Wot way Missy?
Follow my snout, quickly nows, ThreeLegs is right up our furry butts
And there’s some right nasty looking muttwits along with him
Turn right out the gate, and everyone trot close together
Good shout, safety in numbers, init
The pack spills onto a metaled country track and picks up the pace. ThreeLegs lurching along behind thems in a three hop motion, flanked by two streetlegs bruisers. ThreeLegs is a squat and heavy Bull Terrier. The two Bullypit bruisers are squatter and heavier. Fur caked in farmyard poop, eyeballs mucky and earflaps chewed ragged from a brutal streetlegs life.
We go get thems guests, boss? sez the first brute.
Nicy nice boss? echoes the second brute.
Show a sense of occasion boys…this chase only just getting started the snifz of Missy is sharp in his snout holes. But he don’t wants her. He only wants the greener snifz of Foxy who trotted out of his life once before. But not this time.
The chase is relentless. The older fourlegs are already quivering under the strain. Hurrying through wiggly country lanes, tall hedges either side, pausing to snifz at farm gates, fields beyond busy with heavylegs chewing their simple lives away. The air snifz of heavylegs’ poop.
Missy follows her snout holes, eyeballs glued to discovering the sniffy track wot leads across the Thameslick. Wot sniffy track, in turn, leads back to the Vape shop on the corner. Wot then turns right, left, left, right, down the hill a bit, and right, left, right into the front garden of Tony packmate’s den. Home. When she gets there she promises herself a well-deserved poop – if she gets there.
I can’t keep up Missy Foxy’s trembling voice behind her I haven’t run lyk this since – well, since never
Yes yu can, darlin’ encourages Missy.
No, yu can’t me darlin’ further encourages ThreeLegs from close behind.
Nah, yu can’ts the two brutes growl.
Missy is confident she can outpace ThreeLegs but not his two brutes. They are all muscle and sharp teeth without a kilogram of mercy between thems. The wicked truth is, Foxy and the rest of pack will fall under their paws long before she does. To make matters worse the rainlick is nows falling in cold grey waves, slicking her red marled coat grey. Missy vows that if Foxy stumbles then she will stop beside her, baring her teeth in a final bloody stand.
That’s it girls, I’m all done in an elderly wheaten terrier slumps down in a puddle and awaits her fate.
Leave that guest be ThreeLegs barks at the two brutes she’ll be right there on our returns
Our returns the two brutes agree.
The field slopes downhill towards a thin wood, hiding a small lick of stream. The female pack digs deeper to find one final surge of energy. If only they can get into thems woods, across the stream…
Ahh, lemme go yu big muttwit a voice squeals out. Another fourlegs loses the race, the scruff of her neck between the jaws of one streetlegs brute. Ropes in the brute’s neck bulge as it throws the fourlegs down. She sprawls on her back, immediately splaying in submission.
Trot on girls! Missy barks in desperation for dog’s sake keep on trotting!
Exhausted and with little hope left, Foxy follows Missy under cover of the woods and out of the rainlick. Collapsing and panting hard I’m all done in!
Just lyk that! Henry stands on back paws using his weight to push over the rubbish skip. Good old Mackers never employs thems fancy rubbish skips with spring catches. The lid falls off and a bounty of orange-sniffy wrappers tumble across Mackers’ drive thru.
McChicken! GitOrrf! leaps in the air with glee.
Double quarter-pounder with cheese, McNuggets, and chips Henry wags his stubby tail.
This month’s special, Henry, me old shaft mate
The mission, the chase, the whole reason for two fourlegs to be a whole long ways away outside Westley Piddle in the first place is swept aside and completely forgotten in the Mackers moment.
Mackers. Almost as good as KFC for starving fourlegs.
The crashing of a door thrown open and a tubby sniffing hindlegs is scritching at thems both.
Hold fast hero GitOrrf! commands Henry, biting at sniffy packets in all directions, stuffing his mouth with fast food as fast as possible.
“getaway,gitoff,gitoff!” the tubby hindlegs bounces into life, wobbling straight at the two hungry fourlegs, tossing a freshly wrapped Artisan grilled chicken wrap at their furry heads. Henry snaps it out of the air and gobbles it down in one.
Thanks mate, got another?
How come that hindlegs knows yur name? Henry asks GitOrrf!,mayonnaise running down the sides of his chops as Mackers disappears behind them.
A lot of hindlegs knows it, mate
Bellies full, they snifz Freddy’s Farm carried on the cold swirling curtains of rainlick.
How much further?
Only about three squirtz, up the hill
And then we’ve arrived?
Nah, then it’s over a field
And that’s it? GitOrrf!’s paws are aching.
Nah, then it’s over another field
..and then? Freddy’s Farm?
On and on they trot, earflaps hanging heavy with rainlick. Approaching a strand of woodland, uninviting blackness beneath the drooping leaves.
I hope KFC’s other side of thems woods, wot d’yu think, Henry
Don’t do thinking when trotting, lyk. Ain’t safe
Duncan throws himself to the left side of the police howling roundlegs. The purply snifz of heavylegs’ poop is strong in the air. By the snifz of it they are getting close to Freddy’s Farm. PC Andersen steering the roundlegs into another country lane, splashing through puddles. He still isn’t turning on the howling and this is troubling Duncan.
There’s something sniffy familiar reaching his snout holes. Sniffing all blue-purply wicked.
The big Dobermann throws himself this way and that, PC Andersen turning the wheel and peering through the wipers. With a final crunch of tyres on gravel the roundlegs turns into Freddy’s Farm. Duncan snifz a large barn ahead and a frenzy of colours.
Snifz trouble, boss he warns PC Andersen bad snifz from hindlegs, desperation from fourlegs, be careful boss
PC Andersen is ignoring him, as usual. He stops the howling roundlegs – wotz not been howling.
Danger close, PC Andersen. Beware!
The farm door opens and out steps a blue-purply hindlegs twice the size of PC Andersen.
This hindlegs spills no fear of Duncan. Most hindlegs spill fear from their furless bodies at the site of PD Duncan. Only hindlegs who are used to fourlegs spill no fear. Not only that, this hindlegs snifz of the very same spot where Foxy got whisked. Duncan stands ready, muscles quivering. Blue purply hindlegs fuming in front of him. Yep this could turn into bit of a rumble.
A muffled barking from inside the barn Duncan, is that yu? That is yu, init? Get us outta here, mate! .
“shuddupbackthere” Freddy scritches, his eyeballs never straying from PC Andersen.
‘gofindthosedogs,fella” PC Andersen commands Duncan under his breath, unleashing him.
Duncan is away at once, towards the barn
“oi,wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?” Freddy scritches in panic ‘Checkers!Checkers!”
But Checkers ain’t nowhere in sight.
Duncan trots straight at the big barn door, recognizing the double hinge spring-lock and head-butting his way through. Deafening barks assault him from all sides. He trots slowly down the center aisle, dodging squirtz and poop flowing into a gutter that runs the length of the floor. The air is dense with purply-red fear, cruelty, hopelessness.
PD Duncan, get me outta here!
I wanna go home
I ‘m not supposed to be locked in with strangers
Where’s my nosh?
Duncan! Open this dog dam door!
Release me, release me, release me
Duncan knows some of these fourlegs but he ain’t here for thems. Snifz of Foxy is growing stronger from a cage at the far end. Reaching it he licks at the floor tiles where the taste is sniffy sharp and very fresh.
Foxy he growls, another snifz and Missy Biscuits
Wot happens happens a small voice remarks from the corner
I’m PD Duncan, who are yu?
Not wot yu are, who yu are?
My snifz-name is Sausage the dachshund replies
Do yu belong here?
Corss not, I belong with doctor Kapoor, my packmate
Right then, out yu come
The door to the barn swings open and PC Andersen stands there, scritching into his handpaw at Roger.
Behind him is Freddy, nows red-sniffy with rage and waving both handpaws in the air. Duncan readies to rumble.
But the sniffy hindlegs is not interested in fighting.
“baa,baa” he scritches “they’retraineesheepdogs!”
“traineesheepdogs,freddywatson?” PC Andersen scritches at him in disbelief.
“yessir,officer” waving more handpaws “baa,baa”
But where’s Foxy and Missy? Duncan lifts his snout, urgently sniffing the air ‘round abouts.