The Tale of the Class-Conscious Cur, the Puppies and the Parricide


I'll let you know a secret, but you mustn't tell A SOUL or my macho-image will go to pot!

I'm a sucker for puppies. Yes I am.

It happened last autumn. Bitchboss is aware of my weakness (one of her rare nice traits) and took me to the neighbours'. They are an incestuous and rather unappealing bunch without any social graces and I usually ignore them studiously.

But you know... puppies.

However, I managed to look aloof and I peed on them to make it quite clear that I OWN them.

I'm really good at that. When my trouble and strife deserted our babies when they were four weeks old, I took over. Bitchboss fed them, one must grant her that, but I was the disciplinarian. Strict but fair. That's why my no-good-son Jeremy tried to kill me once he was big enough. To no avail, of course. I won and I bore the considerable wounds with the dignity and strength of a martyr! Jeremy Parricida collapsed. Bitchboss had put us under the cold shower because we had locked jaws in a bulldog grip and when we could finally be separated, well, as I said, Jeremy collapsed. I limped from the battlefield, still on my legs, on three to be honest, but I walked.

The paricidal monster had to go, Bitchboss found him a quite undeserved good home. She said it was for my good because I wouldn't have survived another fight as the parricide monster had been already heavier then and was still growing.

Bullshit, of course, but I was quite relieved because I had a hunch he was better looking as well.
That's she when the puppies were a couple of days old. Five strapping pups which were much admired, quite the chips from the old block, you know.
My son Jeremy and I when we still got on relatively well (on the surface, that was) at a Drückjagd at the Werdauer Wald. The little mutt tries to look adorable, the patricidal beast.
But I digress!

Now the puppies next door are gone, I can resume ingnoring that socially inferior rabble. They are disgusting attention seekers. SO undignified!

NQOCD*, you know.
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*For the not-so-Anglophones: "Not quite our class, dear!"