Chapter 1. Giblets

Giblets the Brindle Boxer wot enjoys hurling insults at any fourlegs trotting in the street below his balcony discovers an unloved and mistreated German Shepherd puppy sniffing ‘round abouts his apartment block. Giblets is determined to save him before Freddy’s Farm arrives and whisks him right off.

A particularly furry day in Westley Piddle, that inconspicuous town on the Thameslick between Bisham and Cock Marsh.  Summer is giving way to Autumn, the bright hot ball’s high in the sky and Herdwick pooping park is full of grey furrylegs pups leaping up and down the marker posts, racing over branches, and learning to stay off the scratch ‘special of the day’ menu. 

Fourlegs are waking up to their own menu, too –

Hellooo – ooo

Hellooo yuuuu toooo

Lads, check out thems chops under Tesco bins

..lamb chops, beef chops, pork chops, chop chops, it’s all kicking off

Nows yor really barkin’!

There is a sunny spot in the corner of the living room where Giblets can enjoy all-day warmth.  In this spot his special circular chair is placed.  He can wrap himself up on it curling neat as a ball, his snout cozily rubbing the nub of his tail. The other great thing about this spot is immediate access to the balcony door.  That’s important for a fourlegs wot lyks to bark a lot.

From the comfort of his chair Giblets can sniff wotever fourlegs trots into Drakefield Road.  And there’s many of ‘ems.  Drakefield, the long meandering road wot starts just up Westley Piddle High Street, beyond Tesco Extra, twisting and turning towards the outskirts all of five squirts later to wotz called the narrow ends of town.  Beyond that, flat fields full of heavy leg poopers.

Giblets curls himself tighter into his chair feeling well amenable that nosh is not a long way off.  Regular as clockwork he snifz the passing of time coz of all thems fourlegs passing by and walking their hindlegs. He also knows the exact time – wotz nows – thanks to AndyLegs opening the fridge door.


Pulling out a pot full of chickens livers and dropping it on the stove. 


Turning on the gas.

Giblets is not sure what the fridge or stove are but he surely recognises thems orange-sniffy chickens livers heating up on the gas for noshing.

Yessir! nows noshing time.

Ah, chickens livers he grunts in contentment before pricking up his ears to the sound of paws on the pavement outside followed by the sniff of a particular fourlegs that deserves some loud ag.  Giblets bounces off his chair and rushes onto the small balcony, standing on hind toes, eyeballing over the top.

Oi Dognuts! he hollers yer fat Welsh bast’d…snifz yuz

Snifz yu too, boyo, yer stunty pig-faced castrate Donuts growls back.

Giblets quickly checks underneath before answering got big plumbs mate, wotz all sweaty and overworked

Sure bach, overworked with self-licking

Donuts is taking Wynn, his hindlegs companion, on the regular late afternoon walk.  A walk that, unfortunately, has to transgress the narrow end of Westley Piddle because of the vape shop a bit ways up ahead.  Corss, this means trotting past Giblet’s houseden.

Come on Wynn, we don’t need to associate with Anglo Saxon peasantry Donuts pulls Wynn along a touch faster than Wynn really wants to be pulled.


That’s right, trot on, yu podgy pizzles Giblets bounces up and down on his springy rear paws.

Straining his neck sideways over the balcony Giblets eyeballs the Welsh Terrier and his hindlegs companion til they disappear out of sight – the snifz of Donuts lingering a good while longer. He then hops down and trots back to his special chair.  The hot ball in the sky is slowly falling down just behind the tower block the other side of the road leaving his chair in shadow.  Shadows on his chair also means noshing time, don’t it! 

No sooner has he jumped up and curled up he’s off to the balcony again.

Oi, great mind, snifz yuz he shouts down at Henry, the English Mastiff.

Who’s that? Henry calls out in a deep bass tone, ears flicking back, instantly ready for a bit of submitting action.

Me, Giblets, up here mate

Up where?

Look up, yer happy muttwit

Henry looks up.

No mate, look up, to yor left

Wot way’s left?

Henry, easily the biggest fourlegs in Westley Piddle, is gifted with equally the smallest intellectuals in Westley Piddle.  His thinking gristle often left alone and forgotten between earflaps ‘cept when it comes time for some good old noshing or submitting action.

Don’t look, just snifz Giblets trots him through the motions.

It works.

Submit, yer rascal! cracks Henry, coming a sudden stop with Franks bumping into his butt.

Sure, mate, trot up a few floors and I will Giblets offers the standard appeasement to shut up Henry so he can move onto further topics.

What do yu want? Franks and me are off to The Greyhound

Snifz any of thems six teeters on yor travels, Big K?  Big K being short for Big Knickers ‘enry and only used by the intimates – wot, as it happens, Giblets ain’t; but, he knows Big K can’t be arsed to trot up three flights of stairs to start any correcting actions.


Bitches lyk, ‘specially any red-sniffers, lyk

No red sniffers…ain’t got the particulars for’em these days

Just coz yu ain’t got no plumb bobs don’t mean yu ain’t sniffed any of ’ems, mate

“c’monHenry,mate,missinggooddrinkingtime” Franks pulls at his lead, eager for his pint or three of Guinness.

Be seein’ yers Giblets, the black stuff’s callin’

Sure, mate, toodle on

Giblets strains his neck watching Henry disappear until the highly agreeable orange snifz of perfectly boiled chickens livers pulls at his snout and whips him back indoors.

As it happens he just misses out on the delicate snifz of a German Shepherd fourlegs pup wotz being carried through the apartment block’s main door down belows.



The little hindlegs boy grabs hold of the pup and squeezes it to his chest.


“Germanshepherd,innit – andyourresponsibility,cozwedon’twanthimpoopin’all’roundthehouse”

“sure,dad” Aaron grins, cradling the pup with instant love and rushing off to his bedroom.

The fourlegs pup is sniffing fast as his cool wet button snout can snifz.  A whole new world of colours is making his head spin.  He’s not so sure about the iffy blue-purplish snifz fuming off ‘dad’ but Aaron sure does snifz clean and happy. And a lot safer than the dark sniffing place he’s just come from, beforenows.

Oi, six teets! Up ‘ere!

Poppet the willowy Afghan hound ignores the racket, used to male fourlegs giving her chirp.

Especially those wot dream of bosching on her party washer.  But no fours are allowed to itch her rear end – unless it’s Drizzle, or Duncan or –

Oi, Poppet, snifz yuz

Ignore it.

Hey, hello, honey hole

Ignoring it…

Ooh hoo, Poppet, my minge, ooh hoo

Keep ignoring it.


Enough already! she spins ‘round and looks up clocked yu first time, didn’t I, muttwit?

Giblets grins a slobbery grin from his balcony hello, my G

Yuz ain’t my G.  Just coz me and Stonks are out on our dailies don’t mean we needs any jaw from riff raff lyk yu

“stopbarking,Poppet” Stonks, tugs at her lead.

Wotevs Giblets cackles, unfazed – don’t give insults if yu can’t take thems is wotz written in his feeding bowl but I got rights to hail anyones I wants, too

Yu ain’t got no rights, yu pagan– she stops barking and starts sniffing.  Faint on the wind is the definite snifz of a new four somewhere ‘round abouts.

A young male. And young males tend to grow into big males. She’s touched with a sudden giddiness and burning from her back end.

Who’s that then?

Who’s wot then?

Poppet carefully snifz and turns her head towards Giblet’s manor, full of all thems small housedens. 

There’s a new four in yor yard, somewheres

Giblets does some deep sniffing himself. 

Yeah, she’s right an’ all.

Yor right an’ all, Poppet and if fours can feel a jealous streak then Giblets reckons he’s feeling it now but who cares about a sniff when yu can have the whole four bowl meal. Me right? Right here, right nows he dances ‘round abouts on his back paws, swelling his size over the balcony railings. Boxers are well muscled and he wants her to snifz all of ‘ems.

Yor more of a quick snack, mate, not nearly enough to fill a hungry girl lyk me

“c’mon,yerskankybitch” Stonks shoves Poppet along with a fat footpaw in its tight high-heel“mightbehandsomecock,upahead”

And off they trot. 

Giblets strains his neck to watch Poppet until she disappears before leaping away from the balcony and making for the front door, sniffing at it to distraction.  He scratches away until AndyLegs opens the door allowing Giblets to charge into the corridor.  One by one he snifz out all thems other doorways in the hall.

She’s right he grunts with swelling anger there’s another male ‘round abouts and I’m gonna find him and teach him who’s the boss snout

He noses open the stairwell fire door and scuttles down the stairs to the next floor.

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