A story by some of my Mistress’s writer friends

While they were all waiting for the puppies to be born, some of my Mistress’s friends set about writing a short story between them – I seem to feature quite heavily! If you can tear yourself away from the puppy cam then here’s what they wrote. I’ll tell you more about the puppies later. Thank you to the contributors to this fun story!

ARRIVAL or Superbird and the Puppies
by Lexia, Lizy, Paperbackwriter, Phots Moll, Tiny Nell and Claudia

It was now Sunday afternoon.
We’d been waiting for what seemed like forever already.
But still nothing had happened. At least the sun was shining, though whether that had any relevance or not, I’m not sure.
Florists were poised on what was usually their day off, ready to make bone-shaped congratulatory offerings, and the champagne was on ice.
The house slaves were standing by to prepare Shadow’s favourite delicacies, and a clean bed was made up.
Alfie wanted to slope off to the pub but the women said he couldn’t go, so he sat in the corner of the kitchen feeling miserable.
“It’s not fair,” he thought. “Shadow goes off on a dirty weekend to Switzerland, comes home in all sorts of trouble and the rest of us have our normal routines kicked into the long grass whilst she gets all the attention. Talking of long grass, I wonder if that bone I buried the other week…”
…….might still be there.”
Alfie-dog sloped off outside, feeling very humpty that Muttley didn’t even notice him leaving, and made his way to the bottom of the garden.
“Oh no!” he thought, “I can smell fox!”
Even as he thought this, there was a rustle from the other side of the hedge and …….. the snapping of twigs.
” ‘kin ‘ell!” said a voice from high up. The hedge extruded a huge yellow foot (and I mean ginormous) on the end of a leathery yellow leg with a knobbly knee. Above the knee the thin leathery leg continued…”
Alfie craned his neck skyward. “Good God, Big Bird!”
“Nice of you to suggest it,” said the bird, putting his weight on the exposed leg and lifting his other leg out of the hedge. “But no, actually, I’m the stork.” He spoke through a muffled beak because he held the tied up ends of a huge cotton sheet in it. “I got fifteen Entelbucher puppies to deliver ‘ere and I can’t ‘ang around. Where do I go?”
“Straight over to Talkback – that’s where EVERYONE is waiting for them,” said Alfie-dog, and the stork took another enormous stride, but the stork’s huge yellow foot caught in a vast patch of brambles.
“Don’t nobody do no gardening round these ‘ere parts?” the stork mumbled past his bundle, stepped out bravely, and fell over.
To Alfie’s horror the sack of puppies went flying and landed in ……………next door’s garden, where grumpy old Mr Anti-Dog-Poop lived, with his pitchfork.
There Mr ADP was, pitch-forking piles of leaves onto a huge bonfire, and the bundle of puppies bounced off a hedge, careered in an arc right in front of Mr ADP’s astonished eyes, and vanished into the bonfire. Fortunately the pile had been growing for some time, and was too damp to burn, so Alfie-dog ………rushed over to save them. He skidded on the damp and muddy grass, formerly Mr ADP’s immaculate newly-turfed no-expense-spared lawn, leaving skid marks like ski tracks and came to a halt at Mr ADP’s boots.
“Who are you?” woofed Alfie.
“I’m ADP, you fool. You know that!”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there any cure for it?”
“Geddoudda here you insolent pooping machine!”
“Not without my puppies – I mean – Shadow’s puppies!”
Mr ADP raised his pitch-fork in a most threatening manner but as luck would have it (and because it’s a story) the stork dropped out of the sky and plopped down between them. With an impressive flourish of beak, Stork unzipped the front of his white feathery….front….his disguise dropped off and lo-and-behold…
“Big Bird!” gasped Alfie. “It really is you!”
“Not Big Bird,” cried the slender willowy figure, “The stork disguise is only one of many layers.” (layers = bird – gettit? Do try to keep up.)
“Who are you really?” Alfie asked, momentarily forgetting why he was here in his excitement.
“I am sworn to secrecy,” the creature told him – or was it a creature? Was it a bird? Was it a plane?
While Alfie was gazing up at it and wondering, ADP sneaked round behind them both and grabbed the bag of puppies.
“Ah-hah!” he cried with an evil laugh, “Fifteen more puppy-poopers cannot be allowed to live – next door to me or anywhere else!”
Alfie leapt on his back and ADP stumbled, and his free hand sank into the bonfire and landed on the spines of a hedgehog.
“Feckit , that hurts!” ADP yelled, jumping backwards, and his heel came down hard on a garden fork which whipped up – as in all the best cartoons – and clonked him on the back of the head. As he fell to the ground, stunned ……the fifteen puppies escaped from the sheet-bag and clambered all over him, licking him and wagging their little tails…
(All together now: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw)
….and peeing, of course.
When ADP came round, he was soaked in puppy-wee!
“You little blighters….” he yelled. “I’ll…..wring your bl**dy necks if I catch you!”
But of course he couldn’t. For one thing it’s difficult to run with your wellies full of wee.
For another there was a very angry hedgehog, its spines stuck all over with dead leaves, trying to spike ADP’s delicate bits. And Alfie was hanging onto one of his legs, trying not to breathe too deeply of the unsavoury stench emanating from his socks.
ADP – otherwise known as Attractiveness Deficient Person – was of the opinion that gardening socks should remain in the wellington boots all year, and only be washed when they became too stiff to put on.
Then there was SuperBird, who . . . pooped on ADP’s head before swooping down towards the scurrying pups.
‘Climb aboard, little guys,’ he chirped in his deep and throaty croak. ‘You’re in for an adventure you’ll never forget.’
Looking over his muscular shoulder, he flapped his shiny black cape, raised a feathery eyebrow and soared up over the bonfire with the eager pups clinging onto his back and, just for luck, dribbled one more shot of ammunition onto ADP’s left shoulder.
And with that, he took them next door to the place where they belonged and they slowly began to introduce themselves to their mum while Alfie sat in the corner and grinned a wide, sloppy, floppy grin. He was going to have his work cut out over the next few weeks.

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