Swallow’s Georgian Fayre has arrived at last and all the fourlegs are feeling the heat of the Best of Breed Show – Poppet, the Willowy Afghan blond is determined to win at any cost…until along comes Drizzle. Stepping out of the local woods appears the best looking male fourlegs she’s ever sniffed. Best of Breed flies out the window as excitement, danger and escape come sniffing at her rear end. Only a fourlegs can stop this right dog’s dinner from upsetting everything to save the day. Or can he?
By midday with the blinding throw ball high in the sky, hundreds of hindlegs are all over the fayre pavilions and the rides like spindlylegs crawling over their nest. A fog of many colours sniffs across the air attracting fourlegs from all over Swallow.
“Cockfest,Poppet,purecockfest!” Sharonpackmate sweats out her excitement pulling Poppet’s lead up a notch.
Yer strangling me and s-s-strangled fourlegs don’t win best of breed
Sharonpackmate stops still, surveying the lie of the land. First she finds the large tent for the best of breed show, second the lavvies, third the beer tent, before finally letting her eyes lock on, coordinate and memorise all the healthy cocksters round about. In similar fashion Poppet raises her muzzle and sniffs for the colours of other fourlegs and the best spots to get free food. Usually, Sharonpackmate leads Poppet on a fast food crawl of Greggs, KFC, Pizzahut, PizzaRiot, Jimmy Thai’s, Mackers, the Anatolia kebab joint and, at a stretch, the off license with its nice line in 20 second microwaved hotdogs. Not today. Today, the Swallow’s Georgian Fayre is here with its very own food market.
Sniff it up boys
It’s all kicking off at this end, there’s a mobile Subway stand, for fu-
Meat lads….I said ‘meat’…
Swallow’s fourlegs are losing it over the food market. And who can blame them?
Poppet salivates at the purple tsunami of frying food drenching the park, multicoloured with explosions of noodles competing with Cornish pasties, fudge candy muscling in on sticks of chicken satay, crêpes fighting it out with Pinkberry yoghurts. All those wonderful eating hurdles to chomp through, enough to drool out any respectable fourlegs.
Sharonpackmate pulls on the lead and heads in the other direction, towards the lavvies.
“needashlashfirst” she yanks on Poppet.
Not that way muttwit, we need to eat first, we- but it’s too late as Sharonpackmate trots off to the next most colourful sniffy place at the fayre.
In fact, if it wasn’t for the food market, the lavvies would the number one go-to destination for any sensible fourlegs. A pure blue mist of ammonia spreads out from the sixpack of portaloos stuck unceremoniously at the far end of the fayre, almost under the belt of trees that’s demarcates the end of Herdwick pooping park from Swallow High street. Poppet gets dragged directly towards them – deep into the blue mist.
The lavvies proclaim the health check of the entire hindlegs populace of Swallow in one sniff. Health, eating habits and emotional state are all there to snout up. Poppet knows that’s where Sharonpackmate and the other hindlegs go squirt. What’s wrong with just squirting on the ground, under a bush or against a shady squirting post beats her. She shows her how to do it often enough.
Hurry up and squirt, and let’s go eat
Sharonpackmate ties Poppet up and hurries inside one of the portaloos. She sniffs after her, tasting today’s large breakfast, yesterday’s larger take-out dinner, and the very large greasy lasagna from yesterday’s lunch. No wonder Sharonpackmate’s such a stonker.
At least it offers Poppet a few moments respite to check out the fourlegs around Herdwick pooping park. Over by the rural crafts exhibition are ‘itler and Chips, that inseparable pair of Jack Russell’s playing with some pup hindlegs, the kids squeaking at their silly antics. Right pair of muttwits. Off near the beer tent is Gitorrf! trying to scrounge something wet and alcoholic for Halfleg, that spiced-out old hindlegs cripple who lives in cardboard outside the Pig & Ferret pub way up on the high street. And there’s Giblets, the ‘thinks-he’s-it’ Boxer with his tight little thighs rubbing together and squishy squashing his tight little sack. Muttwit.
Oh doggit, don’t turn round as Giblets turns round, sniffing high in the air before zeroing straight in on Poppet. He immediately heads her way, pulling along his half-wit hindlegs companion.
Hello darling, I sniff you….boy, do I sniff you
I sniff you too, Giblets but now’s not a good time
There’s never a good time for a bit of lip and tickle luv….
That’s right, glad you understand it mate
..yep, there’s only the now time, luv!
The Boxer muscles his way towards her rear, his stump of a tail quivering in anticipation of those Afghan delights yet to be sniffed. She side steps and snaps at his earflaps.
Leave off, Giblets
Ouch! he squeals that hurt
He tries for another rear-ender, both fourlegs jostling around each other in a tight circle of catch and kiss.
You ain’t my type yer squashed-face, short-haired mutt and gives him another nip on his other earflap for good measure.
Giblets leaps back out of snarling range.
“controlyersselfGiblets” his half-wit hindlegs companion hauls him away. “controlyersselfyerdirtydoggy”
Laters, yer nasty witch
Poppet shakes her head, her soft blond earflaps shaking it all about. And that’s the problem right there she admits for the thousandth time: she being the fittest-sniffing fourlegs in Swallow. Every dog-eared muttwit around wants to try his chance on every opportunity that ever possibly presents itself.
“that’sbetterPoppet,feelhumanagain” Sharonpackmate steps out the portaloo, lurching it from side to side as she stamps down the three steps to the grass. “comeon,needtobangthepissbeforewestartbestofbreed” as she heads towards the beer tent.
You gotta stop eating that lasagna Poppet gags, dragging along behind.
Inside the beer tent the scenario of what’s-a-good-looking-fourlegs-like-you-doing-in-a-place-like-this only worsens.
I sniff you love-bug!
Ah, Henry leave it off, mate
The slab-sided bull mastiff towers over her submit, girl, submit
Beforenow, there was a time when big is better, and this dumb as it comes specimen was top of the sniffing menu. But that’s beforenow.
Henry, I loves yers to death really, but…
No, yer monstrous muttwit
“leaveit,Henry,LEAVEIT!” his equally slab-sided companion hauls him off, just.
“he’sanicebigboy,” Sharonpackmate flutters at Henry’s hindlegs companion, FrankieFullermate. “lovetoseeourtwoanimalsmate” she salivates, big fulsome eyes boring into FrankieFullermate. ‘wouldn’tyou,Frankie?” she bores even harder, making it perfectly clear which two mating animals she’s talking about.
Such a slapper Poppet grimaces.
“Yeah,Iwouldluv” FrankieFullermate croaks thickly, excitement bursting off his hairless skin fur in sniffs the colour of molten gold.
“there’stackleonhimtomakewonderfulpuppies” Sharonpackmate purrs, unable to leave off the fast-track seduction.
Only one thing for it Poppet decides and started everyone by throwing an ear-splitting territory fit Get Away! Get Away! Get Away! at Henry. All gnashing teeth and flying blond hairs.
The beer tent is drowned out under fourlegs barking. FrankieFullermate quickly tugging, hauling, dragging along the ground a bewildered Henry, right out the tent to prevent further carnage.
What’s wrong with me? You want puppies looking like Dwayne Johnson in a blond wig?
“andstopyappingyernastycreature” Sharonpackmate snarls back, raising her hand to give Poppet a good slapping, but stopping herself at the last moment as she considers how it might affect the chances of winning best of breed. An old hindlegs in a white smock and white trilby hat gives her a hard look from the Pims punch table. Sharon turns around quickly – she knows who that is. So does Poppet.
“let’sgetouttaherePoppet” Sharonpackmate makes a move to the tent flaps.
“notsofastyounglady” the old hindlegs steps in front of her.
Now you’ve blown it
“noticedthatfinedisplayofcaninecontroljustthen” he slurs, looking down his old snout at her. The acid green colour of alcohol pouring off him, from armpits to groin.
“erh…stagefrightbeforethebestof breedmisterArmitage” Sharonpackmate fawns sickeningly. “bealrightonthenight” she titters.
The old hindlegs sways on his hindlegs ”thewhat?”
“bestofbreedmisterArmitage” Sharonpackmate repeats.
“cancelled!” the old hindlegs croaks, acid green belching everywhere. Poppet lets slip an involuntary squirt of distress.
“cancelled?” Sharonpackmate gasps, shock and denial flooding out of her furless skin in sickening waves.
Another involuntary little squirt.
It’s Poppet’s turn to be half-dragged outside the beer tent, front paws bouncing off the grass.
“thatsillyoldfukpig” Sharonpackmate rants under her breath.
Slow down you’re choking me again
Sharonpackmate comes to a big full stop, Poppet wheezing. A strong paw grips her under the jaw and thrusts up her face, straight into the snout of Sharonpackmate.
“rightthenPoppet” she growls “agilityornot,you’regonaawinthisgirloritstheChinesetakewayforyou!”
“goodlooksain’tenough” Sharonpackmate starts shaking her jaw from side to side. “nowyouneedsomegoodmanners,too”
Ahhhgitoffme… And you’re the perfect role model-
Poppet stares up at her with big, bewildered eyes from behind big furry blond ears. She doesn’t have a hope in hell…and she knows Sharonpackmate ain’t joking about the Chinese. They eat fourlegs, they do!
If only I could escape from you and find meself a nice fourlegs to run away with! she lets rip with a full bore squirt that feels like it will go on for ever.
Drizzle is hungry.
There’s a whooshing noise and he looks up at a cloud working itself up to a start a good downpour of drink from the sky. Typical. Is there never a time when drink from the sky isn’t making him wet all over.
Leave off mate he calls up at it at least until I’ve had a bite to eat
And that leaves the big question for today: what’s cooking?
From where he’s loping around right now, he can head straight up Nelson Ave, cross the high street between the growling round legs and hit Greggs.
Or, if he saunters left up Huntsville, hit the chippy.
Or wander down Nelson Ave, beside Herdwick pooping park, and hit KFC.
Hmm, chicken strips. Or chicken wings. Or chicken anything really so long as he gets ‘round the back, into the bins and eats now.
KFC it is then and see he pads down Nelson Ave, his tongue hanging out, saliva dripping from its tip.
Yet, there seems to be a lot of colour coming from Herdwick pooping park today, and it ain’t just the blue mist of the portaloos. Rising above it is the most wonderful multicoloured purple sniff of food. Lots of food.
Worth a butcher’s hook he quickens his pace, just as the first drips of drink from the sky tickle his earflaps.
His snout isn’t telling him porky pies, either. There’s plenty going on in Herdwick pooping park to prick up his earflaps and he sticks his snout autopilot right, letting it lead him through the park gate and into a truly wonderful world of colours.
Chicken! Beef! Lots of other sniffy things probably worth a chew
For a moment he forgets he’s a lost fourlegs without a packfamily.
Of course he knows Herdwick pooping park and many of the large squirting posts sniff of his own squirt beneath a load of other fourlegs’ squirts. He recognises all of these fourlegs, even though he doesn’t know their names. But that’s okay. He’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback and other fourlegs tend to leave him alone – often abandoning squirting posts mid-squirt cos of his size.
And size breeds confidence, which in the case of Drizzle, he has in over abundance, especially when hungry.
It’s at times like this that’s he so pleased he’s not a toy fourlegs like those two silly Jack Russells always around the park, playing with the hindlegs pups. Sudden memory of playing with his own hindlegs pups invades his good humour. But it’s short-lived. An overwhelming colour of food stops him from falling into his usual brooding fugue. Of course, plenty of time for that later when he’s stuffed with chicken and totally spent. On the other hand, a belly full of good nosh can also put him into a sporting mood. He stops and poops in a totally unused pooping spot. Contemplation of a sporting mood is actually putting him into a sporting mood.
Good food and a pretty little sporting fourlegs for afters.
That’ll work he licks his chops and trots happily right into the middle of Swallow Georgian Fayre.
Going, going to Chicago through Johnyleg’s beats.
Sudden sniff of fresh fourlegs poop whacks Sparky full in the snout forcing out Robert P. Sparky’s tingly enough already with all this Fayre excitement, but now there’s some sniff of colour he don’t recognise. A fourlegs in Swallow he don’t know! Impossible. He really starts tingling.
Sorry but I can’t take you…
“goingdown,goingdownnow” Johnylegs sings before noticing Sparky is more agitated than usual. “what’s upmate?” he crouches down to the little fourlegs “Sparkymate? Youalright?” Johnylegs points with one paw “there’saStarWarsexhibitionwegottacheckout”
There’s a stranger in the camp! Sparky raises his snout I sniff you…I sniff you, somewhere
Sparky sniffs the loneliness shedding off his packmate.
“let’sdoitmate,there’sagoodboy” a heavy tapping on his head quickly taps Sparky out of sniff-mode and back into the world of Johnylegs.
Fat chance you finding a mate, mate
Of course, he hopes it happens in the futurenow cos it will also make Johnymom happy. And a happy Johnymom means plenty of happy food treats coming under the table. Happily for ever!
The star Wars exhibition is crap of course, a local toy store putting out a few Rogue One models, not even original 70s trilogy items.
“completecac!” Johnylegs starts walking away.
“pissoffthenHarrisonandgoplaywithyerlightsaber” the stall vendor shouts after him.
“harrisonforddon’tusealightsaber,bellend” Johnylegs shakes his head disbelievingly.
And Sparky sniffs Poppet.
I sniff you
I sniff you Sparky as both proceed with a demur bit of snout rubbing and chop licking. Sparky don’t dare progress any further along her sharp and curvaceous spine towards a rear end. A rear end which is, for every hairy-balled fourlegs in Swallow, fantastical and untrodden hallowed ground.
Sniff that grub she pants
Johnylegs is on a diet so that’s probably all I will do
Johnylegs on a diet Poppet sniffs in disbelief at the heavy sweaty colours pouring from the fat hindlegs hairless furs.
You entering the dog agility show, then? She asks
I thought it was best breed?
Nah, that’s out the window
Sparky wags his tail in a big smile then I won’t this year…let someone else win
You’re so funny Sparky, I just wish..
..I was bigger, stronger, furrier, and not a whippet?
“isthatanEDS1275?” Sharonpackmate asks, staring at Johnyleg’s belly. Well, the image on the T-Shirt that is.
“what?” Johnylegs is so surprised that a female hindlegs would stare him, let alone talk to him, he is lost for barks.
What’s she yapping about? Sparky looks up at the mountain of hindleg behind Poppet.
Forget it, she’ll talk to any hindlegs with a bit of tackle
“ComealongPoppet,” Sharonpackmate pulls Poppet away. “Wegotashowtowin”
Nice seeing yers Sparky
Me too…oh, and be careful of that stranger?
What stranger? Both fourlegs sniff the air.
Oh! Poppet lifts her head higher and sniffs harder. Hmm!
Johnylegs is looking down at his belly and doesn’t notice the one hindlegs female that has ever talked to him – without a shop counter or unbreakable glass between them – walk away.
“EDS1275?” he mutters to himself “comeonSparkymate,I’mhungry”
That’s the spirit, mate! as he puts his back into pulling a sullen Johnylegs off towards the food market. We’ll kick off with the tandoori kebab stall at one end and purposefully gnaw our way down to those cup cakes at the other
(Sparky’s story continues next week…)