Donuts Part 3

Part 3.

Scratch are on the rise.  A nightmarish cross between furry little doggies and sharp clawed killing machines.  They’re invading Swallow and something’s gotta be done.  Donuts, the rugby-loving Welsh Terrier decides enough is enough. Together with his bestest mates and a well-chewed odd-shaped ball, he’s gonna endgame this invasion once and for all.  Sure! It can only end in tears.  At the infamous battle of the Tesco Extra 5 bins.

 

5.

Thing about rugby, is growls Donuts as he worries his favorite old leather rugby ball in the hallway is the sensible shape of the ball!  He’s never understood how all those hindlegs pups down in the communal gardens like playing with an un-sensible shaped ball.  But that’s hindlegs for you. Younger they are the dafter they get.

Donuts picks up the ball with his teeth and waddles down the hallway ..keep it in the park, boyo he heads towards the twenty two meter line  nearly there, no one can intercept you mate, nearly there he waddles towards number 5, last door at the end of the hallway 22 meter line….ten meters…and it’s a try dead center of the 5 meter line!

All twelve summers of his life, Donuts has enjoyed watching rugby with his companions.  Every time a match is on, Wynn and Cheryl sit down on the sofa – his sofa, actually – watching the game, Donuts sitting out in front, on his favorite carpet, staring at the telly.  He doesn’t know what a telly is but he knows from the excited sniffs of Wynn and Cheryl that rugby is something to do with it. More to the point, it’s Welsh rugby.  And twelve years of summers has taught him, beforenows, all about the game, the strategicals of it, and why it’s the best dog damn thing ever!  And that may just possibly also be to do with the fact that half the noshing done by Wynn and Cheryl makes its way down to him. And surely, it has absolutely nothing to do with that fact that’s he’s a Welsh terrier. Of course.

Donuts touches down the ball in the far corner of the corridor and sits down to rest.  Strong upper body is what wins rugby, boyo he congratulates himself, before heaving himself to his feet, taking up the ball again and readying to waddle down to the other end of the corridor.

Crouch…bind…set! and off he waddles stay square, boyo, there’s no easy out to this game!

He reaches the other end just as the front door opens and Cheryl bellows “oi,inside,beforeyougoupsettingtheneighbour’s cat”

He marches into the apartment, victorious at his rugby skills yet contemplative that he didn’t, in fact, upset the neighbour’s cat. Wynn adds “hurryupmate,sixnationstonight,” he slaps his paws together in the sweet sniff of glee “WalesIreland,andwe’llbeatthembuggas!”

Donuts trots into the living room, taking up his rightful place on the carpet, his carpet, in front of the telly.  The place where true rugby lives in its little den.  And for some completely unforeseen and unknown reason, while dwelling on all the other ways he might upset the neighbour’s cat, a sudden spark of an idea ignites between his earflaps.

Rugby…scratch…what if…?

 

6.

Sherbet, the pukey yellow scratch that cohabits with Mister Park is waiting.  Just waiting.  And Mister Park knows it.  Any moment now he will be off outside with Profit&Loss for the daily walkies. The very time Sherbet gets up to its mischief.

Honestly, you two, how about locking away Sherbet from my breakfast plate and water bowl?

soexcitedtogetoutside,MisterPark?” Profit ruffles his earflaps.

“heneedstodohisbusiness,isall” grunts Loss.

Actually, I need you both to constrain this monster or he’ll be at my lamb and rice sensitive

“alright,alright,we’regoingdoggy”

Honestly, can you lot not sniff this animal for what it really is? 

Sherbet sits on the stairs, waiting for him to shut up and leave.

Profit&Loss put Mister Park on his lead and open the front door. But not before Mister Park gives a warning look at the scratch. Now look here, Sherbet, you keep yer toes off my bowl!

The door shuts behind them and Sherbet immediately pads down the stairs, turns the corner, rubbing herself against the bannister, and makes directly for Mister Park’s food bowl.

 

Mister Park can sniff drinkwet and expects it to start falling in moments.

Drinkwet is coming, you can sniff it in the clouds he tries telling Profit&Loss. They’re not paying attention to him, as usual, and step out without an umbrella.

Down meadow lane, stopping at his two marker posts on the way, waiting patiently on the corner until the growling roundlegs are all past, and slowly, oh so slowly, crossing the road towards Herdwick pooping park.  Apart from drinkwet getting ready to fall out of the sky, his earflaps are twitching at the sounds of the clouds. His snout sniffs in all the colourful sniffs of the small town of Swallow.   The red yellows of nosh wafting up from the high street restaurants and cafes, the brown of the vegetation and larger marker posts in the park, and the lavender purplish sniff of hindlegs. Lavender for healthy hindlegs and purples for the aged and ill. A deep purple of something dead nearby in the small forest behind the park.

I sniff you Mister Park calls Donuts in a ridiculously upbeat voice.

I sniff you Donuts and the two exchange a brief dance of top and tail snouting.

See the game?

What game?

The rugby

Who’s rugby?

Anyways… Donuts at a loss for barks nice weather isn’t it boyo?

Mister Park does a squirt and Donuts checks it out, adding a little squirty cherry on the cake of his own.

Drinkwet is coming Mister Parks adds flatly, never entirely comfortable at small barks with the ordinary fourlegs he meets on walkies.

Sounds like it’s all drop kicking off with the scratch at Tesco Extra’s Donuts exclaims.

I don’t know about that, Donuts, I have enough to contend with Sherbet

Yeah, well boyo, I got a plan to get them scratch around the five bins all sorted, haven’t I?

Hmm, I stern word never hurts Mister Park announces, somewhat pleased both fourlegs are touching on a shared topic that’s easy to keeping the awkward gabbing up.

So true boyo, and a stern kick up the dead ball line don’t hurt either, does it?

Not sure violence is the way to go, Donuts honestly, sighs Mister Park, how some of these lesser fourlegs can’t help give it some melodrama.

Well I got us a plan for it, bach, a good plan, and now all I needs is to sniff out the right forward pack to make it happen. Interested?

Certainly not. Peaceful dialogue is the only way it’s time to move on, and a quick shaking of the earflaps stirs Profit&Loss into motion.

Hmm, peaceful dialogue is it? muses Donuts Like it!  I’ll stick that on the end of my conversion kick right up their fluffy poop holes

Goodbye Donuts and Mister Park trots off, eager to be on his way.

“it’sraining” Wynn tugs at Donut’s lead “let’sgethome”

Uh-uh boyo, as we’ve got some right hard snouted fours to find first, isn’t it? as Donuts starts pulling towards Herdwick pooping park.

(Donuts part.4 follows next week…)

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