THE CHRONICLES OF BUTCH

Part 1

“Now you two behave yourself whilst we go out,” Aunt Biddy said.

“I endorse that Butch,” Old Tom said as he closed the door.

As if I could with this bitch on the prowl. How could you name a dog Bubbles? More like nip and snap if you ask me.

Bubbles wouldn’t leave me alone, constantly chasing me. Eventually I’d had enough and just lay still.

The front door opened.

Bubbles wagged her tail.

“Look at those two, don’t they look nice.”

Aunt Biddy wouldn’t have said that if she’d known where my willy had been in the last hour.

THE CHRONICLES OF BUTCH Part 2

As I’m a corgi and Bubbles is a poodle, I wonder what they’d call our pups. I suppose Corgipoo comes to mind. Yuk! I have enough poo in my life already.

It could be worse. At least Aunt Biddy no longer speaks to Old Tom, I’ve been banned you see; too sexy for my body apparently.

It all started when I was young, some bastard complained to my royal owner.

My sire and dam belonged to the Queen. I had always dreamed of returning to the palace, but after biting her favourite footman on his arse, I doubt it now.

THE CHRONICLES OF BUTCH

PART 3

I love being a dog. Old Tom feeds me well and I get two walks a day. Meeting so many bitches, I always try to leave them a little something for later.

But bitches are one thing, cats are something else.

Next door has a cat that delights in crapping in our small garden. It took me a week to work out a plan, trying to find the perfect place to hide, but I am a patient pooch.

Dear Tabby never saw me, but I know he’ll never return, now that he doesn’t have much of a tale to tell.

THE CHRONICLES OF BUTCH

PART 4

I had a great walk in the woods today and afterwards old Tom took me to the pub. With a water bowl outside, and if I wag my tail long enough, a big doggie bix on the inside, it’s my favourite place to visit.

But then this cocky little sod walks in with a squawking duck under his arm and ruins the quiet. He loudly asks for a large packet of ‘quacker’ biscuits, but alas for him, only the clock broke the silence. Clearly not one to give in lightly, he tried again.

“This is Puddles.”

“I don’t give a monkey. Take that duck out of my pub before I ring its neck.” Big Stan, the landlord said.

As the youngster argued, Puddles seized her chance and made a run for it. Within seconds everyone was trying to grab the elusive duck. The Feathers flew like confetti as she ran under tables and over chairs desperately trying to escape eager hands. Shouting and screaming, the men tried, but failed to capture her as they slid on the constant stream of duck shit.

I wanted to keep calm but when dear Puddles tried to bite me with her bill, I’d had enough. I moved in fast and cornered her. She had nowhere to go.

“Go on Butch, dinner is right in front of you.” Old Tom said. I thought really hard about his suggestion.

Grabbing the duck in my mouth I carefully laid it at Old Tom’s feet. It was breathing ... almost normally ... but do these birds ever shut up?

I could hear the laughter echoing off the walls and many patted the top of my head. I wasn’t totally sure whether I should have chased Puddles, so I stayed where I was, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

But when the landlord tapped our young idiot on the shoulder, I knew I was in the clear.

“Here mate, take this bucket and mop, and clear up the bloody mess in my bar. I’ll keep the duck as payment.”

Man’s best friend I am, and I do love humans.

I even had a bit of duck for supper.