited by the snifz of the summer fayre being hammered into shape down the road, across the junction, round that curvy bend, over Nelson Avenue and slap bang in the middle of Herdwick pooping Park.  Shaking her head, strawberry blond earflaps fizz across big innocent eyeballs. Her long hair is braided in Viking locks, coat curried to glossy silver perfection.

One fit looking fourlegs she admits but… and bumps her snout against the mirror fit enough to win?

Mirror image trembles to the creak creak creak of Sharonpackmate on the stairs.  Stonks, as she’s known to the intimates, appears in new clothfurs.  Poppet always snifz her in new clothfurs.  Wotz wrong with just one fur, lyk wot Poppet wears all the time.  Hindlegs ain’t sensible. 

 “watchafink,Poppet?” Stonks bounces off the last step, spinning round “likethecolour?Electricvanilla”

Poppet don’t know wot to think and only twitches her snout.

“comeonthenPoppet,let’sgetout,andseewhatcock’sabout” Stonks opening chops sniffy with breakfast to lick her small shiny teeth.

Mirror inspection over, Stonks unlocks the front door and wobbles down the garden path, through the garden gate and into Hazelmarsh Road. Poppet follows in shimmering strides.

Stonks lyks to walk up front, complaining she don’t lyk looking at Poppet’s ass all the time.  Poppet has two problems with that.  First of all, Poppet ain’t got the kind of tail up, pink rosebud pooping-hole ass always showing 24/7 lyk wot some fourlegs have ‘round abouts Westley Piddle – Poppet’s ass is a feather soft waterfall tail hiding her pooping hole. Second of all, coz Sharonpackmate’s got a right stonker of an ass, sadly.

“Poppet,don’tshitandshameme” Stonks scritches, yanking on the lead “propershittingspot,only”

As always

Music is scritching from a radio where two male hindlegs are wobbling about on some scaffolding.  One has his clothfurs off, revealing a furless chest.

“cockhim!” Stonks scritches breathlessly. 

The two hindlegs are eyeballs-on Stonks. Sniffing her up and down.  Their orange-sniffy lust striking Poppet’s snout from across the street,. 

“ignorethem,Poppet” Stonks yanks at her lead. Poppet knows Stonks has the hooter for sniffing out testosterone-heavy hindlegs – almost equal to her own snout for sniffing out lusty male fours.  

“don’tencouragethem,toomuch”  Stonks flashes eyeballs “butstartpeeing,rightnow”  

Poppet dutifully stops and squirtz, long enough to concentrate the hindlegs’ lust and short enough not to satisfy any of it.

“ellodarling,nicedog!” one of thems scritches, Stonks enjoying the attention.

Happy now?

“comealongPoppet” she wobbles up Hazelmarsh Road, grinding her wide-load wiggle.  

Poppet reckons thems male hindlegs eyeballs are staying well locked onto a female pooping hole right til the end of the road. Surely not her own!

Drizzle emerges out of woods dripping with rainlick and the yellow squirtz wot marks his territory. Countryside gives way to West Pid. streets lined with hedges and brick walls, behind which are hindlegs housedens, families, and happy fourlegs.  He can snifz the head-patting happiness inside those housedens.  Raising his muzzle to the sky, sniffing, searching, wondering wot his own head-patting hindlegs are doing.  And where they are now?

Snifz yuz. Get away from here  fourlegs growl from housedens 

Earflaps drooping under the brief summer rainlick Drizzle remembers being inside his own houseden, warning off streetlegs outside his territory.  Memories give way to reality.  Now he’s a streetlegs. It is wot it is. He trots on.

Snifz yuz. I’m gonna hurt yuz when I get out

No packmates? No one cares, mate

My hindlegs, mine!

Snifz any closer and lose thems plum bobs

Fourlegs bark, paws banging against windows. He ignores.

Drizzle don’t miss his hindlegs family.  That’s coz, everything is always in the heres and nows for fourlegs. Any moment nows his pack family will return to reclaim him.  Any moment nows. No worries til then.

An ugly black and white scratch arches its back and hisses.  Drizzle passes by without a snifz, in no mood to be arguing with Scratch so early in the morning. He’s famished and wants noshing. A brekkers of sausage and bacon is just the ticket. Two fat pork sausages: gone in two fat bites.  Stringy bacon held down with paws, shredded between teeth.

Drizzle trots through The Cut and into Westley Piddle High Street, snout pointing full speed ahead towards Greggs.

That’ll work!  

 “beendazedandconfused-“

So long it’s not true. Wanted a woman…

Sparky stretches out on the end of KevLeg’s bed, happily eyeballing him air guitar in front of the wardrobe mirror.

“lotsofpeopletalking,fewofthemknow-“

Soul of a wom–

“wascreatedbelow,yeah!” KevLeg’s strains his back under thems massive chords. His wind-milling hand bashes the Monsters of Rock lightshade on the bedroom ceiling, swinging it all over the place. 

“ready!” KevLeg’s packmommy scritches from the kitchen – also from below.

Sparky pricks up ear flaps at all the scritching but KevLegs own tiny earflaps on.  “Oi.yer.useless.git” she scritches with every thump “getdownhere,muppet!”

Oi, Jimmy P.  Brekkers, mate

“..sweetlittlebaby,Iwantyouagai-wot?”

Nosh init, yer spanner Sparky jumps off the bed and snoutz open the bedroom door. Packmommy is standing there, mug of tea in handpaw.  Seeing her in the mirror, KevLeg’s wind-milling pose becomes a lightbulb fixing pose in the Monsters of Rock lightshade. This surprises Sparky. The Monsters of Rock lightbulb works fine, dunnit?

rightmuppet” Packmommy snorts.

Rockmuppet Sparky agrees.

Sparky lies under the brekkers table alert for bits of cornflakes, toast, or bacon butty. His head on the kitchen linoleum, snout touching KevLeg’s footpaw. A constant I’m here and hungry reminder.

“yerdon’tgetit,mom,” KevLegs is scritching through his munching “notlikegoingtothesupermarket,izzit?” he munches, “can’tjustpickcrumpetoffthefrozencounter,canyou?”

 Crumpet? not sure wot sorta nosh that is but there’s right juicy sausages down at the su–

“gotothefayre,Kevin,andfindagirl,”

Thickly buttered crust of toast drops in front of Sparky. He inspects it with a critical snifz before noshing it.

“anicegirl…anygirl””

A big legged woman

Packmommy’s chair creaks as she grabs for something across the table. 

“that’sallyouroldmom’sasking”

“rightmom,checkitoutlaters,” his handpaw reaches down and sticks a rasher of bacon in Sparky’s eye “won’twe,Sparky?”

We will? the orange-sniffy bacon almost masks KevLeg’s purple-sniffy farts.  But Sparky knows the purple gas snifz is always there.  Gas flowing throughout KevLegs lyk those Tinylegs do under West Pid’s pavements.  It don’t matter.  Wotever KevLegs does don’t matter one bit to Sparky.

For some reason, packmommy wants KevLegs to meet a female hindlegs.  Wot Sparky thinks ridiculous, lyk. Coz he don’t need any hindlegs female. 

Coz yu got me!

“anicegirl,yerdaftmuppet” she scritches hopefully, dumping more toast on top of Sparky.

To squeeze my lemon till the juice ru– yuck, Marmite’s on this bit!

Sparky noshes it anyways.

KevLegs toys are scattered ‘round abouts Sparky’s sleeping mat.  Teeth-bitten ball KevLegs loves throwing that Sparky must forever go fetch. Slob-covered leather bone KevLegs loves to try and pull from Sparky’s mouth. And, KevLegs favourite, that well-chewed sqwarky chicken leg.  Sparky forces himself to rise to the occasion, pretending it’s him who really loves chewing it.

KevLegs stands at the front door of the houseden wearing his bestest T-shirt, an over-washed Jimmy Page on double-necked Gibson. 

“Comeonmate”

Sparky leaps into the air, spinning all four legs to land perfectly on the sleeping mat and scoots for the front door.

“let’sgodownHerdwick” KevLegs scritches, Sparky’s lead in one handpaw.

More to come from Usual Muttwits.

Comming Soon Westly Piddle, International Dog Day. 26th August.

Hey Ruby what are you snoutzing out?

© willowdot21
© Zozo &Jools

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