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~
posted by LuLu @ 12:02 AM
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~
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~
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Recap! Recap!
While Morey the Mutt is out holiday shopping, we thought we would attempt to bring you up to snuff, as best we can, on our labyrinthian story. Well, his labyrinthian story -- Oh, you get the picture.
So let's start at the beginning, mainly as it makes more sense than starting at the end:
Morey, a tenacious mutt of mixed heritage, is abandoned under a bridge by his mother when he is only a tiny pup. He is rescued by an alcoholic ex-professor, who educates him, before dropping dead during an attack of the DTs.
Morey's next "savior" turns out to be a former politician from Columbus, Ohio, was was attacked by a werewolf during a vacation in Transylvania. Leander Maserati has more problems than Taco Bell, but he does manage to get his hands on a bundle of bowsers, and he and Morey move to an upscale apartment complex outside of exotic Dayton, Ohio, and there Morey meets LuLu the Beagle, Rush and Randhi (two coyotes), Woodrow the bulldog, Clawdia the cat, and Golden Warrior (a feline jazz fanatic).
Despite his strange transformations during full moons, Leander allows himself to fall in love with one of the rental agents, a mysterious young woman named Brianna, who runs off with a Fortune 500 CEO, and then disappears after he winds up viciously murdered.
Leander decides to go looking for her, so leaves Morey behind and disappears himself.
A faithful dog, Morey vows to be true to his unstable "master," and figure out a way to find him and cure him of his lycanthropy/werewolfism.
Morey then gets involved with Socrates the squirrel, along with a ghost from the hippie era -- and hears about a magical golden foot which can work miracles.
Unfortunately, Morey misplaces his trust in Clawdia the cat, who attempts to drown him in a chemically-"enhanced" lake. It is at the bottom of said lake where Morey (and Woodrow) subsequently meet the Sade, a dog of Vast Powers and kinky tastes.
The Sade sends Morey and Woodrow off to another dimension, and there they wind up in All Pink Corn, an area very much like the one they started out in, but it turns out there are some serious differences.
Barely escaping with their lives, Morey and Woodrow rescue a Golden Retriever psychiatrist named Daisy and bring her along with them......back to the bottom of the lake, where the Sade turns Daisy into a marble statue, before putting both Morey and Woodrow into states of suspended animation.
With us so far?
Then hang on....
Recap cont'd...
Meanwhile, Clawdia the cat finds out that Socrates the squirrel supposedly has stolen the magical golden foot from the Sade, and she wants to get her paws on it.
It would seem that Clawdia and the Sade have a history, and the foot has been hers before.
Clawdia raises the three-headed
Cerberus, the guardian of the gates of Hell, to accompany her out on a night on the town to find Socrates. When they do find him, in a sleazy bar near a sewer, they discover that he is not alone. Indeed, the skanky squirrel has his own monster backup -- a relative of the Loch Ness Monster, named Ethel the Parovarchian.
While the monsters chat, Clawdia takes matters into her own paws and threatens to kill Socrates unless he tells her where the foot is. He tells her that he gave it to Pandora the cat, she of the horrible litter box, and Clawdia runs off to retrieve it...and winds up inside Pandora's box.
The Sade decides to intervene again. She sends her messenger, Imp, to Clawdia, to wipe her mind clean and gets her to "promise" to be a good (normal) kitty, at which point she will rescue her from the horror of Pandora's box.
When last we encountered her, Clawdia was starting to become Clawdia again...which means she'll no doubt soon be looking for the magical golden foot, along with plenty of trouble.
Meanwhile, Dr. Daisy is still a marble statue, and Morey and his buddy Woodrow are both in states of suspended animation at the bottom of a lake.
Whew! That's about it. And if this story makes sense to you, you just flunked the text part of your Rorschach test, bubby~
Who you calling skanky?!
I'm afraid I flunked. The story makes a certain amount of sense to me. It's a big puzzle. Some pieces fit and others don't. In many respects, the entire blog is like that.
From the Chronicles of the Sade...
Clawdia's Christmas Story:
"The Foot, the Foot..I want the Magical Golden Foot...."
"Open your eyes, Clawdia."
"Wh..Where am I? O, Bast! I'm not back in Pandora's Litter Box, am I?"
"No, you're lying on the hearth in front of your own fireplace, and you're asleep and dreaming."
"So, who are you and why does your voice sound familiar?"
"Because you know me. Open your eyes, Clawdia."
"MOREY? Morey the mutt? But you're...under the lake. You're with the Sade."
"In essence, you're right. This is my ghost that you're seeing."
"So, you're dead, Canis Major?"
"Not at all. Can't you tell? I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"G'wan! You don't look a thing like Michael Dolan when he played the part in 'Scrooge' opposite Alastair Sim. You look like a mangy dog who's been at the bottom of a lake too long."
"Yeah, well, I didn't have Dolan's wardrobe choices."
"So, what do you want?"
"To take you on a little adventure."
"I don't want to go on a little adventure with you. Go back where you came from, and stop blowing smoke at me!"
"It's supposed to be fog! Look down, Clawdia, and tell me what you see."
"My front paws."
"Below that."
"Mountains, Canis Major...high mountains."
"Your angry spirit fell from the very top of one of those mountains eons ago -- didn't it, Clawdia?"
"What if it did? Screw Memory Lane, Canis Major. Do you think I don't know the Sade put you up to this? Take me home!"
"Let's try again. What do you see through the smoke coming off the cheap dried ice machine, Clawdia?"
"An alley. The alley where I was born this time around. The rats look familiar."
"Who could that be walking away from a helpless litter of kittens, Clawdia? Do you know who it is?"
"Well, it's not me! I won't take the rap for this one."
"It's your mother, Clawdia."
"Really? I'm not surprised. I always suspected she looked like a slut."
"Don't you feel sad and angry because she abandoned you and your brothers and sisters?"
"Now that you mention it, yeah, I do. Can we strike the tramp dead, or something?"
"She's your mother, Clawdia."
"She was only a vessel, Canis Major. She means nothing to me. Whoa! Who's the mean hunk of ebony muscle who just sidled up to her? I wouldn't kick him off my pillow."
"He's your father."
"No big deal. I'm a cat; I have no morals."
"Look down now, Clawdia, and tell me what you see."
"The lake. Good old Lake Lincoln Park. The overpowering chemical smell always makes for a Hallmark Moment."
"Do you remember causing Woodrow to fall into that lake and drown?"
"It wasn't my fault. He went in after Socrates the squirrel."
"And I went in after Woodrow."
"Well, boo-hoo. Oh, watch that banana peel."
"YIKES! Clawdia, throw me a rope!"
"Sorry, Morey, but a chump's a chump, and I was never a Dickens fan to begin with. He had way too much social conscience for me."
"OOOOO! OOOOO!"
"Shut up, owl!"
"It's not an owl; it's me, er, I."
"Woodrow? Woodrow the bulldog?"
"No, the Ghost of Christmas Present."
"Oiii! I knew that mouse I ate was full of rancid cheese the second I swallowed him.
Story continued below....
Clawdia's Christmas Story, cont'd...
"Do you like my costume, Clawdia?"
"Woodrow, you're not wearing one."
"Oh, I guess I lost it coming up out of the lake. How have you been?"
"Woodrow, why are you here? By the way, I see you lost those pathetic plastic nadgers. Guess the Sade is good for something."
"Yeah, I got a real pair this time. AHEM. I am here, Clawdia, to point out the error of your ways."
"Better rehabilitation counselors than you have tried, sweetie, but go ahead and give it a shot."
"Clawdia, do you hear weeping?"
"No."
"Well, I do, and I believe it's that poor old squirrel, Socrates. You ate his lover a couple of holiday seasons ago.."
"It was on Thanksgiving, to be precise."
"...and he's never been able to get over the loss. He's terribly unhappy."
"Tough. Let him find another friend. It's not like there aren't plenty of squirrels around here."
"Clawdia, let's try a different setting. Do you know where we are now?"
"Yeah, we're in the apartment where I live."
"Where you live with Golden Warrior the tabby, and LuLu the beagle."
"What a lucky girl am I!"
"Look at Golden Warrior lying asleep on the back of that chair. Wouldn't you like to get him a nice Christmas present?"
"He's not asleep, he's smacked on catnip, and the answer is NO."
"And there goes LuLu out for a walk. I'm sure she would appreciate a well-meant holiday gift from you."
"I'm sure she would, but I can't decide what goes with hot pants."
"Clawdia, you are being contentious on purpose."
"You're right -- I am! And why not? Nobody gives a sardine about what I want for Christmas! I want the Magical Golden Foot!"
"But you don't deserve it."
"Who says so? YOU? Or the Sade?"
"Come on, Clawdia; it's Christmas."
"Get out of here before I call the ACLU!"
"Clawdia....Clawdia...."
"Now what? Oh, this is different -- a talking marble statue."
"I'm Dr. Daisy, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."
"When do I get to wake up from this nightmare?"
"Why not stretch out on the couch over there and tell me about yourself?"
"Hey -- wait a minute! This isn't the way the story is supposed to go."
"It is now."
Clawdia's Christmas Story will conclude on Friday, 12/22...
Clawdia's Christmas Story continues...
"Tell me about the Magical Golden Foot," coaxed Dr. Daisy, who longed to wag her tail in order to calm and reassure her patient, but since she was a marble statue, wagging her tail was out of the question. Besides, Clawdia looked positively bored.
"Why don't you tell ME about the Foot," responded the tiny cat. "The Sade knows I want it, and she's sent you here to convince me to back off. Well, I won't back off." Her eyes flashed malevolence. "Go back and tell the bitch that!"
"I don't know anything about the Foot," insisted Dr. Daisy, but with more whine than woof to her bark. "All I know is that it seems to have caused all sorts of problems for everybody." She tried to shake her head, but couldn't. "It's a shame."
"No wonder the Sade turned you into an inanimate object," hissed Clawdia. "You're as thick as a brick and a muggy do-gooder into the process."
"Clawdia, do you know where you're eventually going to end up?" the good doctor tried again.
"Where? As takeout at a Chinese restaurant? You don't scare me, Rockhead."
Lightning flashed across the sky. "Look down and tell me what you see, Clawdia."
"Oh, oh! Can this be for real? Fire, brimstone, desperate souls longing for release. What is this -- viewers' reactions to more 'Sex and the City' reruns?"
"This is Hell, Clawdia!" barked Dr. Daisy through extremely stiff jaws.
"Litter ooze!" responded the saucy feline, and lightning flashed again. "Now THIS," she said, "is HELL."
Dr. Daisy struggled to turn her head -- to no avail. "Bu...Wh...? Why, we're at a five-star hotel on the Riviera."
"You got it, Retriever Babe. And clap them paws -- well, too bad you can't -- 'cause here comes the Devil's most dedicated agent. Good evening, Mephistopheles."
"UnHappy Holidays," purred a handsome black cat in a voice so suggestive, it should have been illegal. "Might I suggest a venial sin to help you set the mood for your evening?"
"OOO! I see you've got 'It's a Wonderful Life' showing on all your Plasma Widescreens," Dr. Daisy enthused. "It's my very favorite movie!"
"Wouldn't you just know it," muttered Clawdia.
"Well, you're in luck -- because the film runs eternally," commented the luridly slinky tomcat. "After four or five months of watching the Charelston scene in the high-school gymnasium, most of the Damned can't wait to switch over to 'Riverdance.'"
Story continued below....
Clawdia's Christmas Story concludes...
"How did you do this?" Dr. Daisy asked Clawdia. "How did you get us to Hell on the Riviera?"
Clawdia smirked. "Magic plus purloined frequent flier miles. Now go back to the Sade, Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and tell her that I'm still all that. Beat it! Scram! Whiz off!"
"But first sign our guest book," Mephistopheles requested with a growl from the groin. "And if you promise to give up your soul within thirty days or less, I'll have your marble switched back to luscious flesh in no time."
A horrified Dr. Daisy vanished in a puff of smoke.
"Whew!" declared the tomcat. "Smell all that self-righteousness."
"Thanks, Mepho," purred Clawdia. "You owed me one."
"To be specific, my dear, I owed you two, but who's counting?"
"You still owe me several more than one lousy favor, flounder breath, and I'M counting." Clawdia's long whiskers twitched. "Say, the squirrel waiting that table full of pharmaceutical lobbyists looks familiar."
"Well, he should, darling. You murdered him."
"Why, I'll be damned."
"Oh, I absolutely guarantee it."
"I want you to do me another favor, Mepho," Clawdia insisted. "I want you to send that squirrel back up."
"WHAT? Sweetie, do you know how hard it is to find a good waiter at this time of year?"
"I'll cross off the rest of your debts for this one good deed, Meph."
"I'll have one hell of a time explaining it to the Devil."
"You'll think of something."
"Clawdia, why are you doing this? You've got almost enough bad points to take over my job, and keep in mind -- no good deed ever goes unpunished."
Clawdia flinched slightly. "I -- I know, but I'm doing it because it's Christmas, and because I feel sorry for a lonely old squirrel named Socrates."
"Oh, pul-leeze. Garf my barf!"
"Do it, Meph! And after you send the rodent back, I promise you, we'll work on a little caper involving Mrs. Claus and an elf who's seriously into handcuffs and leather."
"Do tell me more!"
"Well, you know how bent out of shape Santa gets after he's been out delivering all night...and I figure we can arrange for Rudolph to get another DUI..."
"Darling! You are utterly amoral!"
"And once Santa's been booked for a crime of passion, we can watch the Stephen King version of 'It's a Wonderful Life.'"
"Pinch me!" yowled Mephistopheles. "I adore Jimmy Stewart as an ax-wielding psycho."
"I consider it one of his best performances."
"UnHappy Holidays, Clawdia."
And may we wish an equally good time to our cherished "Desperate" readers~
The Chronicles of the Sade:
"Oh, dear," barked Dr. Daisy. "Did I fall asleep during one of Dennison's lectures again?" She blinked her eyes. "Who ARE you dogs?"
Morey and Woodrow stared at the pretty Golden Retriever with puppy-eyed devotion.
"You're alive!" arfed Woodrow. "You're not a statue anymore."
"Alive? A statute? What the poop are you howling about? I'm a dog not a law."
"You might be a law of nature," suggested Morey suggestively.
"Or you could be a dog of a statute," Woodrow pointed out. "But there's my bulldog jaw at work again. I don't know how Churchill did it. Winston not Ward, you understand?"
"Who ARE you?" Dr. Daisy demanded again. "Who are you and WHERE are we?"
"The Sade turned you into a marble statue," Morey explained, cutting to the squirrel chase. "We weren't sure she'd ever bring you out of your spell, but here you are, and your hair looks as soft as ever, and your eyes..."
"Get away from me, you maniac!" yelped Daisy, baring her teeth.
"I can't," said Morey. "We're at the bottom of a lake."
"And I can't swim," Woodrow added needlessly.
Dr. Daisy looked up. "My gosh! That we are. Well, this is a fine fix, I must say."
A jumble of jolly, fat bubbles bounced and popped, and out of their superficial depth the Sade emerged.
"It IS you!" barked Dr. Daisy. "The Mother-Doctor of our country! The..."
"Put a bone in it, girlie," the Sade snarled bluntly. "That's pretty much where you came in."
"B...but I'm a psychiatrist," the puzzled pup sputtered.
"You are what I say you are," the Sade contradicted her. "Now sit and stay. Morey...?"
"I'm sitting and staying," he assured her.
Story continued below...
Story continued:
"Well, that's nice," said the little Jack Russell terrier with the pinwheel eyes. "The thing is, Morey, I'm tired of you and your friends. I wish I had the Dauphin and his dog back. At least he was royalty and everybody likes to hang with royalty even if they are dull and boring. You three are unexceptional mutts."
Dr. Daisy gasped. "Why, I'm a registered pure breed, and do you know how many degrees I have?"
"Possibly more than a sultry day in Ecuador," replied the Sade, "but I don't care. You're no fun."
Morey could tell that Dr. Daisy was smoldering, and he hoped the Sade wouldn't turn her back into a statue. (Or, for that matter, a statute.)
"Tell me," said the Sade, "Morey, if you could go absolutely anywhere in the world and do anything -- where would you go and what would you do?"
Morey thought for less than a minute before replying. "Why, I would go back to doing what I was doing before I landed here. I would try to find the Magical Golden Foot in order to help save my master, Leander. I would do anything to help him...but you already know that."
The Sade sighed and shook her head. "Yes, I do know that. A pity, nonetheless."
She turned to Woodrow. "What about you, bulldog?"
"Well," said he, choosing his woofs carefully, "I would like to teach somewhere -- on the university level, of course. Granted, I don't have an advanced degree, but I read a great deal and ..."
The Sade snapped him short. "Enough! What about you, cutie paws?" she asked, cutting her eyes to Dr. Daisy.
The sweet-muzzled shrink looked nervous. "Well, I am trained as a therapist. I seem to recall something rather unpleasant happening back in All Pink Corn. Is that why we're here? Perhaps I ought to go back there and embrace the pain? Then again, sometimes moving on is the better course. Uhm, could I back-burner this for a while?"
"You dogs are hopeless!" howled the Sade, and with a clap of her paws, she sent them spinning and somersaulting through the rancid waters of the great (not to be confused with Great) lake.
Dr. Daisy was the first to break the surface. "We're back home! It's All Pink Corn!"
Woodrow popped up next to her. "Ah, I do believe it's Lincoln Park, my dear."
Finally Morey surfaced, choking and gasping. "I think you're both wrong," he told them.
Story continued next week...
"Morey," barked Woodrow, as the three dogs swam the mercifully short distance to shore, "of course we're back in Lincoln Park. Everything looks perfectly normal."
And at first glance Morey was ready to agree with his friend. "Perfectly normal," he thought. Well, there were boats on the lake and cars in the parking lot, and people were walking their dogs along the beach and up along the walkway.
"Perfectly normal" -- and not at all like All Pink Corn.
But as he dog paddled his way to the beach, Morey felt as uncertain as a starlet with redneck roots being introduced to Ken Blackwell.
"It's not All Pink Corn," complained Dr. Daisy, stepping out of the water and shaking a good pound of blue lake dye off her golden coat. "I thought I was home again."
"Be kennel glad you're not," Morey responded, arfing snappishly, although he hadn't meant to. "Daisy, don't you remember anything? Back in All Pink Corn we were chased to the beach by Rottweilers. We almost got killed!"
"Dennison," she said primly, "would never have allowed such a thing to happen."
Morey finally lost his temper. "Your buddy Dennison was a psychotic killer -- and All Pink Corn was the dog pound, babe!"
She started to respond, but Woodrow pounced into the breach. "It's true what he says, Daisy. Wherever we are, it's likely to be better than All Pink Corn...and I still say it's Lincoln Park."
The handsome bulldog hesitated for a moment, then excitedly nudged Morey.
"Look! I'm right! There's your old friend, LuLu!"
And there was Lulu, his onetime heartthrob, walking along the beach next to a brightly dressed young woman who was careful to remain a few steps behind her.
LuLu, Morey noticed, was as brightly dressed as her walker; she wore a sleek green sweater that looked like it was made of cashmere, and red fur booties on her dainty paws.
Morey charged up the beach. "LuLu!" he barked merrily. "Hey, LuLu! That's some outfit you've got on. When did you start wearing clothes, sweet shanks?"
The pretty little beagle paused and stared, while the young woman with her reacted swiftly. She whipped a tazer gun out of her genuine leather shoulder bag and let Morey have a few seconds worth of the Big Zappy.
He fell to the ground and stayed there. "Non pure breed!" he heard the young woman shouting.
By then Woodrow and Dr. Daisy were at his side, and a few seconds later, so was LuLu.
"How did a non pure breed get on this beach?" LuLu asked them. "I'm sorry your friend got hurt, but this entire area is completely restricted. If you two brought him here, your people will get an incredible fine; they'll probably lose one of their yachts or jets, and they might even lose custody of you."
She shook her head and went on. "Not that it much matters what happens to them, but you two would then have to go through the hassle of changing houses and having your personal wardrobes and chew toys touched by people you might not even know. Ewwww time, for sure."
"LuLu," said Woodrow, "don't you know who Morey is?"
Reluctantly she leaned over Morey and took a sniff. "I've never smelled any of you dogs before," she told the bulldog. "And since he's a mixed breed, he can't be anyone of importance."
"That's a lovely sweater," barked Dr. Daisy, doing her very best to remain friendly and cordial under pressure -- a tradition with her breed. "That emerald collar you are wearing must have cost somebody a fortune."
LuLu wagged her tail slightly. "I deserve it," she said. "My humans have to keep me happy, after all." She raised a well-formed nose. "I have the blood of champions in my veins -- meaning they were incredibly lucky to get me in the first place."
"Isn't that young woman babbling into a cell phone your 'person'?" asked Dr. Daisy, and LuLu gave a derisive snort.
"Oh, right -- like you lost big on the American Idol special for desperate comics? That's my personal walker and general factotum, Golden Girl. Come to think of it -- where's yours?"
"I don't need humans in my life in order to have an identity!" Dr. Daisy fired back, but LuLu merely sneered.
"I get it -- you got placed with a couple of climbers who couldn't afford to keep you. Honey, it happens." She tossed her head. "We can't all get adopted by a lobbyist, a drug company exec, or a veterinarian. Some of us actually have to make do with a poor old human heart surgeon, a T&A doc, or some 'top dog' corporate type -- at least for a while."
"LuLu," Morey moaned as he stumbled to his feet, "what the kennel is going on around here? Woodrow was so sure we were back in Lincoln Park."
"Lincoln Park? This is Canine Haven," she said, "one of America's top ten best places to raise and spoil a purebred dog. By the way, how do you know my name? My mother would be shocked to find out somebody like you knew the name of a pup from one of her litters."
"Morey," barked Woodrow, "two guys with a net are approaching at two o'clock. Better make yourself scarce."
"I think we'd all better make ourselves scarce," suggested Daisy. "More humans are coming our way from the other side, and they also have nets."
And so, as Morey fast-forwarded it into the woods, right behind Dr. Daisy and Woodrow, he couldn't help but wonder what the Sade had in store for them this time around.
Story continued next week....
Alas! I regret the misspelling of the word "taser" as "tazer" last night. It is spelled both ways, but "taser" is preferred, and since I only had a year of schooling before my friend the professor died, please don't take away my chew toys.
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