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~
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The Eye On The Park....
from the secret tapes of "Deep Gullet" ...
It was just past midnight during the last quarter of the Chaste Moon, when Itza Hogg wheeled a bright pink puppy stroller down a dank alleyway and came to a pause just a few pawpads past the backdoor of Poppa Poochie's Bar&Grill&Convention Hall.
The stroller was heavily draped against a nonexistent chill in the tepid night air, but since the pig was often seen pushing the stroller, the preferred conveyance of eccentric Pekingese matron, Suzy Wong Chan, anyone passing by would likely assume that the two weird characters were merely out for a late night constitutional.
But looks can be deceiving.
The backdoor opened a crack, and part of the alleyway dropped like Katie Couric's ratings. The door slammed shut, and the elevator rose to kitchen level.
Monica Ferret, Esquire, accompanied by a semi-private detective named Marco, hopped out of the puppy stroller and straightened a nipple ring.
"Too cool," commented Marco.
"Good evening," said Sam Ashmead (better known simply as "Ashmead"), the latest proprietor of the popular watering hole, a joint which never seemed to stay in any one set of paws for very long.
Ashmead was a middle-aged Golden Retriever with a languid gaze, a lazy smile, and a mind like a steel trap. He and Itza Hogg knew each othe well; the pair were acquainted with Monica and Marco through their dubious reputations.
They liked what they'd heard.
"Are we all here?" asked the perky ferret.
"Looks like," said Marco, "but what about the old lady?"
Story continued below...
Story continued...
"This way," responded Ashmead, removing a wall panel next to the kitchen and leading the group down a flight of stairs. A rat fled as they went past two false basements and a phony slice of Swiss cheese. They climbed another flight of stairs, swung on grape vines across a piranha-infested pond, and returned to the kitchen level, where Ashmead removed another wall panel. They fought their way through a rain forest using machetes, crossed a semi-detached hallway and came to a false door. They kicked it down, opened the one behind it, and stepped into a large, well-appointed sitting room.
"Good evening," said Suzy Wong Chan, who was seated behind a long, well-chewed mahogany table, with Digby the demon by her side. "I trust no one had any problem getting here?"
The usual pleasantries were exchanged, Ashmead served his guests bowls of fresh water and spearmint juice, but nothing stronger. Everybody took their seats.
"Now," said Suzy Wong Chan, "let's get to know one another." And the group as one hopped up on the table and began tail sniffing.
"You are a very pleasant-smelling demon," Monica complimented Digby. "What is that unusual cologne you are wearing?"
"It's the smell of brimstone," he replied. "I've thrown in a little Gucci Envy just to make it interesting."
Monica smiled. Why did all the really hot-looking guys have to be the spawn of the devil?
"All right!" barked Mrs. Chan. "Please take your seats again. It's time we got down to business."
"Wait, Suzy!" squeaked Monica. "I don't mean to be impertinent, but I absolutely love your work. Is it true you were once a TRIPLE spy?"
The dignified Pekingese matron nodded. "Oh, yes, my dear. When I was young, I was one of the best around. I was an agent for two opposing world powers, and also for Big Oil."
Monica's black, button eyes lit up. "Big Oil? Oh, that must have been thrilling!"
"It was, and don't believe all you've heard about those olive-oil salesmen. The canola boys are the real killers -- you have my word on it."
"I had a few run-ins with that bunch," added Ashmead. "I started out as an agent for the dog-food industry, but it wasn't long before I met a mole who worked for the Chinese Shar-Peis. Through him I met the Yale Skull-and-Bones Society mascot, and the next thing I knew, I was a double agent with fourteen passports, twenty-six aliases, and mangled chew toys on four continents."
"Still, it just made sense to be a double agent," oinked Itza Hogg. "As they say, folks, that's where the bowsers are."
Digby the demon wagged his tail. "I must say, while it's always refreshing to work with any group of mammals with a conscience, I'm delighted to be involved with spies for a change. I've honestly about had it with politicians and reality show contestants."
"I got into the business when I was very young," Mrs. Chan reminisced. "My mother was an espionage genius. It was said of her that she could walk, undisguised, into a room filled with cats and make them think she was one of them."
Story continued below...
Story continued...
"I hear something," woofed Ashmead softly, and immediately out came sets of guns, knives, grenades, garrotes, dewclaw screws, oral torture devices, blowguns, and a pooper-scooper.
"Believe it or not, I still get a tad anxious right before a takedown," confessed Itza with a twitchy smile.
The door banged open and a dangling white neck kerchief was blasted to shreds.
"Hold it!" barked Digby and Marco at the same time. Digby had ESP on his side; Marco never forgot a scent.
"Thanks," woofed a deep male bark, and a lean, red-haired dog wearing a fedora with a shamrock pinned to the brim, and sporting a patch over one eye, padded into the room with all the insouciance of Paris Hilton running a red light.
"Hi-ya, Spencer," said Marco. "What's with the patch?"
The handsome spaniel grinned. "I'm a drama queen, so sue me. Besides, I just loved 'Pirates of the Caribbean.'"
"Swell news, but what are you doing here, fella?" asked Ashmead, lowering his blowgun, but keeping his hackles high.
"I'm coming in from the cold," Spencer told him.
"Say what?" oinked Itza Hogg. "It's gotta be in the fifties out there."
"Oh, for Dog's sake! I'm a spy like the rest of you!"
"Prove it," growled Ashmead.
"Well, darn! I left my scrapbook in the car. Will some bloodstains on a torn gold lame dress do the trick?"
"He's telling the truth," vowed Digby the demon.
"That he is," said Sammy Chan, and the Lincoln Park attorney general waddled into the room a few paces behind Spencer.
"Good evening, Grandmother. Old habits die hard, I see."
"I was planning to keep you out of this, boy, but you're smarter than I thought."
"It runs in the family," said Sammy Chan. "Now let's really get down to the business at paw. Jade Jardine is missing! Suggestions, anyone?
Developing....very quietly...
See a new installment under our comments section at the top of the blog~
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