"My name is Belle, my eyes are sea-green, and I plan to marry money"~
posted by LuLu @ 6:52 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~
Wednesday, November 23, 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
- LuLu flees across Rattlesnake Ridge in our new mys...
- Mindful Maggie pauses to reflect."The Chinese year...
- "What do you mean the relatives are staying HERE o...
- Blog hostess LuLu and new friend Paco enjoy Indian...
- "O, ladie faire, thy ev'ry glance doth light up th...
- Twins! Mollie and Lily take a cavalier attitude to...
- The story thus far
- "Sam" Spencer plays a hard-boiled detective Dashie...
- Scotch Gracie wonders what the gang is up to this ...
- LuLu welcomes you to her blog~
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Historians are fairly certain that there were cats on the Mayflower. Cats had been regular crew members on seafaring vessels since the 16th century, mainly as they kept the rodent population under control. But what about dogs?
According to a 17th century journal called "Mourts Relation," by Edward Winslow, at least two dogs reached the New World on the famous Pilgrim ship -- an English Springer Spaniel and a Mastiff. Both dogs belonged to a young man named John Goodman, who unfortunately died during the first "dred wynter" the colonist were in New Plymouth. History does not record exactly what happened to Goodman's dogs, but it's more than likely that other colonists took them into their households. Maybe even a couple of colonists like pretty Priscilla Mullins and the young and handsome John Alden?
Now everybody knows the famous story about Priscilla Mullins and John Alden from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poetic tale, "The Courtship of Miles Standish." It's a wonderful story, utterly apocryphal, but wonderful all the same. Miles Standish, the proud military advisor to the New Plymouth colony, did actually lose his wife, Rose, during that awful first winter, so he asked his friend, John Alden, to woo a young woman named Priscilla Mullins for him. She had lost her entire family that winter and was virtually alone in the world. Standish correctly felt that Priscilla would be more receptive to a man closer to her own age, but what he didn't know was that John Alden was in love with the girl. Alden, of course, was instantly put between Plymouth Rock and a hard place. He had hoped to marry Priscilla himself, but Standish was his best friend.
What to do? What to do?
Alden finally decided to go to Priscilla and ask her to give her heart and hand to Miles Standish. The decision tormented him, but it seemed the only honorable course of action open to him. So with a heavy heart, he trudged off in the direction of the Mullins' cottage one bright spring morning, with only his faithful Mastiff, Intrepid, for company.
He stopped along the way to pick some flowers for Mistress Priscilla, when suddenly Intrepid bumped him from behind, and he tumbled mightily into the main brook which ran through Plymouth woods.
Alden emerged from the brook drenched to his unmentionables. The Mullins' cottage was only a short distance away, so he squished through the high grass in his leaking shoes, and arrived at the front door looking like something the cat dragged in.
Priscilla was seated at her spinning wheel, but she leaped to her feet when she saw Alden, and almost tripped over her spaniel, Felicity, who sent forth a merry bark when she spied Intrepid wagging his tail in the doorway, just behind the sopping John Alden.
"Why, Master Alden!" Priscilla cried. "Were you set upon by hostile Indians? You look an absolute fright?"
"No, no, Mistress Priscilla," he
assured her. "It was indeed my own clumsiness which tripped me up, in a manner of speaking. I fell into the brook in Plymouth woods."
Intrepid continued to wag his tail.
"There's a strong chill in the air," Priscilla observed in a tone awash with concern. "Go into the back room and put on some of my late father's clothing. Then you may come and sit by the fire. You are already a-trembling from the cold."
"But m-m-my dear Mistress Priscilla, I am h-h-here to speak on behalf..." he began pathetically, but she fluttered her practical little hands at him and the words died on his lips.
"Go, go!" she said, pointing to a room at the very back of the tiny house, and so he went.
A brief time later, Miles Standish arrived at the cottage door, having come to the conclusion that it might be best if he spoke to Mistress Priscilla himself, or else wind up looking like an arrogant fool.
"Why, Captain Standish!" said she, rising once again from her stool. "This is a surprise, but you are most welcome to come and sit by the fire to warm yourself."
"Thank you, dear Mistress Priscilla," Standish began, then his eyes grew round and his jaw fell slack.
Priscilla turned around.
There stood John Alden in one of her best homespun gowns.
"Great God of Retribution!" roared Miles Standish. "I've seen this sort of perversion in the French military, but a man who likes to wear women's clothing in New Plymouth? I'm going to go off and lose myself in the woods!"
And he stormed out, shaking his fist and muttering most unpuritanical imprecations.
"Priscilla," said Alden, "this dress was the only clothing I could find. Now I've upset Captain Standish, when the very reason I came here was to convince you to marry him."
Priscilla's eyes sparkled. She cocked her head and wagged a finger at him. "Oh, speak for yourself, John. By the way, you look like a yummy little mutton chop in that outfit."
Outside, Intrepid and Felicity romped together in the woods. They had long missed living in the same household, and now they finally had a chance to be together again.
As for Miles Standish, he did not long remain lost in the woods. Soon thereafter, he married his wife's sister, Barbara, and the couple had six children.
John Alden married Priscilla Mullins in 1623 and they had ten children.
Intrepid and Felicity had three litters of healthy puppies.
Less than 100 years later, Lord Cornbury, the colonial governor of New York and New Jersey, was reputed to enjoy dressing up in his wife's clothes. The story might very well be fiction, but Cornbury was a truly awful governor, and people were willing to say almost anything nasty about him. Still, history records that the Cornbury, like his cousin Queen Anne, doted on his pack of Toy Poodles, so obviously he wasn't all bad.
We hope you have enjoyed this dogdone view of American history.
A very Happy Thanksgiving from LuLu's Desperate House Dogs~
Loved it, loved it. Looking forward to more hysterical history!
Thank you.
Thank you so much for this piece of history. The best part, IMO, was the end,
"...Still, history records that the Cornbury, like his cousin Queen Anne, doted on his pack of Toy Poodles, so obviously he wasn't all bad."
When I read that, I did a poodle dance!!
Being a toy poodle myself, I agree. . . this Cornbury guy couldn't have been all that bad.
The fact that Cornbury was a dog lover is probably the best thing that could be said for him, Nestle.
Lily, you are one great Hoosier, girl.
karen,
What's a Hoosier?
I thought a Hoosier was an Indiana native, but no one can tell me what it means.
BTW,
have you seen lily's pretty new matching pink leash and coat? I like it. Does that mean I'm a Hoosier too?
A Hoosier is a person from Indiana. I don't know what it means but if you're born in Indiana, you are a Hoosier. Why did you take down my favorite picture of Lily in pink?
Karen,
According to my guardian, who thinks she knows everything, there is no proven definition of the word "Hoosier." It's been used at least since the early 19th century, and the best explanation (I think) is that people way back used to knock on cabin doors, and if a cabin was occupied, the person inside would shout out: "WHO'S YER?" Hmmm. Maybe that's not the best explanation, but it's the silliest, so I like it.
Lily's Halloween picture went down on its own when we put up more pictures -- like the one of Lily in her pretty new coat.
By the way, Karen, what about MY pictures? It is LULU'S blog, after all. Maybe I have to shout it out. LULU'S blog! Who's Yer?
Oh, arf, arf.
Nestle,
Were you born in Indiana, mon cher?
Has anyone seen our friend Paco lately?
Does anybody here know how to make a bonafide Pink Lady?
I do.
Paco has been making out in the park late at night? You old dogs!
You've got it made!
Oh, rockie, that one lil missing 'it' , almost got my housemate Sony excited.
This ought to really get Sony excited, Nestle: Rockie and I were playing "kissy sticks" in the park tonight. The fact of the matter is, I can't resist a male in an apres ski sweater~
By the way, Good Luck to my bestest friend, Lily, tomorrow. She has to get her teeth cleaned!
(Bet she's getting an eye lift into the bargain!) Whatever the case, hope all goes well, Lil. See you back in the park on Friday~
Lily is having more problems? I'm becoming worried.
Hi Karen, Its me Lily. Don't listen to Lulu, I'm fine - just had a little dentistry done. Lulu likes to rub it in because she is only 1 year old
If you're okay I'm happy. Lulu is funny but you are my favorite dog.
i'm cold and not having fun. where is this park?
On a planet far, far away.....
...where all the treats are delicious and the cats friendly...
And we're under a foot of snow!
ooof! i don't want to go there.
Oh, come on, Punkin? Pinkin? I'm all excited about seeing my first reindeer. Well, I haven't seen one yet, but my guardian tells me that a corpulent guy with a long white beard will be bringing them by in a week or so. They only come out when it snows, I think, and they have names like Dancer and Prancer, and Rudolph, and Blitzen.
I'm sure at least one or two of them will be hotter than HOT~
a mistype. LuLu, you are such a horndog! even reindeer aren't safe.
Punkin,
I hope Santa brings you fleas!
not where i live, lulu. lol.
No fleas? Where on the planet do you live, or are you just visiting?
no, lulu, i live on a boat.
A boat? I think some other dog said that he or she lived on a boat. Or was that you? Are you a stalker, Punkin? Oar what?
What happened to my friend Karen?
Could it be that Karen wised up and bought a cat?
Now, Firbawl...let's play nice kitty. When last heard from, our friend Karen was suffering from the flu. Hope she's feeling better.
Don't you have mice to catch, FB?
i am not a stalker, hound dog. isn't that one of your more endearing traits? i like to swim, assist my owner with his fishing gear, and enjoy gazing at the stars at night, feeling safe and secure under the sky's warm canopy. a stalker? i am too uninvolved to so much as point.
Well sucky mucky.
Punkin,
We hounds don't stalk -- we HOUND.
Granted, there may not be much of a difference, but when's the last time you heard of a "stalk" dog?
And the King did not write "You Ain't Nothin' but a Stalk Dog," did he? So let's get real.
When can I come for a visit?
Firbawl,
Swallow a dead mouse the wrong way, or what?
Punkin?
Nope.
Definitely not a stalker.
Lulu, are you a frequent flier?
Lulu?
Yes, Punkin (or Pinkin), I'm here.
But it's been a bad morning. I went over to the park and rolled in some squishy, delicious goose poop, and my guardian dragged me home and gave me a bath. Oh, the injustice of it all! And she always uses this AWFUL floral dog shampoo on me. It's embarrassing!
But regarding you....
What's this about frequent flying? I thought you were a sailor? Where do you live -- somewhere in the Himalayas?
Not the Himalayan mountains or the Andes, but you are getting warmer.
If you like to roll in goose poop, you might fit in with my friends.
We're fond of fish guts, and I am a sailor.
You're also sort of a mystery dog, Punkin. And now you've got competition. Rockie the Lab is back in town. (Somebody wrote 'the fleet's in.') Maybe that was you, sailor?
Anybody got some good Salty Dog stories out there?
And I'm not talking about Maesh the bar guy~
PS: Fish guts?
Squeamish? Lulu, I'm disappointed.
Are you kidding? I've rolled in fish guts with the best of 'em, brother. But my slop of choice is goose poop~
Hmmm. I wonder if Punkin could be a hit dog for the mob.
The mob? What an imagination!
How about "Mystery Male"?
Yep. Definitely a Mystery Mutt~
A mutt? Lulu, my heart is breaking.
Somehow I doubt that, Punkin. I have a feeling you're a sniff 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. But I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.
Now I'm off to the park~
Lulu, we've never shared a sniff.
As the old song goes: "A sniff near the tail may be quite Continental, but Kong balls are a girl's best friend." Now that I'm engaged to Rockie-the-hunk, I'm likely to be saving all my sniffs for him~
(Got that, you wolves in Billings, Montana?)
My boyfriend's back!
Aw, naw.
Would you like to see some pictures of me with my pants on, Punkin?
No.
You'd rather roll in fish guts, right, Punkin?
Fish guts or goose poop. What's the difference?
What's the difference between caviar and those sausage nibbles I won't be getting tomorrow (although I bet I will)?
Snuffle and snort. You demean yourself by asking.
While a comparison of sausage to caviar leaves me with my head spinning, a comparison of goose poop to fish guts is even less comprehensible. I hope you are happy, Lulu, but I won't demean myself by asking.
LOL>IWANNA MEET BELLE.
Say, Fiver, maybe you and Punkin ought to get together?????
Brokeback puppies?
Wait a minute!
We dogs are parked in neutral, Fiver. What do you look like?
Parked in neutral?
You dogs are too knickered for me. LOL.
"Knickered"? Does this have to do with that offer I made to Punkin re a picture of me with my pants on?
Evidently Punkin is out to sea.
Hmmm. Maybe Punkin is a pirate?
Maybe Punkin is a cat.
Now there's a dastardly possibility which hadn't occurred to me!
You got to watch them dastards.
You gotta watch those mean, skulking cats. I know...I live with two.
What those slurs, Lulu.
What I will, Firbawl~
How can you slur a cat?
faster than you can skin one, anon, and stay out of my neighborhood.
What? This is a DOG blog.
YOU WISH!
Careful, Firbawl....only nice cats are allowed~
( - - )
( ^ )
( ``` ) Nice cat? LOL.
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