Book 2 Bananas

CHAPTER 2

Coz Bananas is so well behaved – and wouldn’t say boo to a flaplegs as the old saying goes – she’s not always attached to the lead. Perhaps, on the other paw, coz Oskar’s so well behaved he don’t need to be on his lead? 

Wotever! 

Yor’all very well behaved today she barks happily at Oskar and his siblings. The older brother and sister always go on walkies with Oskar coz packmom don’t let any of thems go on walkies alone.

No lead means Bananas can do wot she wants – which is not a lot coz Pugs are boisterous but not necessarily adventurous.  Mostly, she trots along in front of Oskar snouting her familiar way towards Herdwick pooping park, squirting on familiar markers, checking out potential noshing opportunities, and occasionally bumping snoutz with her fourlegs mates.

Snifz yu, Missy Biscuits yaps Bananas happy to see her bigger sister the red-merle Australian Shepherd.

Snifz yu, too, beautiful replies Missy Biscuits equally pleased to bump snoutz with Bananas, the only female fourlegs in West Pid wot don’t act the jealous stonk.

A short bit of rough and tumble in the park, followed by a very small poop – Arjom dutifully bagging it in that specially scented plastic glove packmom provides him; and then it’s off to the High Street. The older pups have got a shopping list of errands to run for packmom.  Bananas lyks these errands coz she gets to stay outside in the street with Oskar and play while the older pups disappear inside the shops.  But she can always snifz thems wherever they disappear to.

“watchBananas” they scritch at Oskar, wobbling off.

Don’t fret about Oskar, I got him well under control she yaps back.

Today, the older pups go wobbling into the Organic shop on the corner of Short Cut.  Bananas ain’t sure wot organic is but it sure don’t involve nosh coz they never bring back anything sniffy. 

Wot a waste of good noshing time considers Bananas. 

She turns her attention elsewhere for some fun and a bit of chin-wag.  

Who better than Paddles sitting upon his tartan blanket halfway along Short Cut and blazing away in a big fuzzy blob of neon pink.  Funny thing is the bright hot ball in the sky now shines on Squeezy squeezing her accordion and lighting up Paddles in an eyeball-watering corona.  It ain’t the pink color wot Bananas eyeballs – coz fourlegs don’t catch many colours, ‘cept blues and greys – but Paddles fuzzy shape reminds her of thems strange things Oskar lyks to stick on the end of little twigs; wot he calls pencils.

Hey Paddles, snifz yu she trots forward, Oskar pulled close behind.

Don’t interrupt Paddles grunts sharply performing to the pedestrians, init

Bananas snifz about the blanket, attracted to the small metal bits, discovering a lot about individual hindlegs and wot they’ve eaten and how healthy they are from the greasy touch of thems handpaws.

And don’t touch ‘ems, coz Squeezy’s gonna take thems home and nosh ‘ems

Nosh ‘ems?

Sure! shocked that Bananas could even ask such a muttwit question.

Squeezy stops squeezing the accordion for a break   “woooooph-huuuuuuh” she immediately tokes on her e-cig.

Thank dog that noise is over sighs Paddles now I gotta wait permission to take a squirtz

That makes no sense to Bananas.  Any normal fourlegs can squirtz whenever it wants to.

“whyisyourdogpink?” Oskar scritches at Squeezy.

Normally Squeezy won’t scritch anything back about dogs and colours but coz Oskar is just a pup she allows a rare exception “coz,apinkdogattractsmorepeople–andmorepeoplegivemoremoney,makesense?”

Wot? asks Bananas, coz she understands Oskar but don’t understand wot most other hindlegs scritch – the same for most fourlegs, as it happens.

Pink.  I’m pink for more money

Money?

Corss. From thems pedestrians.

The fact that both hindlegs have got no clue wot they’re barking about is irrelevant.  But wotz a bit more relevant is glittery plum bobs. In that great mind between his short, thick and furry earflaps Paddles recalls Squeezy’s promise to spray his plumbs with glitter.  Yes. That’s totally butt-lickin’ relevant. Coz he don’t want the glitter. 

Uh-uh!

And he tells Bananas all abouts it.

Paddle’s plum bobs are of no great interest to Bananas – but glitter is.  Thank dog no one scritches about promising to glitter her plum bobs. The fact that she don’t have any ain’t the here or over there.

Hindlegs think they can do wot they lyk she grumbles, trotting off with Oskar to join his siblings for the long wobble home.

Ya, snifz yu, Bananas Gunther stops squirting on growling roundlegs and trots over to bump snoutz.

Hello, Gunther, snifz yu followed by a token sniffing of mutual rear ends.

Westley Piddle is looking up sez Gunther fräuleinmate and me are making spritzen on one BMW 450i roundlegs, one Mercedes C220 roundlegs, diesel corss, one Porsche 9–

That’s many ones comments Bananas

Ya Gunther pants happily.

“prettychildren” scritches fräuleinmate at the three hindlegs pups “allfromUkraine?”

“Estonia,actually” scritches Arjom politely.

Wotz outside Westley Piddle adds Bananas, catching the sound of ‘Estonia’.  She does some heavy thinking of any other places she knows between her short black earflaps.

And she then recalls glittery plum bobs – and Paddles – and the disaster of glittery plum bobs on Paddles – one stuck to the other. 

Gunther, wot do yu know about glittery plum bobs?

German brand? he barks immediately.

Not sure

Not German, not worth a spritzen

..yu come and go, yu come and go…Karma, Karma, ka…

As it happens, Paddles and Squeezy pass by on the mowta making all sorts of strange scritchy Boy George sounds. Off for a squirting break and a bit of nosh.

Gunther raises his snout and sniffs disdainfully at the mobility scooter.

Wot is the world coming to he grunts, dismissively.

And, all of a sudden, Bananas earflaps start flapping in great agitation. She’s thinking.  Something most fourlegs won’t, don’t, can’t do much of.

Gunther, wotz that growling roundlegs? pointing her flat snout – wot ain’t so easy to do – at the mowta.

Not German – and not growling.  Just a whiny, skinny roundlegs he replies getting bored and wanting to trot on and spritzen on a Jaguar F-Pace he’s sniffing, wotz illegally parked at the end of Short Cut.  

Sure, but wot.is.it.?

Gunther who knows everything there is to know and wotz cleverer than most fourlegs – with his straight back, tail up and all tip-top, best of breed, lyk – delivers his lecture.

Ya, das ist a mobility scooter he begins in a patricianly manner TGA Breeze, mark 4 – if I am not mistaken – wot runs on two standard 12 volt, deep cycle, lead acid batteries, zat produces 24 volts… 

“thatdoglikesbarking” scritches Oskar

“ya,German” scritches fräuleinmate, and the hindlegs pack watch in amusement as the two fourlegs yap at each other.

..running a class 3 mobility scooter with a maximum trotting speed of eight miles per h– 

Eight wot?

Don’t matter continues Gunther now into his element with ze turning radius of one hundred and seventy four centi–

Brother interrupts Bananas,

all big black eyeballs staring up at the curly grey Standard Schnauzer I just wanna bump snoutz with that mowta and start some big submitting!

Ya, so? Gunther’s earflaps prick up in astonishment yu appear a bit small to do any big submitting, meine schwester

I’m female her flat snout brooking no further argument.

And, without no further argument, Gunther barks at her wot she’s got to do. 

Book 2 Bananas.

Chapter 2 of Bananas coming to this Blog Monday

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Book 2 – Bananas Chapter One.

BANANAS

Welcome to another blisteringly cheerful day in Westley Piddle, all fourlegs noshing themselves silly. Including Bananas the happy yellow Pug, and Paddles the neon pink Chow Chow. Fourlegs all living the life. Hundred percent bang on perfect… and it ain’t even rainlicking!  

A particularly cheerful day in Westley Piddle, that unexpected little town on the Thameslick between Bisham and Cock Marsh. Hindlegs are up and wobbling about, scritching good mornings to everything and anything; scratch are lazily licking their murderous long scratchy paws and planning global domination; flaplegs are flapping ‘round abouts everywhere in a blitzkrieg of poop. Life as normal.

Fourlegs, not to be outdone in this struggle of cheerful bon hommie, add their daily morsel of intellectuals to the cacophony – 

Helloooo!

Shuddup mammal

Another day, same poop

And yuz can shuddup an’ all

Oi, trot over here and bark that!

All in all, it’s another particularly dogs-dinner day of unbearable cheerfulness. 

Paddles the overweight Chow Chow wears his cheerfulness beneath a neon pink-coloured fluffy hide.  Newly sprayed, his snout twitching in mild allergies, and getting last minute touches from Lavinka before his presentation to the pedestrians in the big city – West Pid. that is.  She combs his fur over and over til static makes it stand on end in a big electric pink fuzz. Lavinka then ties a Union Jack bandana ‘round his large neck, completing the look with a pair of gold-tinted aviator shades squashed over his small eyeholes. Paddles is transformed into a teddy-bear Elvis Presley, standing foursquare with black tongue clenched between teeth, quietly enduring this ritual of tender loving care.

I think I wanna vomit

“suchabigbeautiful,brightdoggy” scritches Lavinka the busker, known as Squeezy to the intimates – coz of the accordion she squeezes in and out, this way and that.  She grabs his snout in her handpaw and eyeballs him in his huge, frizzy face “rememberPaddles,pedestrianswholovedoggy,lovegivingmoney”

Gottit

Paddles is not sure wot money is but pedestrians sure love throwing little metal things at him when Squeezy starts some squeezy-stretchy action on the accordion and Paddles sits looking lyk a furry rockstar.

Can we go now?

Downstairs and ‘round back of the apartments, Paddles enjoys the first squirtz of the morning as Squeezy unplugs the mowta and growls it out of the lock-up into the early light of day.

That’s better Paddles lifts a fluffy pink rear leg and lets go a solid stream.

To be specific the mobility scooter don’t actually growl coz it’s electric.  Instead, it whines at a high-pitch wot makes Paddle’s short thick earflaps vibrate. 

“comeon,then” and Paddles hops into the space between Squeezy’s footpaws “andlet’sgiveitsomeBoyGeorge”

And off they whine towards West Pid. town center.

Dessert loving in yur eyes all the waaay

They whine off from the lock-up and turn onto the pavement of Hazlehurst Road.

..a man without conviiiic-tion

Odds and sods hindlegs are wobbling out the way of the trundling mowta scritching Boy George – Paddles pushing his pink frizzy face into the gentle wind.  The round hot ball, wotz only just been thrown up in the sky, reflecting off his gold-tinted shades.

…yor wicked words every daaay

Squeezy mowtas towards Short Cut, that stretch of pedestrians-only pavement where all the clothfurs shops are and wot only hindlegs are allowed to wobble about on; wotz a short cut between the High Street and Nelson Avenue.  

..Karma, karma, karma, karma, kar– 

The mowta stops whining. Boy George stops scritching. Paddles leaps off and starts sniffing the street.

‘don’tpooponthepavement,Paddles,pedestriansdon’tlikeit”

Squeezy unclips her accordion, sticking a large paint bucket on the pavement and unfolding the tartan blanket.  She sits on the upturned paint bucket and Paddles sits on the blanket.  Squeezy starts stretching some dog-damn awful wheezy noises and Paddles takes a deep breath.  Let the day begin. Let the pedestrians come and throw thems little metal things. 

“oneforyou” Oskar scritches softly at Bananas “andoneforme”

How abouts one for yu and two for me? Bananas the young fawn-coloured Pug sez to Oskar.

The little hindlegs boy is from Estonia – wot is somewhere just outside Westly Piddle, according to Bananas –sticking his spoon into the wonderfully-sniffy peanut butter and not quite decided who’s going to get the next mouthful.  Bananas lifts her flat snout to the spoon and opens her chops and decides it for him there and then.

That’ll be mine, I reckon she licks the contents off the spoon. The next spoonful follows the same route as the last – straight down her nosh hole.  

Bananas knows that nosh is never more than a snifz away from her chops in the Rebane houseden.  In fact she is one of the few fourlegs in all Westley Piddle wotz not constantly hungry – well, not constantly – nosh being always licked off spoon, handpaw, or from the floor. 

Liisa, Oskar’s older sister,  enjoys pickles and smoked fish – fishes are good for Bananas.

Then there’s Arjom, his older brother, wot enjoys cheeseburgers and fries – cheeseburgers are good for Bananas.

And, there’s packdad wot lyks all sorts of nosh but don’t lyk sticking it anywhere, ‘cept down his own little nosh hole.  This unnatural behaviour is a work in progress for Bananas.  Finally there’s packmommy who don’t lyk much of anything and who certainly don’t lyk sticking nosh down Bananas’ anytime. That’s also a WIP.  But, at least the three pups lyk sticking nosh down Bananas nosh hole and that’s a fine start.  All in all a sort of C+ houseden according to the fawn-coloured Pug, suggesting a lot of improvement room for canine welfare.

Bananas languidly burps don’t let that remaining peanut butter go to waste in the jar, Oskar – Oskar?

But Oskar is already wobbling out into the hallway and pulling on his footpaw covers along with his brother and sister.

Out?  We’re trotting out?

Bananas snifz the rising excitement of the three pups whilst eyeballs the cozy temptation of her favorite cushion good noshing also deserves good sleep straight afters, don’t it?

Before she can happily trot towards her cushion Arjom sweeps Bananas up in his handpaws “nicewalkies” he softly scritches in her black earflap “beforefeedingtime”

Can’t argue with that, s’pose Bananas licks her chops.  Even so she turns large black wistful eyeballs towards her cushion and the unfinished jar of peanut butter on the kitchen table. The front door opens. 

 Alright, let’s make it a short walkies before nosh then, please!

The door shuts in a clatter of footsteps.

Squeezy squiiiz, squeezy, squiiiz the accordion stretches this way and that in endlessly awful noises.

Squeezy’s handpaws are stretching in and out in and out.  Paddles sits perfectly still behind his gold-tined shades, eyeballing wotz going on up and down Short Cut. The squeezy noises are plain horrid but the pedestrians must be loving it coz they keep throwing little metal things.

Not at me he snorts to me, on the tartan!

Snifz yu, Paddles Gitorrf! trots up and bumps snoutz.

Clear off, I’m performing

Oh! GitOrrf! sez well impressed but not clearing off.

The squeezy noises get louder and uglier.

Squeezy don’t lyk interruptions

Uh-huh

Wot comes between the artist and thems pedestrians GitOrrf! don’t know any pedestrians – perhaps they are bit lyk hindlegs or some or some kind of scratch who live in Short Cut. Wotever! all he can snifz are hindlegs wobbling about carrying paper bags full of nosh from the coffee shops.

Brekkers? suggests GitOrrf!, the sniffy paper bags reminding him he’s hungry, again.

Don’t be a muttwit, I’m working, init sighs Paddles but, if yu snifz any of thems sausage rolls then bring us some, know wot I mean?

Righty ho the thought of sausage rolls, wotz part of Greggs all day brekkers, compels GitOrrf! to stick one furry paw in front of the other and wander off following his snout towards his standard morning nosheries.  He is a Border Terrier after all with a snout fully trained to snifz out all  sorts of noshing potentials.

Squeezy squiiiz, squeezy, squiiiz awful noises chase him up Short Cut.

A pedestrian stops wobbling, ohs and ahhs and throws a bit of metal at paddles.  

Not at me – to me, on the tartan!

Paddles snoutz the metal – there’s brekkers snifz rubbed onto it from the hindlegs handpaw.  He stands up, eyeballing Squeezy. She stops her squeezing, struggles up from the paint pot, stretches and wobbles over to the mowta.

Paddles licks his chops.

Squeezy returns with a plastic bag and lays out two bowls on the pavement.  One for biscuits and the other for waterlick.  Brekkers interlude.

Biscuits are good an’ all chomps Paddles, snout buried in his bowl but sausage rolls is waaay better dreamily sniffing Greggs up the High Street.

Squeezy squiiiz, squeezy, squiiiz 

Ffff! Here we go again!

As it happens, another pedestrian wotz wobbling along don’t lyk the squeezy squiiizy sounds, either.

“nonsense,nonsense,nonsense” the pedestrian scritches at Squeezy, waving a handpaw towards Paddles.

Ain’t me wotz doing the squeezings, izit!

“mydog!” scritches Squeezy “Icanpainthimpink,ifIwant,anycolourIwant,okay?”

“nonsense,nonsense,nonsense” the pedestrian scritches aggressively and making Paddles nervous.

Maybe this pedestrian needs a bit of submitting!  But it soon wobbles away and, wotz more, don’t even throw any metal bits.

nexttime,he’llhaveglitter-sprayedballs” scritches Squeezy after the pedestrian “that’sright,glittered!”

Glittered? Paddles turns towards Squeezy balls?

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Usual Muttwits TREACLE PART 3

Butt lickin’ muttwits just dont appreciate my responsibilities Treacle is grumbling as he drags Sixlegs towards home so easy for GitOrrf and thems hundred other West Pid muttwits – wotz trotting about squirting and pooping all they wants 

Ah, to slip the leash in Herdwick pooping park and be allowed to run. To run. Free. Not him, alas. Not a service-assist dog.  Life zipping him by, tethered to a handicapped hindlegs. Can’t even cross the road anywhere he lyks.  Must always snifz out the designated crossing point, always waiting peep peep peep before it’s safe to trot on.

If only…

“nowlookhereTreacle,you’regoingtoofast” Sixlegs yanks at his handle “thisain’tarace,don’tyerknow?”

I don’t, coz I never been in a butt-lickin’ race, boss

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Poppet: Westley Piddle Summer Fayre.

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Part 5. Poppet

Sparky, wot about stoppin’n’noshin’?

No time, mate

Henry shakes his large head, splashing away the rainlick.

No time for noshing? 

Wot I means is, one: I grab Poppet, two: yu slap muttwit, three: we goes noshing, afters

Load of numbers, init?

Henry mate, just give that big brown muttwit a right hammering and I’ll crunch thems numbers

Crunching? Lyk the sound o’ that

C’mon, let’s finish this

The little and large fourlegs spin left and crash down into the undergrowth following the snifz of Poppet and that worrisome brown muttwit. Sniffy colours intensify the closer they trot.

Need some noshing Henry is panting not really built for speed, only submitting

Hold fast Henry.  Gotta get Poppet back to the fayre before our hindlegs start missing us

Who?  Franks?  Nah, he’s banging the piss in the beer tent.  Thinks I’m under the table

Erh, excellent.  Let’s end this – nows!

Poppet is conflicted. Running away into the sunset ain’t supposed to snifz lyk this. Izit?

Cold, damp, dark, versus comfort, warmth, and safety.  Maybe nows the time to go home to Stonks and enjoy that coffee!

Are we nearly there – erh, anywhere yet?

We are my lover Drizzle stops and turns to Poppet.  

A right solid male lyk Drizzle is all her dreams come true, right?  Trouble is, all her dreams also include loads of dry weather, a cozy houseden, and Stonks with food bowl in handpaw. 

Drizzle’s touch changes that in an instant.

Without further ado Drizzle trots ‘round back of Poppet for some well-deserved eightleggers. Sudden weight and Drizzle’s damp front toes are hanging down either side of her flanks.  Large teeth are nuzzling her earflap before firmly clamping down onto her scruff. Not painfully, but in a right solid and intimately submitting grip. 

Poppet is conflicted no more.

Spy ’ems and snifz ’ems!

Hold on, need my second wind Henry lumbers along behind.

The snow drives back the foot that’s slow

Sparky is tingling.  He is Fenrir.  And the time for action is nows.  He streaks forward.

They ask no quarter Henry, and we show no quarter

They – we – wot?

This Drizzle is well fit, thinks Poppet, and wot he’s doing is simply– 

Get off ‘o her! Sparky streaks out of nowhere, crashing into Drizzle’s flank.

Thud!

And bounces off, upside down in the rainlick leaves, paws sticking up in the air.

Yu wot, mate? Drizzle slides off Poppet to stand over the Whippet.  

Great legs tower up into the darkness, merging into sky-blotting head. 

I am Fenrir Sparky croaks, chops dry companion of Tyr, Norse god of war 

And? Drizzle cocks his head, ready to lunge. 

Sparky looks away and, erh – and this is my mate, Henry!

Royt then! Henry lumbers into view any yuz muttwits wanna submit before nosh?

Drizzle leaps away from Sparky. Henry stands foursquare. Poppet feels ignored. 

Aww, mount up again, Drizzle, yu big tonk

The two big fourlegs knock heads, stubs and tails raised respectively.

Snifz yuz

Snifz yuz

Bodies slide past one another, searching and seeking. Butt sniffing all that hunger, desire, disappointment and despair. Both pull away, berserker ready.

Submit! roars Drizzle

Yeah royt huffs Henry. 

They knock heads together once again, and – well, just stand there, shaking earflaps and wagging butts, the daft muttwits.

How yu doing Fudge?

Not so bad, Henry. Yu?

Wot? Sparky jumps upside the right way.

Fudge?  Poppet squeaks, backend still quivering.

Hold up, thought yor name’s Drizzle?

Henry looks at Poppet for a moment nah, this’s Fudge

Unbelievable Poppet steams.

Missing his pleasurable weight is bad enough. Worse, this Fudge is more than happy to stand there shooting the poop with Henry. 

As for Sparky, he drops earflaps and braces for the wrath of a Poppet-denied his coming his way.

Sparky! Yu stupid, little mu–  

Meanwhile, Fudge and Henry are catching up on all the latest.

No sign of yor lost hindlegs then, Fudge?

Nah mate,  sniffed ’ems in Herdwick pooping park beforenows, but – nah!

The two great minds happily peer ‘round abouts the woods.

Nice gaff says Henry, wishing he can live in the woods and not in a small backyard.

Not so bad Fudge replies, content to simply stand with his buddy and snifz in the surroundings. He wanders over to the nearest squirting post and cocks a leg. Henry follows, sniffing Fudge’s squirtz for all the latest intel, before adding a little intel of his own.

Oi, yuz two!  Poppet shatters the bromance moment.  A flaplegs sqwarks in surprise from the branches above. 

And yu she hisses at Sparky stay right there, I ain’t done with yuz yet before marching over to the two great minds.

Right then, Drizzle or Fudge or wotever she barks, before adding softly we still an item, init? 

Item? Drizzle or Fudge looks confused. 

Yes. Us she snarls yu know, a link? 

Fudge looks at Henry for answers.  Henry slobbers a bit before looking at Sparky. All three fourlegs look back at Poppet.

???

It was really, really good. But now… I’ve got to go away! Oh, oh, oh.

Sparky dares to go and stand beside Henry and Fudge – the three fourlegs gawking at Poppet.

Silence hangs heavy in the dark woods.  

The flaplegs sqwarks again. 

Buncha kretins she spits, and flops down to start licking her butt.

Fancy marking some posts? Fudge breaks the moment.

Totally replies Henry.

And just lyk that the two great minds trot off into the woods, abandoning Sparky.

Uh-oh Sparky starts getting tingly as Poppet directs all her fluffed-up blond earflaps frustrations straight at him.

Upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall. It’s just a little rain oh yeah…

Laters.

“theGibson?” KevLegs is beaming idiotically at Stonks “whenyousaidEDS1275” he pinches out his tee-shirt from his belly “youmeant,thetwin-necked,GibsonEDS1275!”

“corss” Stonks replies “obvs”

“notalottapeopleknowthat” KevLegs admits in wonder, beer glass drooping in one handpaw, tee-shirt pinched out in the other.

“saw’emlive,O2-“ she pokes a handpaw at Jimmy Page.

“noway!” he is stunned into silence. And then, tentatively “aStarWarsfan,also?”

“doesakickinthenutshurt?” she replies, lifting her tiny snout to the sky and scritching happily.

KevLegs fumes every possible shade of orange. A colour of pure happiness wot spreads across Herdwick pooping park, making fourlegs forget wot they’re doing, eating, squirting, eating, sniffing, eating.  Black snout holes everywhere, twitching the air.

Don’t tell me… Poppet starts in amazement.

Yeah, both into Zep answers Sparky with intense satisfaction.

“nonsesense,nonsense,nonsense” scritches KevLegs

“nonsesense,nonsense,andmorenonsense” scritches Stonks. 

They wobble off together, the two hungry fourlegs well and truly forgotten.

This fayre’s the dog’s plum bobs Sparky snifz at all the nosh.

Sure Poppet shakes earflaps been disqualified, dogged and dumped, wot’s not to lyk? 

They trot towards the nosh stalls.

Kicking off with tandoori kebabs this end he suggests.

And noshing ‘it right up to Cornish pasties that end she finishes. 

Wanted a woman, never bargained for yuz

Sparky is feeling tingly all over.

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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

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

Poppet and the Westley Piddle’s Summer Fayre

At last it’s here!

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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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