LuLu needs a rest after rescuing Winston.
posted by LuLu @ 7:09 PM
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
Monday, June 13, 2005
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
About Me
- Name: LuLu
I am a single five-year-old female Beagle, shown here by myself, while my mix-up of a sister sings the praises of mutts on my blog. Well, let her. I have a most intriguing (one might even say lascivious) past, at least according to my autobiography. In a former lifetime I was Queen Elizabeth the Ist of England, and later on (among others) I was Nell Gwynn, Pauline Borghese, Louise Brooks, and eventually just lovable, neurotic, adorable ME. I have a perfectly charming, albeit very annoying, sister named Sadie. She's rarely plagued by conscience, possibly because she's a Sagittarius. To date she has attempted to steal most of my boyfriends, meaning we're quite used to fighting over bones. Sadie and I are the same age, although she's the adopted one. We do have a fair amount of things in common. For example, she was once Mary Queen of Scots, and later on both Barbara Villiers and Marlene Dietrich. Amazingly we get along -- at least when we're before the public~
Previous Posts
- An impassive George and Wendy's leather boots...bu...
- An unhappy LuLu after an attempt on her life
- The mysterious Spencer...LuLu's great love?
- The beautiful and enigmatic Lily
- The story thus far:
- The lovely LuLu
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14 Comments:
Everybody:
My dear puppy LuLu is suffering from emotional exhaustion. She is under a doctor's care and is resting comfortably tonight at an undisclosed location. Her friend Winston and Dr. Papillon, her psychiatrist, are both at her side, so I know all will be well.
LuLu will soon be back on her blog, and in rare form as always.
Thank you for your patience and understanding.
Sincerely,
LuLu's guardian
At last. Ma chance pour la gloire!
LuLu has collapsed. Comment terrible! Mabel, Mabel, wake up, you lazy Puss Not In Boots. It is time for us to the blog seize again. Maintenant! It becomes Richelieu's blog -- and would anyone out there like to see pictures of the kittens like Mabel with whips? 'Ow about 'ot chipmunks with whips and boots- eh? OOOO-la-la. Contact me for the calendars at Puddy Cat Richelieu's blog. Au revoir, LuLu!
could be off but i see richelieu with a cajun accent. iltlol.
I SEND LUV
LuLu concludes her Night of Terror story:
Dr. Papillon went into professional psychiatric overdrive. "Great Kong balls! We've got to rescue that poor fellow before he develops a tunnel phobia." He was off me in an instant. "Come on, soft paws," he said. "Close the portals to glory and help us dig the old dog out."
I got up, shook myself off, then stuck my long nose close to the opening of Manny's mole hill. It smelled just like Manny, which was anything but savory.
"Winston!" I called out. "Winston, are you down there?"
Nothing.
"He needs air," said Manny. "I am, I fear, just one small mole, and he is a much larger dog. Not to mention a dog of the brachycephalic mold. Better get him out fast or he'll suffocate."
We began to dig. After a few minutes, Dr. Papillon and Manny stood aside and just let me go at it. Nobody can dig like a beagle when the chips are down. We've been bred for centuries to go after small game in their burrows, and now my friend's life depended on my sharp nails, keen instincts, and penchant for making a mess.
"Damn!" I yelped when I broke a nail, but I kept digging. The mud flew, the hole widened. At last I uncovered Winston's massive head. He was gasping for air. I leaped on top of him and performed canine CPR!
"What a woman!" declared Dr. Papillon, delicately crossing his back legs.
"The kind of bitch what helped to win the West!" Manny acknowledged, a gleam of admiration in his beady, myopic eyes.
Winston groaned.
I continued to dig until his entire form was exposed, and he was able to crawl out onto the grass and lie down.
"What happened, old man?" asked Dr. Papillon. "Where on earth have you been? Aside from the mole hill, I mean."
"I can answer that one," Manny told him. He paused for effect, and then announced: "Your friend was trapped in a dark shed behind the offices of Weasel, Weasel, Ferret&Jackal."
"Why, of course," said Dr. Papillon. "Willie the weasel's partners. Uh, LuLu, you can stop digging now. That hole is the size of the Grand Canyon."
I blinked. "Oh, sorry. Once I get started, I never know when to quit. Anybody want to bury something?" I joked inappropriately.
"How about Warfield the weasel, Willie's cousin?" suggested Manny.
His expression was serious. Even his nose had stopped twitching.
"Another murder?" I gasped. "God's teeth! This has become an epidemic. Wendy's handiwork again, I suppose?"
"If so, she'd have to be one amazing chipmunk," Manny reasoned.
"I found Warfield with his throat torn out. Granted, she could've ordered the hit. His partners have all taken it on the skidoo, natch."
Winston was coming around. I leaped out of the hole I'd managed to dig myself into, and kissed him.
"Hello, velvet ears," he growled softly.
Dr. Papillon scowled, but kept his emotions on a tight leash. "What's your part in all of this?" he asked Manny, while masking his displeasure over the fact Winston and I had begun foreplay.
The mole shrugged. "Look, I'm a mole. I'm a low creature on the same level with a gopher or a shrew. I live underground. Nobody likes me, in particular not a certain beautiful spaniel of the female persuasion. But I get around, Doc. I get around. I've see a side o' life dogs like youse and yours can only guess at. Love keeps me goin' but I'm goin' nowhere. Still, little slips past me, you know what I mean? I may spend my life diggin' in the dirt, but even a mole can look up and see the stars."
And with that he was gone. Even his scent. The earth trembled slightly, and a mound of grass smacked me in the buttocks.
All at once everything was still.
"That mole is some sort of philosopher," Dr. Papillon observed, "which must be why he didn't answer my question."
"How did you get into the shed?" I asked Winston while we played a quick but intense game of pawsies.
He shook his head. "Somebody knocked me out. The next thing I knew, there was Manny, digging his way into the shed through a hole in the floor."
He nibbled gently at my ear.
"There must," said Dr. Papillon in a rather loud yap, "be some sort of recognizable pattern to all of this. Let me see, three murders, one attempted murder, and one kidnapping. No dogs have been killed, but two weasels and a chipmunk are dead. Guess we're lucky no cats are involved."
I sat up, overcome by an odd, hard-to-tether feeling. "No cats?"
Dr. Papillon stared at me; Winston gave me a look of loving concern. My stomach heaved, and I rushed to the hole I had dug and lost my kibble, along with bits and pieces of Wendy's red leather boots.
"Cheap treated leather," I moaned.
"Time to get her to the doggy ER," said Dr. Papillon.
"But we have yet to solve the mystery!" I yelped.
Winston placed a strong, firm paw on my shoulder. "Don't worry, velvet ears, we'll get there."
And thus concluded my night of terror -- well, except for some rough handling by a callow vet. And in the morning I had serious dog breath.
Mt dear friend LuLu, Honey, I am getting confused. I was reading about your night of terror, while consuming glass after glass of herbal iced tea and biting my nails to the quick, and I understand about the 2 weasels being dead, but what chipmunk has died? Is Wendy finally gone? I really like my new picture on the blog, riding in my bag. sometimes these healthy nature walks just wear me out. I still miss riding in my little red wagon...Spencer saw the pic of you kissing Winston ( giggle ) and thinks you are getting far too familiar and involved with that bulldog. I think he's just jealous. He would never admit it, though. Personally, I am terrified of Winston. Please be careful or all your adventures with bulldogs and wealels and moles will do you harm. And I thought Manny the mole was dead, You know, when his burrow was plowd under. But, I am not a very good reader and might need extra help figuring it all out, if it doesn't get too scary.
LuLu responds to her friend Lily:
Dear one...
The unfortunate creature who died in the burrow collapse was the Mad Munk, a disreputable chipmunk who was one of Wendy's landlords. So that makes three murders! Three murders, an attempted murder, and a kidnapping in under a month. It does make me wonder what sort of neighborhood we live in.
Spencer is jealous? What a pity.
But I was merely giving Winston CPR in that photograph. I do think W. is hot for me, though. And there's always Dr. Papillon. Frankly, Lily, Spencer is not the only Alpha male in the kennel. And why should I spend my time being insulted and growled at? In the course of our walk in the park today, Spencer snarled at me over the water dish, snapped at me when your mommy tried to pet me, and snarled again when I tried to sit down next to you. THAT'S a boyfriend? I believe it's past time I looked elsewhere! Spencer is a handsome dog, and we have a history. But he treats me with great disdain -- and he doesn't treat you much better.
He has such dark moods, Lily, and sometimes they frighten me. I keep recalling what Eli the squirrel said about our boy. Not that I believe Spencer is a vicious murderer! But why would the squirrel say such a thing about him were there not a kernel of truth to the story?
Oh, my head is spinning! I don't know what to believe at this point.
You know, Lily, I am convinced that Manny the mole harbors affectionate feelings for you. Oh, I realize the situation is impossible! You're a beautiful pure-bred King Charles spaniel...and he's...well, he's a mole. But there were tears in his beady eyes last night when he mentioned a certain female spaniel. I feel he wants to help us, Lily, if only for love of you. I do think we can trust him.
Dear me! Enough! Richelieu and Mabel have been fooling around with the blog again, and that just infuriates me. Richelieu peed on my favorite rug last night, by the way. It was a nasty thing to do, and I wonder about his involvement in this riddle.
Well, sweet dreams, Lily. You look lovely in your new bag -- why, you look almost like royalty~
no pictures of manny the mole?
I luv you
have you missed me?
Puppy Angel: NO.
Lulu,
The aviator dog made me laugh, and one day soon you must do a story about Jimmy.
LuLu replies to Margaret:
That's Jimmy the Dipper...the local pickpocket? I'd love to do an interview with Jimmy, named for Jimmy Valentine, I'm certain~
what gives?
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