...but is Effie slicker? Find out tonight as our story inches its way toward a conclusion. (Photo by J.M. Hilton)
posted by LuLu @ 10:47 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~
Friday, November 16, 2007
...but is Effie slicker? Find out tonight as our story inches its way toward a conclusion. (Photo by J.M. Hilton)
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
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The Maltese Chew Toy (continued)
Last week Sam and his friends crawled through the heating ducts in order to get onto the Gatthamer estate --well, all except for buff former guard dog Murray, who leaped the fence in a single bound. Once inside the pool house, a minor dog fight broke out, as Murray tried to remember exactly where Mr. Webley-Fosbery, the Gatthamer butler, had buried a box which might possibly contain the fabled 'Diamond Dogs' diamonds. As we ran out of fresh ideas, the big German Shepherd barked the word 'topiary,' and Sam headed at a rapid dog trot toward the back part of the property...
Sam stared at the neatly clipped bushes, shaped to resemble objects which had once held meaning for mobster Bugsy Gatthamer, and all at once it came to him.
"The bush clipped to resemble a machine gun," he arfed, as Murray padded to his side. "Am I right?"
Murray nodded. "I think you're on the kibble, son. Spinning it from a psychological angle, I'd say you have to be right."
"How's does that biscuit crumble?" asked Cairo, padding up with Brigid by his side.
Murray sat down and thumped his tail. "Mr. Webley-Fosbery is a former soldier," he arfed, "so he would naturally see anything shaped like a gun as a protective symbol.
"Further," he went on, "when he buried the box, he'd recently discovered that his son -- the product of his loins -- was alive. Hence..."
"Oh, for Dog's sake!" snapped Brigid, pooper-bag the Freudian analysis and start digging!"
"How 'bout you go first, honey," growled Iva, "or are you too proud to get your paws dirty -- and instead expect us to do all the work?"
"The males have larger paws, dear," Brigid snapped back, "except for Cairo, of course."
The little pug hung his head.
"All right," barked Sam, "let's get to it, Murray. The rest of you keep a sharp lookout with your noses up. If anybody comes out onto the porch, we need to, as they say in dog Latin -- amscra."
And Sam and Murray set to work.
(Story continued below...)
Story (cont'd)
Mud flew and time passed. Sam and Murray dug three good-sized holes directly beneath the bush clipped to resemble a machine gun, and came up with nothing.
"It has to be there!" howled Brigid. "It HAS to."
"I'm going to help them!" declared Cairo, but as he approached the bush, he got smacked in the face with a pawload of dirt and backed away faster than a retriever at a coyote convention.
"A noise!" barked Iva. "I heard a door slam. Murray! Sam!"
But it was too late.
An elderly two-footer, holding a gun in his hand came charging out onto the porch. "Dogs!" he shouted. "Get out of here, dogs!" And he raised what looked to Sam (who possessed remarkably keen eyesight) like a neat Mauser pistol -- an unlikely gun for an elderly butler, but the old boy was a former military man.
"Dad, don't!"
Sam saw a young two-footer in a wheelchair -- and then he heard the shot.
A small branch from the bush overhead landed with a smack at Sam's paws. Happily, the butler's aim was off. But suddenly fogging rats seemed like a walk in the park.
"Murray!" howled Sam. "Get your fleas dancing and let's get the pound out of here!"
"I've got to get Iva!" barked the big police dog -- but Iva was in a scuffle with Brigid, and it was obvious the bitches were in it for blood and not just a simple pelt-pull.
The butler got off another shot, and Cairo fell to the ground. Sam
grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him behind a hedge.
"Where are you hit?" he asked. "Is it bad, Cairo?"
The little pug opened one molasses-colored eye. "I'm playing 'possum, Sam. Listen, Brigid planned all of this. She wanted you and Murray to dig up the diamonds for us, and then she hoped to cause a commotion and get the Webley-Fosberys out here. We would attack you and Murray. I was supposed to attack MURRAY!" He began to tremble.
"But we haven't found the diamonds," Sam panted, "and if Brigid was supposed to attack me, she's more than got her paws full with Iva."
"I know. The plan went wrong, and..."
"All Brigid's plans seem to go wrong," snarled Sam. "When are you finally going to see the light and stand up to her, Cairo?"
Another shot ricochetted off a bush, and the pug went back to playing 'possum.
"Sam?"
It was Murray.
"You hit?"
"No, Mr. Webley-Fosbery is hopelessly myopic, and now his son is chasing him around the yard in his wheelchair. I wish he would put down that gun! I can't get Iva away from Brigid, and I won't jump the fence without her."
"Brigid planned all this," Sam told him.
"Well, we kind of figured..."
"Yeah," arfed Sam.
(Story continued below...)
Story (cont'd)
Dirt flew.
Sam and Murray spun around and stared.
It was Effie, and at her paws was a small box.
"Brigid!" she barked. "Brigid, I've got your diamonds!"
"Let me up, you pregnant freight train!" Brigid tried to grab hold of one of Iva's curly ears, but got only a mouthful of hair.
"Arf Uncle Dogcatcher!" growled Iva. "Arf it!"
Effie stepped away as Cairo sprang out from behind the hedge. "Brigid!" he howled. "I've got the box! I've got the diamonds!"
Jubilantly, the little pug picked up the small box by the twine wrapped about it, and took it directly to young Mr. Webley-Fosbery, who had finally cornered his parent with his wheelchair.
"Look, Dad! Here's the box. Look, the diamonds are safe."
"Iva," barked Effie, "let's go."
"Let me UP!" woofed Brigid.
"Say Uncle Dogcatcher first."
Brigid glanced in Effie's direction. "I want my necklace back!" she snarled.
Effie padded across the yard, grabbed Brigid, hauled her out from underneath Iva, shook her, and tossed her over her shoulder.
The muddy Maltese landed against a tree, and dropped like the stockmarket on a bad day.
"When she comes to and thinks it over," said Effie to Iva, "I doubt she'll want to mess with a certain pair of pregnant bitches from Post Street again."
Story continued next week.
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