"Morey the Mutt" continues tonight -- 5/11. Meanwhile, catch the most recent installments in our archives under 01/04/2007. (Photo by Beth Javens)
posted by LuLu @ 11:05 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, April 25, 2007
"Morey the Mutt" continues tonight -- 5/11. Meanwhile, catch the most recent installments in our archives under 01/04/2007. (Photo by Beth Javens)
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~
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Yes, dog-hounds and bitches, once again it's recap time on Morey the Mutt...
After escaping a conflagration that destroyed the palatial doghouse of Sir Wellington Molosser, Daisy and big English mastiff admitted their puppy love for one another and decided to cohabit in a guest doghouse.
But there are problems in paradise, better known as the obsessively purebred dog-centered community of Canine Haven.
For starters, Mrs. Karl March, a doe rabbit with an understandable carrot chip on her shoulder, has been arrested and charged with arson. Her father, the Easter Bunny, insists she innocent, and he's brought in some truculent terrier attorneys to prove it.
Meanwhile, Mrs. March's husband has decided to sue his father-in-law for calling him a vile name, and last week a cute process server showed up at Woodrow the bulldog's guest doghouse with a subpoena for Sir Wellington.
The book-loving bulldog, no longer able to muzzle his admiration for his host's cousin, Entlebucher Sennenhund, got caught with his harness off while in the midst of forepaw play with her -- but then, it's spring, and that's what makes the world go 'round.
OK, so not according to Stephen Hawking -- but you know what I mean.
Story continued below...
Story continued...
"A process server!" barked Ente, her eyes turning wild and her hackles rising like the spikes on a porcupine or Don Imus' eyebrows.
"Sir Wellington Molosser doesn't even live here, my good pup," growled Woodrow, feeling embarrassed for almost getting caught in flagrante delicto.
"Do you even play tennis?" snarled Ente, glaring with disdain at the server's dropped tennis ball, while she tried to pretend that her collar wasn't dangling over her right ear.
"Bet I can play any game as well as you can, lady," arfed the cute poodle mix. He winked at Woodrow.
"Got yourself a pawful there, dawg," he observed.
"Get out of this doghouse!" snarled Ente.
The cute little dog winked again, grabbed his tennis ball and left.
"We've got to warn Wellington!" Ente woofed at Woodrow.
The bulldog hesitated. "I hate to interrupt him when he's with Daisy."
"Oh, of course!" howled Ente. "The world always has to revolve around Dr. Daisy, I suppose?"
"Now, Ente, that's not the case of Greenies at all."
"Admit it! You're in love with her!"
"Ente, Daisy doesn't know I'm alive. Even when we were sleeping together in a cave, she showed no genuine interest in me."
Wrong thing to bark, thought Woodrow. Seriously wrong thing.
Story continued below...
Story continued...
Every hair on Ente's body turned hackle. "So I'm your number two choice, obviously! And I suppose, if Daisy wags her tail or shakes her rump in your direction, you'll do a Brad Pitt on me in a field-trial minute?"
"Ente, you're not being reasonable!" barked Woodrow. "As it says in the book we were reading -- bitches tend to let their emotions run away with them, whereas guys would much rather just chase squirrels."
"Don't you dare attempt to patronize me with blather, tripe and psycho-babble! Go find Dr. Daisy and bark along with her. She's a psychiatrist, isn't she?"
"Pizza's here," arfed Morey, lunging in the door with a large red box in his mouth.
Entlebucher shoved past him, and the box went flying.
"Wait a minute!" howled Morey. "I got extra anchovies."
"You know what you can do with your anchovies, you ill-bred cur!" she snarled, and charged out the door.
Woodrow laid his head on his paws. "I will never understand bitches."
"Tennis, anyone?" arfed the little process server, dropping his ball next to a heap of shattered pizza.
"What are you doing back here?" Woodrow asked him.
"Looking for Morey the Mutt," he replied, his nose twitching. "Say, is that pizza with extra anchovies?"
"Yeah, and I'm the guy you want," barked Morey.
"Don't' tell me someone plans to sue my friend here?" asked Woodrow.
The poodle mix grabbed a piece of sausage and a mouthful of anchovies. "Yup. Peter Cottontail."
Morey shook his head. "I've never met the rabbit."
"He's the Easter Bunny's vicious elder son," the process server enlightened. "I don't know what that rabbit has against you, but take my advice and leave town. PC is known to his pals as THUMPER for a reason."
"Have another chunk of pizza," Morey offered, thinking that the pup had a good idea -- but how the rabbit fur did he get in touch with the Sade?
Story continued next week~
"Ehhh, what's up, Doc?" asked Karl March from his pound cell, as a Doberman guard stuck his head through the bars.
"Visitor, bunny. By the way, that joke is seriously pallid."
"So are these dried-out carrot sticks you keep feeding me," grumbled the rabbit. "But do I complain?"
"Well, yeah, Karl, you do. In fact, you've done nothing much but complain since the day they brought you in here."
The rabbit pawed the carrot stick over to the Dobie. "Here. Stick this stick where the sun don't shine, and take me to my lawyer."
"How do you know it's your lawyer who's come to see you?"
"I don't get any other visitors."
"Imagine that," remarked the dog.
Story continued below...
Story continued...
"How's the tail, Karl?" asked his eager young attorney, Tommy the Tort, the moment the rabbit squatted down, and Karl winced as all the mammals within earshot cut their eyes in their direction.
"Bad joke in the slammer, Tom."
"I meant your cottontail," Tommy amended. "Have they taken the stitches out yet?"
"Ever sit on a nest of fire ants?" his cuddly client asked him.
"Not lately."
"Well, that's what my tail feels like, and yeah, they took the stitches out."
"Sorry," said Tommy, although he really didn't give a chicken bone. He'd already made out a nice little list of mammals his client might want to consider suing (aside from his well-lettuced father-in-law). It was a rather creative list, if he did bark so himself.
"The media like the discrimination fight you're having with the Easter Bunny," he said. "Old J.P. is throwing green all over the place, and swearing up and down that he's not a bigot. Still, he insists he'll never settle out of court, but I think we've got him by the tail, Karl."
The rabbit winced again.
"Oh, sorry."
"Yeah, yeah. Some lawyer. Open mouth, insert paw. So, who else can we nail along the garden path?"
"Well, the Canine Haven PD, of course. They used extreme force..."
"They were trying to blast Dr. Daisy."
"She's also on the list, Karl."
"What? Hey, wait a minute! I don't want to sue Daisy."
Tommy the Tort raised his big brown eyes and bared his sharp white teeth. "Listen to me, Karl. Do you want to come out of the high grass and show yourself as a genuine rabbit revolutionary -- or do you want to remain nothing more than an annoying little rebel who does bad Bugs Bunny imitations for the rest of your life?"
"OK, I get the picture, but how are you going to work the Daisy bit?"
"She led a gang of vicious Cossacks right to the spot where you were nibbling on some tasty romaine lettuce -- too good for a common rodent, I suppose?"
"I never thought of it like that," said Karl. "You do have half a brain, after all."
"Better than half a tail," snapped Tommy, his eyes lit from a fire within. "Look, you and I can both make names for ourselves, Karl -- but we have to prove our mettle and be absolutely ruthless in the pursuit of our goal."
"Fine, fine. Just can the motivational high points along with the tail jokes. Who else you got on the list?"
Story continued below...
Story continued...
The cunning BT wagged his tail. "Sir Wellington Molosser, Entlebucher Sennenhund..."
Karl March twitched his pink nose. "How about my wife?"
Tommy blinked his dark, 'kinder schema' eyes. "You want to sue Mrs. March? Uh...what the duck intestines for?"
"Got ya on that one, eh, Tommy?" The rabbit looked highly pleased with himself.
"Well, your doe has no dough, if you'll excuse the pun. Rich poppa, but she hasn't got so much as her own bank account or lettuce patch. She's produced litter after litter of offspring for you..."
"And she hasn't bothered to visit me since the day I got arrested," Karl pointed out smugly.
"I'd say that's because she got arrested herself."
"No matter. She's out now, and she hasn't exactly hippity hopped it over here to comfort me in my lonely cell. Now has she?"
He twitched his nose. "I think there's another player involved."
"You want to go for alienation of affections here?" his lawyer asked him.
"For starters. First we got to figure out who he might be."
Tommy the Tort's eyes danced with delight. "You know, Karl, I think you and I might make a great team."
"Already planning on a rich future with the ACLU, are you, Tommy?"
"The ACLUFCTWCSS&B," his attorney corrected him.
"Huh?"
"The Associated Civil Liberties Union For Critters That Walk, Crawl, Slither, Skitter & Buzz."
"Catchy," remarked the rabbit. "Now, listen, how about getting some decent crudites in here for me. I've been sucking on these carrot sticks from hell..."
Story continued next week.
Peter Cottontail, the CEO of Bunny Trail Industries, was in a rare good mood, a fact which made the majority of his staff highly nervous.
Peter, better known as 'Thumper,' was hell on a rabbit's foot when he was in a bad mood, but since his good moods were generally precursors to deeds so dastardly the staff wanted to cover their eyes with their flippity-floppity ears, a bad mood was actually preferred.
"You think he's planning to kill one of us?" asked a jittery hare from accounting of a perky Angora from rabbit resources. "Worse yet, do you think he might be planning to tear up our pension plans?"
The little Angora shuddered. "Beats me, honey, but he was pumped when he hopped in here this morning. His assistant told me he spit carrot juice all over that picture of his father he keeps on his desk, and then he started giggling, and said something like -- 'Your tail's gonna be dangling from a key chain soon, Daddy Dearest.'"
"Holy Easter Eggs!" muttered the hare. "He's back in his patricide mode. I'm going to put in for some sick leave, because the yolk's going to hit the fan!"
Meanwhile, three floors above, in his exclusive corner hutch, Thumper was tapping one size-ten foot against the floor and thinking about Morey the Mutt.
Although he'd never met Morey, Thumper had decided to sue him for everything short of the the Maine Mutant Maulings, for a reason which made perfect sense, at least to him.
Thumper knew that Morey was not, as he claimed, a purebred dog, but instead a mongrel -- a cur and a mutt. And on that basis alone did Thumper hatch a devious plan.
His father, J.P. Easter, a senile lump of fur who should have hipped his last hop years ago, had his lawyer defending his idiot sister on an arson charge. The old langomoph was even taking on Sir Wellington Molosser, the town's leading citizen, and the victim in the case.
Worse yet, Karl March, his sister's Looney Tunes husband, was getting a lot of play from the scum bunnies who controlled the press, and was making the family look even more ridiculous.
Story continued below...
Story continued...
The purebred dogs of Canine Haven were displeased.
Thumper could sense it as he hopped around the golf course at his club, or caught the looks in the eyes of the dogs who sat on his board. He sensed their contempt when he overheard his friends telling jokes about long upper incisors.
His friends? Not really. But they accepted him because he was J.P. Easter's son...because he had gone to the right schools...because he had plenty of lettuce.
Thumper slammed down his foot until the entire hutch shook. He hated being J.P. Easter's son! He was the smart one in the family! He was the one who had come up with the idea for Bunny Trail Industries! So he had used his father's money as start-up lettuce. So what?
But there was one thing the purebred dogs of Canine Haven hated even more than they hated rich, pushy rabbits who wouldn't freeze like statues whenever one of them barked -- and that one thing was mutts.
The snobs of Canine Haven hated MUTTS.
Thumper rubbed his furry heel, and laughed his maniacal laugh. He was going to prove it was Morey the Mutt who had set the fire that burned down Sir Wellington Molosser's palatial doghouse.
Once Morey was sent to the pound and he was acclaimed a hero by all the top dogs, Thumper would once again take his father to court, and at long last have the Easter Bunny declared imcompetent.
Then all of J.P.'s lettuce, his corporations, his carrot patches --all of it would be HIS.
Yes, Thumper was in a happy mood, and just to prove it, he decided to drop his employees' new veterinary health care plan. He would, after all, soon be needing a much larger hutch in order to entertain his scores of new friends.
Story continued next Friday~
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