‘itla and Chips are favorites with the hindlegs puppies at Herdwick Primary School. Every afternoon after class, they chase them hindlegs puppies around Herdwick pooping park, fetching sticks, eating spilt ice creams off the grass, and getting bellies tickled – at least, ‘itla does. But there’s a weird hindlegs hanging out the other end of the park and Chips sniffs something really bad’s about to happen.
Herdwick Park. Known around town by the fours community as Herdwick pooping park. Wide open spaces, short springy grass, flowerbeds with soft beds for digging, great big marker posts with plenty of leaves, all leading down to the drinkThames. Never has dog in heaven created a more ideal spot than Herdwick.
Not only that, but it’s great to interact with the animal kingdom at large: flaplegs sqwarking up in the marker posts, scratch daring to be chased but sadly never caught, and hindlegs, of course. They flock to Herdwick in their packs, sitting, barking, trying to get rid of an odd assortment of balls, discs and sticks – which all sensible fourlegs dutifully bring back to them, trying to stop such nonsense, but never pooping! What a waste of perfect pooping space.
Never understand bruv ‘itla remarks sniffing a whole load of young old and indifferent hindlegs sitting around and not pooping, not once, ever.
Disgusting if you ask me Chips replies prefer pooping in their housedens
Hindlegs! ‘itla can think of no more to say on the extraordinary subject.
Of course, the other wonderful thing about Herdwick pooping park is the kindergarten and primary school adjacent to the biggest area of grass. Between every three or four squirts all the hindlegs puppies pour out of the gates and run around like their tails are on fire. It’s the ideal spot for ‘itla and Chips to enjoy a lot of attention. Well, ‘itla anyways. Chips is a bit more reserved.
And I never understand why you don’t like playing with the puppies, innit? ‘itla says
I do! Chips replies indignantly just ain’t such an exhibitionist like what you are
Is that right? As three or four puppies run towards the two Jack Russels, barking delightedly. Get some! And ‘itla is immediately running around in circles, chasing puppies, rolling on his back, all fours in the air and enjoying a good tickling from all the puppies. Get some!
Fruitylegs sits on a park bench, slurping at his Costa. He sniffs of being contented.
Chips is a bit more selective. There are only certain puppies he likes playing with – the ones that sniff right. Ones that sniff sad. Maybe he’s just reserved, maybe he wants to only give his attention to a puppy that truly needs it. Such as Tommylegs.
Sure, he runs around playing and rolling when he must, but his snout and earflaps are always on the look out for Tommylegs. And he knows when he’s about to appear. He sniffs and hears him before he sees him.
Get some! ‘itla is dashing around, making a right fool of himself.
Tommylegs! he shouts as the little hindlegs puppy suddenly comes within sniffing range. Over here mate
And Tommylegs let’s go his mom’s paw and dashes over to Chips, falling to his knees and rolling the little fourlegs over and over in the grass.
Fruitylegs enjoys his mornings yapping with the other hindlegs. If he is happy then both ‘itla and Chips are happy, too.
Chips sniffs a sudden sadness wafting off Fruityleg’s furless skin. It makes him sad. But no time for that now. Now it’s time to romp around with Tommylegs. And if anyone sniffs really sad, its Tommy. It’s the yellow sniffy colour of confusion, of being forgotten, of missing out on something. Chips doesn’t know what, but he sure knows how to dispel it.
Watch this Tommy Chips leaps into the air, trots a few steps and does a gravity-defying backflip. He lands perfectly on all fours. And he does it again and again until Tommy’s sniff turns the colour of pure orange happiness.
“moremoremore” Tommylegs Smackers.
“he’srighttalentedyourChips” Tommyleg’s packmom comments to Fruitylegs.
You got that backflip well dropped, bruv. But get a loada this!
And ‘itla runs straight at the drinkThames and leaps into the air. A splash! And he’s swimming around in circles making all the puppies squeal uncontrollably. Get some, innit
Misses Tommyleg’s packmom barks a laugh.
“whatanentertainerheis”she sighs “butwhycallsuchasweetanimalHitler?”
It’s Saturday and the Herdwick Primary School and Kindergarten is open for the cup’n’cake sale. Of course, most of the hindlegs puppies packmoms are bringin their cakes to sell on small stands set up outside the school gates. The sniffs of freshly baked cakes is drifting across the park in a purple haze, attracting fourlegs from all over Swallow. Those fortunate enough to be off leads or strong enough to drag hindlegs companions to the park and in for a treat. The rest just have to make do with sniffing from their housedens.
The bakes started someone yells across town
Sniffing it mate
Gotta get over there…but how?
Cakes? I don’t want cakes. I want real food
Sausages down me laughing gear
Duncan is doing his professional best to ignore the tide of purple surging down the high street. It’s mixing with the oily colours of the Star of India and the Chippy. But so far this morning, he’s enjoying his police duties of eating like a gannet at every possible opportunity. That’s one sausage from the butchers, half a turkey bacon melt from Subways, some left over Vindaloo that PC Andersen packleader didn’t catch him eating, and, of course, the meatballs from the Greek take-away. That’s all a good mornings police work done, that is
Duncan can’t help but notice that PC Andersen packleader’s snout is madly twitching at the sniff of the cup’n’cake. Good. More serious police work noshing ahead
He stops and squirts at the designated squirt marker. In this case it’s the railings outside the Pig & Ferret pub.
Pc Andersen Packleader gives him the look.
When you gotta go, you gotta go
“Comeonmate,can’tsithereallday” PC Andersen pack leader says to the old dosser who’s sitting on a cardboard mat outside the pub. “Yougottamoveon”
“yougotynorighttomovemeon” the old dosser replies “usedtoliverighthereinahouse,withacar!”
“maybeso,butyougottamoveonnowsir” PC Andersen packleader says, not unkindly.
“justgettingmyshitsorted…sir” and he adjusts himself more comfortably on his cardboard, a bottle of Bullmers rolling off his lap, across the pavement and stopping in the gutter.
GitOrrf! Get halfleg off the high road Duncan adds.
It’s a free country!
Not for you it ain’t. Move along now. Orderly like
You’re a wicked tool of the state GitOrrf!, the Boston Terrier companion to halfleg, accuses the K9.
Surprised you ain’t been down the cup’n’cake sale, the both of yous
Been there. Not my kinda cuisine. All that stodge. We’re a bit more particular, me and halfleg
Just do what you’re told, grab halfleg by his earflaps and jog on
“gotusintroubleagainyernastymutt” halfleg takes a swing at GitOrrf! with his stumpy leg.
“yergoodfornothingtossa” Halfleg takes another swing.
And for some inexplicable reason Halfleg’s eyeholes fill with drink “usedtoliverighthereinahouse..hadacar!”
GitOrrf! sniffs Halfleg’s exhaustion. Must be hungry. Just trot down to the poops park then and find you something, mate
“gitorrfyerlidelfuka” Halfleg kicks at him again, dislodging another Bullmers. It rolls across the pavement to join its companion.
PC Andersen packleader and K9 Duncan of the Thames Valley Police Force are already walking on.
Walking the mile…what’s next for police eating duties?
And just then, outside Tesco’s Extra, his prayers are answered.
The fours around Swallow make sure the word is out.
Growling round legs sleeping on its side in the high street
All the chickens have escaped
Chicken a’la cart on the menu, boys
Get down there fast, it’s a Turkey shoot
You mean a chicken shoot…
I mean it’s food yer muttwit
Smell them flaplegs
Fourlegs from around Swallow begin converging on the scene of the accident.
“thetractorcarthasoverturnedoutsideTescos,over” PC Andersen Packleader is saying into his hand.
Roger is one lazy hindlegs mutters Duncan
He can hear the squealing police roundlegs in the distance.
They can sort out the accident…but what about the chickens? Duncan licks his lips.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just chickens running around, but there’s plenty of dead chickens too, and they are fair game for any honest fourlegs. And that’s the problem. Duncan’s gotta protect them from other fourlegs when all he wants to do is grab a few, trot off and chew on them himself.
Surprise, surprise, the heavy hitting crew’s already here….I sniff you Halfear
It’s Tuffy now, if you please yer ‘onour, and I sniff you, too replies a short legged, barrel-chested bully-boy mongrel with a right load of black battle scars across his face. Beforenow he was called Halfear for obvious reasons, but after giving a right good seeing to of a big fourlegs at the bins behind the Xi Golden Dynasty takeaway, he’s now Tuffy – except to Duncan, that is. Better still, I sniff these ripe flaplegs littering the high street
They’re chickens, Tuffy, so keep your trotters off’em
Nah mate, they’s not chickens. KFC has chickens. These are just right tasty flaplegs
Whatever, keep off!
Just looking…just looking
I sniff you Duncan
And you too’s Giblets…no licking, sniffing or even looking at anything!
What, even the sleeping ones? Giblets, the tiger-coloured Boxer feigns shock. Beforenow he was happily on his way to Herdwick to get a facefull of cup cakes. Now he’s happily contemplating a day’s work of noshing a facefull of feathered heaps lying all over the road.
Especially the sleep – I mean, the dead ones, so foxtrot Oscar
The only answer to that is a long squirt aimed at Duncan and Guess I’ll check out the bitches then…seen any around?
I sniff you Duncan shouts GitOrrf! already pulling a flaplegs along the pavement by its head.
Step away from that chicken!
The flaplegs decides it doesn’t like being pulled along by the head and sqwarks.
Whoaaa! Gitorrf! lets go now that’s what I call a fresh kill he sits down, staring at the flaplegs and scratching at his belly. The flaplegs gets onto its legs and shoots off straight into the waiting teeth of Tuffy. And he’s off in a flash
Oi, you, STOP!
I sniff you Duncan
Enough already! Stand back the loada yous
How rude Gunther, the standard schnauzer replies. He’s been happily squirting on growling roundlegs, making his ponderous way up the high street and dragging along fräuleinmate, when the accident happened. I have no interest in hühner flaplegs. I am strictly an innocent observer at the scene and expect repectful behaviour from the canine constabulary
Call yourself a real K9? Only the Shepherd of Germany is the real K9
Gunther doesn’t like Duncan’s bone-hard look so off he pisses up the street, pausing for a quick squirt on a Nissan Micro and das ist ein Jap …und das-
The howling roundlegs pulls up at the scene and two hindlegss jump out and begin barking with PC Andersen packleader. He then barks something at his hand and Roger replies “youbetterhelproundupthelivechickensthen“
“rogerthat“ PC Andersen puts his hand down and looks at Duncan. “rightthen,mate,letsgetthissorted“
What about the cup’n’cake?
PC Andersen packleader is having none of that. He is already pulling Duncan this way and that, doing his bit to secure the scene of the incident.
What about lunch, then?
Lunch is also on Mary-A’s mind and drooling out of her mouth.
In fact, breakfast is first on her mind, followed by lunch, second on her mind. Trouble is, Smackers don‘t like eating. When she does eat its nothing sensible like meat, chicken, liver or cheesburger. It’s only green things. And more of a trouble is she expects Mary-A to not like sensible things, either. Plain fact is, Mary-A’s dog damn hungry.
I’m hungry Smackers!
Smackers only eats when the bright hot ball is at the top of the sky making everything bright and hot. Not before. And very little afters. But today’s the cup’n’cake sale in Herdwick pooping park and it might be the Poodle‘s one break to sniff in a bit of real food. She’s not gonna miss it for anything. Well, maybe and only for Duncan, that is.
I got nothing in me to pee or poop, Smackers
Mary-A you gotta check out these flaplegs GitOrrf! calls from across the street. They’re right tasty!
Smackers will not allow that, ma cherie
I’ll bring you some if you like? GitOrrf! calls back but starts choking on some feathers.
Before she can answer, Mary-A‘s four paws are sweeping along the street as Smackers ups her pace, smack, crackle and popping.
Smackers is shouting at Mary-A “nonsensenonsensenonsense“ and GitOrrf! don’t understand a word of it. It’s all nonsense of course, and probably bad nonsense at that.
Sniff you around Mary-A he shouts. She attempts a strangulated reply.