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~

Friday, June 08, 2007

RERUNS! RERUNS! "The Maltese Chew Toy," one of our golden oldies, begins here. (Photo by J.M. Hilton)

9 Comments:

LuLu said...: The Maltese Chew Toy, By LuLu Oscard and Dashiell Dogwood....

Chapter One:

Sam Spencer's jaw was long and bony, his chin thrust forward at an almost belligerent angle, his black nose twitched constantly, his chocolate-brown, bedroom eyes gleamed with a combination of good humor and cunning.

Born a Cavalier King Charles spaniel on a breeding farm outside London, he had, not long thereafter, been taken by ship across the ocean, and shipped via truck to San Francisco, where he was earmarked for an upscale pet shop.

But Sam Spencer managed to escape. He managed to escape and hit the streets, and it was on these streets, in the rich and varied world of San Francisco, that he managed to obtain a most unrefined and useful education.

As he sauntered down Geary Street, Sam occasionally paused to sniff around a fire hydrant. Satisfied that no strangers were loose in the neighborhood, he casually relieved himself before moving on to the next one.

"Psst, Spencer." Old Grunt, a three-legged mutt who looked like a cross between a prairie dog and a fox, stuck his head out from behind a high wooden fence. "The dogcatcher's gonna get yer fer sure, dog. Yer just plain brazen."

Sam barked a laugh. "So how come you're still around? You're nine years old if you're a day. I'm only three."

"Careful," intoned the mutt. "I'm careful, Sam. I mostly come out at night."

Sam sat down and scratched at a flea. "So do cockroaches and bats."

"Always crackin' wise, eh?" said Old Grunt. "Well, enjoy yer freedom, Sam, 'cause I'm here to tell ya that it ain't gonna last."

And with the thwack of a fence board, the prognosticating old mutt vanished.

Sam Spencer continued his amble down Geary. The dogcatcher? Maybe there was a fat guy with ropes and clubs looming in his future, but the matter wasn't one which worried him overmuch. A dog could get an ulcer, he figured, and it wasn't as if he didn't have plenty of other problems. But so what? Life was a maze, and if you started worrying about things, you could get lost in it.

Story continued below...; 11:51 PM
LuLu said...: Story continued...

Sam made it to Post Street without getting lost in any mazes. He paused for a moment at a spot where a couple of badly treated juniper bushes all but concealed the entrance to a small vacant lot set between two apartment houses.
Sam looked about, sniffed the air, and content that all was well, slipped inside.

A beat-up doghouse was propped up against a fence with loose boards. Next to the doghouse was an unused tool shed with a broken, unlatched door. Lying inside of it was Effie the beagle, a pert bitch with almond-shaped eyes.

She rose as Sam entered, shook herself off, and nudged a container filled with water in his direction.

"It's fresh," she said, "and I've saved some food for you." She wagged her tail and batted her dark lashes at him.

"You're a good girl, Effie," complimented Sam, who lapped at the water dish for a few seconds but declined the unsavory-looking Red Heart. "It's getting hot. Summer's coming on."

She thrashed her tail. "And with it -- puppies!"

Sam flinched slightly. "You're sure about that?'

Effie's beautiful eyes clouded and her muzzle tightened. "Yes, Sam, I'm sure. I thought you said you wanted the pups."

"Sure I do." He backed off. "I just hope Mrs. Petoma won't blow her stack and stop feeding us -- or worse yet, kick us out."

Mrs. Petoma was the landlady at 891 Post Street. She was also Effie's mistress, and by default Spencer's, which is to say, she put up with him.

"Did Miss Caruthers do that when you got Iva in the family way?" Effie asked, her hackles rising.

Iva the Cocker spaniel was their next-door neighbor, and Sam had known her long before Effie arrived on the scene.

He growled a sigh. Bitches -- human and canine -- what on earth did they expect of him? He was only a dog, after all.

"Miss Caruthers called the dogcatcher on me and kept Iva inside until the pups were born," he told her. "You must know that. You and Iva gossip."

"Not about you," she insisted.

He changed the subject. "Anybody stop by? It's been a long time between clients."

"Iva came out to see Archer while he was here," Effie told him, not willing to let him off the choke collar a moment too soon. "Their relationship's getting serious. Iva thinks she's going to have puppies not long after I whelp."

Sam grunted.

Effie continued. "Also some fluffy little thing who looked like a show dog crawled under the fence about an hour ago. She was wearing pink polish on her nails and smelled like she'd been hanging out in an uptown lady's boudoir."

Sam glanced up and slowly wagged his tail. "No kidding? What'd she want?"

Story continued below...; 12:16 AM
LuLu said...: Story continued...

Effie resettled herself in the tool shed and began to gnaw on a day-old bone. She'd finally perked Sam's interest and obviously meant to hold it.

"Dunno what she wanted exactly," she said. "She asked if you were around. It was obvious you weren't, so she left."

Sam cocked his head. "You didn't happen to get her name?"

"Brigid," Effie replied with a derisive snort. "Looked like a Maltese. Not your type, Sam. Way too hoity-toity."

"All clients are my type," Sam told her, turning to leave. "If she stops by again, set up an appointment, sweetears. With any luck, this one won't pay us in chicken bones."

"Where are you going and when will you be back?" she inquired.

"Those aren't questions you should ask a dog," he informed her somewhat coldly, "namely as you'll always get an answer as crooked as my hind leg."

Story continued next week.; 12:23 AM
LuLu said...: The Maltese Chew Toy cont'd...

Sam headed down Post Street, pausing at his favorite lamppost to pick up scents. Hmmm. Something rather sweet down close to the base. Sweet and different. The leavings of a bitch named Brigid, perhaps? But Effie said she'd come in the back way. Ah, well. Who knew?

Sam retraced his paw prints over to Geary Street, and paused for a moment before entering an alleyway. He was on his guard, but all seemed well. He went to the backdoor of a restaurant he knew and began to bark. It took a minute, but finally the door opened a crack. "Eet eez zee dog," said a skinny waiter with a French accent as phony as his hairline.

"Give him some sausage," commanded a rotund individual with a drooping mustache.

"Yoo err zee bozz," said the waiter and placed a plate of sausages outside the door for Spencer. "Ici, ici. Eeet. Gud dog."

And he closed the door.

Spencer wolfed down the food and licked his chops. He'd fogged a few rats for the restaurant owner a couple of months before, and the grateful chef had a long memory.

Effie was going to have puppies soon, thought Sam. He couldn't just desert them -- or could he? He also thought about Iva, his former lover who was now his partner's girlfriend. She was going to whelp right after Effie?

He sincerely hoped the puppies were Archer's -- but he seriously doubted it.

Sam toyed with the idea of looking up Ricardo the cat, a mean mouser who had cut into his rat-fogging business a few times, but it was already past noon, and the skies were looking cloudy. Instead, he turned around and made his way back up Geary Street, faking a limp as he passed by a butcher's shop. As he'd hoped, the butcher's kid came out of the shop and handed him a bone. A lamb bone, no less. Sam licked the kid's ear, clenched the bone between his teeth, and hobbled off.

Story continued below...; 12:58 AM
LuLu said...: Story cont'd...

He got back to his own patch of earth, and dropped the lamb bone in front of a delighted Effie, just as Archer arrived with a much smaller bone for Iva.

Archer was a six-year-old terrier mix. He was of medium size, solidly built, wide in the shoulders, thick in the neck. He had a jovial heavy-jawed red face, but he was getting a little gray around the jowls.

Archer had been born on the streets, adopted by urchins a few times, given shelter by hobos and bums. By and large, he had always been on his own. He and Sam had teamed up two years before -- fogged some rats together, and once they'd even found a missing puppy, whose grateful owner rewarded them with a place to spend a rather harsh winter. That was before Sam discovered the patch of earth of Post Street -- and Iva.

Sam was not particulary fond of Archer. His partner never been an especially friendly dog, and he was slowing down and fast becoming a detriment in middle age. Cats could easily outrun him these days, and twice in recent weeks he'd almost been nabbed by the dogcatcher.

Sam let Archer hang out on his patch because he'd once taught him the ropes, and because he'd taken Iva off his paws. But Sam knew you couldn't teach an old dog new tricks, and he was afraid that it was only a matter of time before Archer led the dogcatcher straight to their sanctuary. Then the good times would be over fast.

Iva sashayed out the backdoor of 893, and barked once for Archer. She scowled at Sam, and wagged her tail at Effie -- an insincere effort at best. Sam tried, and failed, to hide a smile.

Iva was a blonde cocker bitch who was about the same age that he was. Her puppy prettiness was long gone, but her body was finely molded and exquisite. She wore a black leather collar with a silver heart for an ID tag, and while she was, thought Sam, little more than an occasional bop-stop for him anymore, she was way too good for his partner.

Her mistress, Sophie Caruthers, who owned number 893, agreed with this assessment. She'd been furious with Sam for getting Iva with puppies, and tried to get him thrown into the pound. But at least Sam was another purebred spaniel. Archer was a street dog, and the intensely snobbish Miss Caruthers wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, reasoned Sam, she might have been responsible for putting the dogcatcher on his tail. Miss Caruthers was just that kind of dame.

Still it was a relief to Sam that Archer would likely get the blame for Iva's second batch.

Iva really needed to get spayed, Sam concluded, although if she did, it would take a small measure of joy out of his life, and Sam, as usual, thought of himself first.

It was how he managed to survive.

Story continued below...; 2:15 AM
LuLu said...: Story cont'd...

Sam watched as Iva accepted Archer's ham bone with the barest of nods. She had seen the size of the bone Sam had given to Effie and was patently jealous. Poor Archer, thought Sam. He was a dog who just couldn't win for losing.

A sweet aroma like a lost load from a florist's truck suddenly assailed Sam's nostrils, and he follwed Archer's glazed stare to the fence that blocked off the alleyway. There, next to a dug-out hole in the ground, stood a veritable little Maltese bombshell.

She looked to be about two years old, which meant she had been around the block but wasn't completely off the leash. She was tiny, as became her breed, and her silky hair was as white as the petals on an Easter lily.

Her dark, liquid eyes were large, round and smoldering. She had a petite black nose, and when she moved, she appeared to float. Sharp white teeth glistened inside a tiny arch of a mouth, and a blue bow was gracefully perched on her topknot.

Spencer and Archer both stood at the ready, chins raised, tongues dangling. Iva bristled, while Effie merely looked appraising.

"I'm Brigid," said the little Maltese. She turned her head slightly and the rhinestones on her collar flashed. "I'm looking for a mutt goes by the name of Sam Spencer."

Story continued next week...; 2:23 AM
LuLu said...: The Maltese Chew Toy cont'd...

"Rein in your tongue, Sam. There's a pool of saliva by your front paws," Effie observed.

Sam responded with an amused grimace, slowly wagged his tail, then spoke to Brigid. "You just found your mutt of choice, sugar. What can I do to help you?"

"Or me," put in Archer, whose ragged tail, which had been caught in far too many slammed screen doors, was rotating faster than the speed of light.

"My partner," explained Sam. "The flea-bitten one."

"Like you've had a bath in six months," Archer growled.

Brigid sat down and arranged her neat little paws in front of her. "When you dogs get tired of playing around, just let me know. You'd best clue me in before it starts to rain, though, or I'm taking my business elsewhere."

"And just what sort of business would a sleek bitch like you have with two street dogs like Sam and Archer?" asked Iva. "You're not from around here. From the looks of you, you're straight off the Hill."

Brigid shook rather than wagged her tail. She carried it over her back like a rich woman's evening wrap. "At least you know quality when you see it," she said.

"Get off it, chew-rag," Iva retorted. "I'm as much of a pure breed as you are any old day."

Brigid looked down at her heavily lacquered nails. "Well, yes, but you're a cocker. Your breed is ever so much more common."

Archer blocked Iva's path before she could lunge. Sam said to Brigid, "Let's step out into the alley for a minute, sister. Effie, make sure Iva stays here."

Effie opened her mouth, and closed it just as quickly. She watched as Sam and Brigid crawled under the fence, and then checked to make sure that Archer had Iva under control, which he did. Effie went back inside the tool shed, flopped down, and began gnawing on her fresh lamb bone. Brigid was obviously trouble, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Fresh lamb bones were few and far between, and Effie prided herself on being practical.

Meanwhile, Sam kept his eye on Brigid as she exited his somewhat less than spectacular patch of earth, crawled under the fence, and emerged in a littered alleyway without so much as disturbing the blue silk bow on her topknot.

Quite a dame, he decided. She could probably walk through Great Dane droppings with all the aplomb of a princess.

She settled herself gracefully and looked up at him.

"Now, what can I do for you?" Sam asked her.

"It's complicated," she told him.

He nodded. "In my business most things are."

Story continued below...; 12:02 AM
LuLu said...: Story cont'd...

"It's like this," Brigid began, her gaze firmly holding his own. "I've got a kid sister named Lola. She's run off with one of the guard dogs from our digs on Nob Hill, and she's taken a fortune in jewels with her."

Sam spied an old leather slipper that had fallen out of one of the trash cans which lined the alleyway.

"Excuse me," he said, while he retrieved the item from a nearby bush. He stretched out contentedly and began chewing on the slipper.

Brigid waited patiently.

Finally he looked up. "Lola look like you?"

She nodded. "We're almost identical. She's only a few minutes younger."

"Tell me something about this guard dog," Sam prompted.

"His name is Thor," said Brigid. "He's big, mean. Never been neutered, of course."

Sam ripped the heel off the slipper. "Glad to hear he's all boy. What's his breed?"

"He's part Doberman and part bull-mastiff," she replied. "Sort of dark brown. Very powerful jaws."

"And he's keeping company with a Maltese?" Sam shook his head. "Talk about your odd couple."

Brigid looked down at her paws. "Lola is very innocent and has no idea about..." she raised her expressive eyes to his, batting her lashes in the process..."about certain things. She's highly romantic, you see, and I'm frightfully concerned. She's been gone for more than a week, and she's ready to go into season."

Sam spat out part of the heel. "Something tells me the bloom might be off the rose already," he said. "Now what's the skinny on this fortune in jewels."

"The jewels are inside a chew toy," Brigid confided. "The toy is a small bird. The head comes off and the jewels are tucked inside, under layers of cotton."

Sam tore apart the back end of the slipper. "Is this story for real, sweet-ears?"

Brigid allowed herself a small growl of exasperation. "I suppose I should have mentioned that LoLa and I belong to Florinda Gatthamer. Does the name jangle a dog tag?"

"Yeah," said Sam, "and it's makes a really ugly sound. Is she any relation to Bugsy Gatthamer, the mobster?"

Brigid's eyes flashed along with the rhinestones on her collar. "She's his wife, and whatever you've heard about him isn't true. Daddy Gatthamer loves animals and does his best to help people, but his efforts are misunderstood."

"I guess," said Sam, "that might explain why he's currently serving time in Alcatraz for murder."

Story continued next week...; 12:21 AM
LuLu said...: Our story continues next to Sam Spencer's picture (above).; 11:09 PM

LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

: 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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LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

Friday, June 08, 2007

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LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)

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