‘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.
While ‚‘itla’s tummy is being tickled by some hindlegs pups he watches the flaplegs tossing around the sky by the sniffy wind. They’re tossing all over the place together with the leaves off the marker posts. The bright hot ball is getting higher in the sky but he sniffs a growing dark, damp cold deep under the marker posts. He knows the drink from the sky is not far away even though he can’t hear any clouds about and they’re not messing around with the bright hot ball.
In the futurenow it’s gonna drink hard from the sky
He flips up onto all fours making the pups bark and giggle even more. Better get some series noshing in before it chucks it down
The other good thing about a sniffy wind, according to Chips, is it washes up piles of leaves everywhere that are simply perfect for racing full speed into with an explosion of twigs, noise and pups‘ giggles. He goes for it, racing round and around Tommylegs before breaking orbit Bombs awaaaay! and nose diving into a pile of leaves a few marker posts away.
He disappears, nose first, into the leaves, his small back paws quickly swallowed up. When he emerges, leaves sticking to his earflaps, he immediately sniffs something wrong. Something not comfortable. He finds Tommylegs who is staring at something. What’s really wrong is that he’s not staring at Chips.
Over here he calls to Tommylegs. But Tommylegs is distracted. This isn’t natural. No, not at all. Over here, I’m busting my butt for you over here, mate!
He trots out of the pile of leaves, shaking himself down, and searches around with his sniffer and his earflaps. Locating the disturbing sniff he uses his eyeholes to make sense of what it is. A growling roundlegs sitting at the other end of the park in Nelson Avenue. I sniff you he growls. Nothing happens. It’s just a growling roundlegs so he forgets it and bounces back towards Tommylegs.
Tommylegs‘ packmom is holding an icecream. All thoughts of the growling roundlegs fly right out his earflaps. That’s what we’re talking about ‘itla steps in, heading towards the icecream.
Wait yer turn Chips heads him off.
Both Jack Russels collide into one another, knocking the icecream straight off the cone and onto the grass.
Tasty innit, bruv ‘itla licks it up.
Givit me, yer nasty bastard Chips start licking at it furiously
Tommylegs begins wailing, holding up the empty cone like he’s the statue of Liberty.
“thatHitler’sarightnastypieceofwork“ Tommyleg’s packmom remarks to Fruitylegs, shaking her head and hurrying over to rescue the icecream.
“whyd’youthinkicall’im’itla!“ he comments after her.
Tommyleg’s packmom grabs the cone, kicks ‘itla out of the way and scoops up the remains. “thereyougo,luvvy“ she thrusts it into Tommyleg’s paw, bits of grass bristling out from it.
That’s classic that is ‘itla sighs, before he spots a ball being kicked around by some other hindlegs pups and shoots off to get in the way.
Chips sits in front of Tommylegs, his Tommylegs, waiting patiently for his turn.
I’m waiting patiently
Tommylegs has bits of icecream and grass stuck all over his choppers.
Down here mate, that’s me, still waiting patiently
Dog in heaven rewards his patience as the icecream falls off the cone yet again straight towards Chips‘ head. In a move that defies all the laws of physics, Chips‘ body twists round in the air, mouth open, four paws flailing 360 degrees, swallows icecream in one, lands back on the grass.
Tommyleg’s is too shocked to cry out. He simply stares at Chips and Chips stares back, furiosuly smacking his lips. But the shock is short lived as the hindlegs pup again begins staring off into the distance. His eye holes narrowing as though he‘s trying to understand what he’s seeing.
This is all too much for Chips.
This is too much
And he whizzes full speed towards the growling roundlegs.
Having completely brought the soccer match to a halt with his gifted contribution, ‘itla catches Chips flying across the park towards Nelson Avenue.
What’s up, bruv?
Not sure what’s up, exactly, but sure it’s a loada fun he chases after him.
Chips sniffs something is wrong way before he gets close to the growling roundlegs. By the time he bounces to a stop beside it, the sniff is already making his neck furs rise. There’s something nasty inside that growling roundlegs that’s upsetting Tommylegs and he’s determined to get it sorted.
Come out animal!
The door to the growling roundlegs remains firmly closed. He cannot see inside but he can hear fidgeting and he can sniff pure badness.
Come out! Come out! Come on out!
What’s up bruv? ‘itla bounces up beside him.
Come out! Come out! Chips continues.
Whatever, it seems like a fun game so ‘itla joins in Come out! Come out yer animal
While both Jacks sound off, the door suddenly opens and out steps one large and mean hindlegs. Both fourlegs recoil at the hindlegs‘ bad spirit glowing in bright blue waves of bad sniff.
“fakoff“ the hindlegs barks at them “fakoffbeforeIhurtsthebothofyers“
Leave Tommylegs alone you animal Chips shouts, now standing foursquare and giving up the hard stare at this bad, nasty sniffing hindlegs. And to prove he is just that, the hindlegs takes a lunge at Chips, kicking at him, missing of course, and catching ‘itla on his earflap. Of course.
That’s right, givit some back Chips encourages his brother.
The hindlegs tries stomping on ‘itla’s head but is just too slow.
‘itla backs away fast to a safe distance I’m a lover not a fighter, bruv he makes his position clear, convinced that this is not such a fun game afterall.
Try that on me yer animal Chips steps in between and this time takes a direct hit for his troubles Ahhh, alright mate, take it easy yer nasty muttwit!
Bitch! ‘itla roars, leaping in between his brother and the nasty evil blue sniffing mutwitt I’ll give back yers hard af!
And the hindlegs does, and misses.
I’m warning yous…I’m warning yous Chips growls
Let’s get outa here,‘itla Chips decides
Too right, bruv ‘itla limps away we need some heavy fours at this bitch
Like hard core, innit
Duncan is getting pats on the head from bonedry, near death, purple-sniffing hindlegs.
“comeonboy,that‘sagoodboy“ PC Andersen packleader pulls Duncan along to the next wheelchair-bound bonedry, near death, purple-sniffing hindlegs.
It’s Saturday. And saturday means it‘s petting session at Swallow’s OAPs‘ home. Which also means it’s all-you-can-eat buffet time! Trouble is, the place is full of purple sniffers.
Oh, yes you can and Duncan waves a large paw in very un-K9’ish and pathetic manner at the purple-sniffing hindlegs.
Lookslikeyoudon’tfeedhimenoughofficer…thereyougo!“ and a sausage roll is pushed down his maw. Duncan chomps it in one, efficiently making room for more. Onto the next purple sniffer.
One hundred percent YES as Duncan gently prizes the pizza wedge out of the claw of a purple sniffer.
Chocolate eclair. Tick.
Dollop of spicy chicken and mayonnaise on finger bread. Tick.
Bakewell tart. Not really but, when duty calls….tick!
Strange sounds make his ear flaps flap. One of the purple sniffers is squatting in front of a black thing and banging its paws up and down on it, banging out meaningless noises. Moments later a few more purple sniffers are coming together and shuffling around each other in very slow circles.
Duncan‘s favorite moment, all the purple sniffers shuffling around to strange noises, plates left unattended on chairs and tables. Food rolling off plates and onto the floor. Plates left within easy grabbing range. It’s a Turkey shoot! Gotta be fast before PC Andersen Packleader clocks it and puts Duncan back on his lead.
Plate number one, meat, cheese, chips: cleaned….plate number two, chips, vegetables, ham slices: cleaned…plate number three, sausages, ah dropped some –
Duncan sits down and looks as famished and pathetic as a 45 kg, slick-backed, razor-sharp, sleek-as-a-velvet missile K9 can possibly make himself look.
Please sir. May I have some more?
A collective sigh from all the purple sniffers.
By the sniff of it, the cup’n’cake is off to a good start and Mary-A is pulling like a good’n, dragging Smackers as hard and fast as she can towards Herdwick Pooping park.
A rolling tide of orange tickles her snout but it ain’t the cup’n’cake, it’s all those other stands belonging to Swallow’s restaurants that always turn up whenever there’s a load of hindlegs. Sizzling woks of noodles from Fongs, next to a gi-normous donner, turning slow and sizzling from the Turkish. And beside that, fudge. Nah forget that. And beside that: a load of grilled chicken satay from Tastey Jimmies.
I’ll have ten sticks please she instructs Smackers.
In answer, Smackers raies another hand, gloved in another Tesco’s Extra bag.
Mary-A don’t want a ‘caca‘, she wants feeding. It’s biological for dog’s sake. Eat-poop. Poop-eat. It ain’t rocket science, is it?
Saying that, she must be politic otherwise she won’t get within striking distance of the food stands. So, caca it is, then. She squats and strains. And strains. Nothing.
“vearevaiting!“ Smackers jerks at the lead, yoyyoing Mary-A‘s head up and down. She stares at the Tesco bag, willing herself. “vite!“ Smackers again wobbles her head.
Please stop doing that so I can concentrate on the other end
She notices Henry, the English bull mastiff, ferreting around the food stands. Now, that’s a real bit of lovejuice! Mary-A dribbles, her bowels also loosening at the thought of all that meat slab. Real dumb but fulla real cu-
Mary-A, I sniff you! Smudge bounds up out of nowhere, wagging his tail like a hero.
And I sniff you, too ma cherie she looks down at the little fourlegs – quite rare for Mary-A being such a petite Poodle herself, like.
KFC’s ain’t got nothing on this, whaddyathink?
KFC’s on a whole nother planet, Smudge she stops and scratches somewhere underneath I know that cos I never ever go there
Should pull Smackers over there, then, she’d love it. Fried wings, fried legs, fried chickens
It ain’t never gonna happen. Either fried or chickens
Ouch! Smudge gets an unfriendly push from the clickety clackerty hindlegs as she bends down, gloved in Tesco’s Extra to scoop the poop.
“leavemydoggyalone,you“ Jemmapackmate squeals, Smudge’s companion.
“ouf! Enfantterrible“ Smackers yanks Mary-A away from the little girl hindelgs and her irritating pet.
Check out Jimmy Thai’s Mary-A, there’s a big bucket of chicken sticks under the table!
There’s no time to reply. Smackers rachety-ratchets her way forwards, dragging Mary-A straight into Herdwick pooping park.
Right from the start Mary-A senses its not gonna go well. Smackers is not even heading towards the cup’n’cake, but’s taking a wide bearth the opposite way, altogether.
“argh,englishfood,argh“ she croaks heading left down the forked path that cuts across the park towards Nelson Avenue. Except that it’s not the fork that heads towards cup’n’cake.
Yer going the wrong ways Smackers!
Smack, crackle and pop.
I said, yer going the wrong ways
Up ahead, laying on their fat bellies is Tuffy and Giblets. Just laying there as if they own the whole dog damn park.
Now what’s a nice girl like yous doing with a dog like that? Tuffy smirks.
That’s not a nice thing to say to a young lady, Tuffy replies Giblets.
Who let you twos off your lead, then? Mary-A sniffs.
Real fours don’t need leads, didn’tcha know that? Giblets stretches out legs in both directions, burying his snout into the grass Life, it’s too hard
Not hard enough to stop a little playing around Tuffy tries eyeing Mary-A up and down, but just ends up squinting in her general direction – up and down being a difficult exercise on such a diminutive fourlegs.
“ahnastyanimeaux“ as Mary-A gets a short sharp tug on her lead to pull her away.
Nasty indeed, but a bit of playing around is just what I need
Tuffy is up and shaking earflaps from one side of his head to the other, followed by Giblets who rolls over and over until the momentum sort of carries his body up onto his legs. They bound off together.
Come on Mary-A
I’m coming! as she pulls out a very special trick from her box of special tricks, which is knowing how to twist her collar just so, decoupling it neatly from the lead. Wait for me boys…
“nonnonnon!“ Smackers clickity clacks into action but, of course, is no match to chase hot to trot Mary-A who’s already bounding after the two big slabs of lovejuice.
Four or five marker posts distant from Smackers, the two male fourlegs stop and wait for Mary-A to catch up, tongues out and drooling goo.
Me first says Tuffy.
Experience before ignorence replies Giblets.
Don’t let me have to submit you, mate
Leave off Tuffy, keep yer energy for a sweet bit of eight leggers
At which point Mary-A is between them, sniffing rear ends and getting provocative
You twos got about twenty breaths apeace before Smackers lays into yous with French fire and fur-ahhhh the breath knocked out of her by the sudden weight of Giblets on her back.
Hello sweet pea he slobbers over her earflap, front paws dangling.
“nonnonnon!“ come screams from a distance.
A few breaths later.
Next! Wheezes Mary-A.
And Tuffy, all sniffing of fried chickens, Thai chickens, all sorts of chickens in fact, is up and performing a sweet bit of eight leggers himself. Until the fire and fury foretold lands, French style, upside his head with the heavy end of Mary-A‘s walkies lead.
Gibelts and Tuffy bound of, tails wagging – a stub in the case of Giblets.
Of the two things Mary-A likes most in the world one half is happily ticked off. The other half is food, of course. A chance suddenly presents itself. Off lead and already on course towards the food stands, she takes her chance.
Can that Mary-A trot along or what, bruv?
Smackers ain’t got a hope in hell to catch her before she sticks her laughing gear in the cup’n‘cake
‘itla and Chips watch Mary-A sprint across Herdwick pooping Park towards the food stands. The excitement almost makes them forget the hindlegs with the bad-sniffing spirit. Almost.
So, ‘itla, who’se the hard af fours you got in mind?
That‘s right, bruv
The same Henry who’s over their sleeping his fat ass off under the Turkish?
Both brothers look over at the English Bull mastif, flat out, solid and immovable as Ayres Rock, snoring his head off under the donner kebab stand.
Believe me bruv, he’s a right wrencher
Plus, me and Henry, we’re tight…
Chips nods his snout at Giblets and Tuffy. I think we need numbers, mate
Both brothers regard a vigorous testicle scratching contest taking place between the bull dog and the mongrel nearby Jimmy Thai’s stand.
Those boys sure got their priorites straight ‘itla states, as the brothers look on with admiration. Next?
I sniffed Treacle beforenow… Chips hesitates, the magnitude of the task starting to sink in.
He sure is a brother, bruv, but he’s blind
Thinking he could get old sixlegs up to ramming speed, erh, sort of…
What about GitOrrf!?
Don’t be a muttwit
‘itla is always keeping one eye out for icecream scoops spilling on the grass, chicken sticks dropping in bins, donna kebabs tossed or forogtten. It just so happens the sniffy wind carries upon the purple surge of food the unmistakable sniff of Duncan.
Bruv, sniff it up, bruv
Trotting into view from the entrace of Herdwick pooping park is PC Andersen packleader with his faithful K9.
Him? Chips chortles.
Yes him. The hardest core’ist fourlegs of all, right here, right now, in pooper’s park, innit?
Chips stretches back legs, lowering his belly to the ground and let’s rip a long squirt.
You’re forgetting one thing
What’s that then, bruv?
He’s law and law don’t give a sh –