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Tuesday, 14 July 2009

yap

Mrs Lovely was later to say that her husband had been 'well appalled.' He might not much like their dog Pompom (a husband thing, I understand: although in our family and those of many of my chums, a wife thing, too) but if anyone is to say so it is he, and not the big tummed ex-police inspector.

Big Tum patrols the dog field daily with Florian, a tiny dog dangling from his wrist: so often the way, a case of dog not resembling owner at all, at least not in ways that are immediately obvious. It is a sedate perambulation theirs, and each has a frown for human and dog accordingly. For some reason, however, their walk is always timed to coincide with ours; although I know he’s the rising at dawn sort. Never trouble trouble I want to say.
He has an infinite store of rectitude to draw on, and a boundless capacity for passing on a wise word; a finger-wagging man, one of that enviable breed who is always in the right. Long after the event, does he feel the need to remind me from time to time, just when I’m relaxing into the hope of his having forgotten, of the occasion when Lolly, a mere puppy, had leapt through their sitting room window in search of Florian, trailing in her eager wake the newly planted window box.
“Yes, a lot of mud,” his nervous wife will echo, “Goodness, a lot.”
What can you say? The chance to offer to hoover is past by many moons.
And then last week, it all went a bit wrong when it was his dog who leapt with extraordinary and unprecedent vigour onto the back of Lolly and gave it his all to shag her senseless into the ground.

“Florian!” squeaked Big Tum’s nervous wife, her squeal reaching unto the stars.
“FLORIAN!” bellowed Big Tum, bypassing pink and going straight to purple.
Florian, conveniently deaf, clasped his paws the tighter round Lolly and rutted away. His penis, friends, was glistening.
I’m afraid I laughed which did little to appease their mood.

The next day I was late into the field and encountered Big Tum on his way out. “The hooligans are already down there,” he boomed, sweeping on past, giving me a bit of a look.
I strolled through, met my dog-walking friends, and told them what he said.
Mrs Lovely was slow to react. She glanced around the field and then her head snapped back and she whimpered, “Us! He means us! That’s Florian’s Daddy said that?”
“Yes,” I said, “Big Tum.”
“Oh, is that his name, I always call him Florian’s Daddy.”
“I think he was a Chief Inspector,” I said.
“Well. My. And he called us all hooligans?”
“Not us, so much as you,” I said. I thought back, “Yes, he definitely said, “the hooligans” and not “the other hooligans”.”
“Well I don’t know if we like that very much, do we, Pompom?” said Mrs Lovely carefully.

Mrs Rich, who inhabits one of the smartest houses in the county, looked stunned. Even her lavatories have fireplaces, they have cornices and take a stride to cross. Rife with Tena Lady potential for the slow to plan. There are three staircases from ground to first and the kitchen is 70’ long. Not one to breed a yob. She glanced around for her hooligan, Lacey, who boasts a Cath Kidston bed (chewed) in her custom-built crate (“Yes, we kitted it out in advance beautifully. Such a shame, really, when the dog herself turned up, you know, when we brought her home and it spoiled things so”) and a raised day bed from Oka (£150+. Also chewed). We'd bought Lolly a new bed in the week. £15 grudgingly spent, already not the fragrant thing it was. Lacey was to be found face-deep in a pile of horse manure, someone else’s play stick held firm under her paw.
"But they have such fun," she said. "No harm's done. It's personality, isn't it? Only playing."

There was a lusty splashing in the river. It’s not a river, it’s as if someone left a tap on for ten minutes and made a bit of a puddle, but we call it the river. Pompom came crashing through, soaked and muddy, a beady look in his eye. In the distance a speck of fur had revealed itself. It was the JewishPrincessFootStool dog. An elderly cavalier spaniel of generous proportions and little retaliation. In a trice, Pompom had made it up the hill and was on JPFS’s back.
Mrs Lovely set off at a cumbersome lick, cooing hopelessly, “Pompom! Pompom!” She rattled a little bag of scraps enticingly.
Pompom, more Errol Flynn than cuddly toy, despite his rampant curls and wild fluff, was not going to be lured by some rubbishy old chicken in a bag, not when the JewishPrincessFootStool dog was at paw.
Within seconds he had mounted her and was rocking away in true happy hooligan style.

“Pompom!” Mrs Lovely wailed, “Don’t!”

The stout and tardy figure of JPFS’s owner lurched into view. A woman upholstered like a sofa, clad all in chintz; presumed a long-term virgin. She looked on somewhat enviously, as Pompom had his wild way with her dog. Dreaming of her very own gentleman callers, a Cuthbert perhaps, or Ron, she gazed wistfully, lost in vicarious daydream.
The JewishPrincessFootStool dog is always available for Pompom. She splays her legs and lowers her rear quarters, “C’mon, Pompom, do your worst.”

Mrs Lovely was red in the face with shame.
Pompom!” she hissed, “How could you!”
Quite easily, thought Pompom gripping harder and pumping wildly – if ineffectively since he’s been ‘done.’

The owner licked her lips. Her dog, her daughter, the beauty of the family, albeit slightly dim, like an obedient but simple girl, easy of virtue and guilelessly taking off her knickers and doing as 'he' wants. The slut. The lucky, lucky slut.
“Think nothing of it,” she trilled, her voice slightly higher than might originally have been planned.

We went our merry ways. Mothers of hooligans.
“First the twins, now the dog,” wailed Mrs Lovely, her frisky children brought to mind, "It's not what I thought it was going to be, any of it."
“You must have been very, very bad in your previous life,” I said.
“I do hope so,” said she. "Really, I do."

38 comments:

Fennie said...

Oh dear! You do tell'em Milla - you really do. Amid the chaos and the bathos the silver dagger lurks and this time the handle is not towards my hand. But so funnily does your blade slip between the ribs to remind and reproach the reader of the endless embarrassments on similar themes in dog days of yore, that one hardly notices. Have we all not thought at times that death might be preferable (ours not the dog's) as yet another disaster materialises out of the brilliant sunlight of an otherwise and previously happy day? Does this mean I was bad in a previous life? Quite probably, but then I'm not sure that I'm any better now. Certainly not so far as dogs are concerned. Despite the fluffiness and occasional hard bouts of sentimentality I think that phase of my life is truly behind me but should ever I waver and my resolve weaken I shall read again your memorable words. Not exactly discreet humpers, are they, dogs?

Dave Pie-n-Mash said...

Let me see if I understand this... Florian date raped poor Lolly and you didn't kick the him in the nuts. And Pompom, despite having an embarrassing name, is in fact a bit of rough trade(ruff, ruff?) for a posh, fat spaniel?

sea-blue-sky & abstracts said...

Where would we be without them? I can only empathise. My sister once commented 'You're always making excuses for that dog' (true). She is wonderful though (the dog).

The river - we have one like that and are incensed locally that the environment agency dares to call it the 'Stennack Stream'. Given that £10,000,000 has been spent on flood alleviation work surrounding on the above named stream during the last 3 years.

sea-blue-sky & abstracts said...

Here we go again - I must read what's been written befor leaving a comment! Should be "surrounding the above named stream during the last 3 years."

Carol said...

Hahaha...I chortled away whilst reading this...Chris is trying to watch a serious programme on TV and is now puffing in a slightly cross manner!!

You must must must wag your finger at Big Tum the next time you see him and tell him that your dog has been traumatised by the experience then ask him to keep his hooligan dog away from yours!! (Please have good friend with a camera strategically places so photographic evidence can be obtained!!)

C x

Angel Bluestocking said...

The best line of all your blogs ever...
"Pompom!” she hissed, “How could you!”

Poor Mrs Lovely. And clever Milla.

Classic 'Lite stuff' m'dear.
xx

elizabethm said...

You are so good at deflecting me when my yearning for a dog gets out of hand.
I love Mrs Rich and Big Tum. I can't possibly know them as I live miles away. Must just be the way you tell 'em. Perfect blog.

Pipany said...

yes, all yearnings for a dog firmly put in there place thank you Milla. Great story to start my day x

Faith said...

Weren't you horrified on poor Lolly's behalf? My dog too poorly to take walking so I am spared these moments nowadays, thank goodness, but great to read.

Milla said...

thank you everyone for your comments. I wish to reassure you that the, er, humping remains quite innocent. The male dogs are too small to be of any use and it's just not that sort of village! All show.

Edward said...

Very funny. However, I do hope Bigtum's friends still on the force don't read this, otherwise I fear the dawn ring upon the bell will not signal the escape of Lolly...

Jennysmith said...

Absolutely wonderful. Great reading. xxxx

Mud in the City said...

Classic post. Still wish I had a dog though, even if only to add such colour to my life!

More please!

Friko said...

Oh, how wonderfully funny. I knew I 'd enjoy being a purple cooer, if ever I learn how to manage the intricacies of the site.
Sex and rough stuff, couldn't be be better.

ChrisH said...

So glad to hear that Lolly had a new bed to retire to after her vigorous romp with Florian. Do you think it was a case of lust-in-the-mud for Florian when she erupted into the sitting room? Gawd, with those names it's beginning to sound like a scene from a Jilly Cooper novel.

Cait O'Connor said...

Perhaps you could turn into a novel?

Brit in Bosnia / Fraught Mummy said...

Oh I do miss the drama of a good dog walk.

Pondside said...

Cait is right - a dog novel. It would be a best seller, I know it would.
I'll be thinking of this post through the day, as there's a Big Tum in my office and he too has a wee dog - what is that all about?

Preseli Mags said...

I agree with the others. Surely a dog novel is the way to go? 'Lolly and Me.' Who will play you and Mr Rot in the film? I vote Richard Griffiths to play Big Tum. Fabulous stuff!

Westerwitch/Headmistress said...

See . . . see . . . what you get up to when I go away for a day . . . much rolling of eyes . . .

Kate said...

My dog is like Marley from the movie, it's so crazy!

Maddie Grigg said...

'Even her lavatories have fireplaces' - I must remember that one. Priceless.

lampworkbeader said...

It's no good Milla, you've definitely convinced me. I'm getting a dog, life isn't anywhere near as exciting with only a cat to accompany down the garden.

Irish Eyes said...

I won't be bitchy ;-} and post a comment on Mr Pomposity Itself and his comments, but when I stop chortling enough to draw breath I will say...H-I-L-A-R-I-O-U-S! Our last mutt would have needed a step ladder for the JewishPrincessetc., but he was always game for a go!

Brilliant Milla, an absolute hoot!

FairSailor said...

Milla, this is absolutely classic. I laughed so hard I cried. Thank you, you've made my day.

Jennysmith said...

Sorry Milla, this bloody surveyor was chatting away to me while I was trying to comment on your post.
Thats why it was so short.

yes, Pyschoville is great isn't it. Quite fancy that dwarf. And do you like Getting On? with Jo Brand? Thats brilliant too. BBC4 Wednesday nights. xxxx

KittyB said...

Funny, Milla - aren't dogs just awful? And here was me thinking of acopting another. Now please write a similar one about babies or toddlers to deal with my broodiness in a similar fashion. Chop, chop.

Victoria said...

And I thought my friend with a fireplace in her hall was posh. I dream of fireplaces in my loos - no more cold bum.

clareybabble said...

I love your writing! So funny x

LittleBrownDog said...

Well, dogs will be dogs, I suppose. Mine goes wiggling, all friendly up to unsuspecting old ladies then, when they bend down to pat him tenderly, he flips over, splays his legs and displays all in gay abandon.

Some lovely touches - love the thought of lavatories with fireplaces.

Exmoorjane said...

This is classic, just classic. Missed it and glad I did as needed a perk. Glistening penis eh? So true, they do, they do. Dogs', that is.
I too love the loo with fireplace! In fact, would rather like one myself.

snailbeachshepherdess said...

Milla you will get me sacked - there I was peeping in to read - then I fell about -

mastranone said...

Dog porn, but excrutiatingly funny.

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