I Bore Mr. Muggles’s Secret Love Puppies!!!
by Chyrel A. Coffman
A True Untold Secret Confessions Exclusive “Doggy Dish!”
My story begins, as so many do, in front of the television, on a fair, almost-Fall Today
evening at our “wrong-side-of-the-trailer-park-and-tracks” home in Odessa, Texas. I’d
already taken my Mom for a walk, Dad had gotten out a six-pack of Lone Star (that’s the
ONLY kind six-pack we’ll ever see on HIS abs!), and we’d all settled on the sofa, to
watch the local news
I didn’t pay much attention at first. It was just the same old stuff. We all know that the
only thing a Bush is good for is for dogs to pee on, and Primatech Paper Company (that’
s where Dad works!) is always donating something to Union Wells High School,
because that’s where children go to school. But then a picture came on the screen
that made me swallow whole the Whoppers ball that I sneaked from Mom!
Oh, my ears and paws! Oh, my sweet Anubis! OH MY BLESSED LASSIE, RIN TIN-TIN,
BEETHOVEN AND BENJI!!!! It was Mr. Muggles! My body got all hot; my tongue flopped
out of my mouth, drool puddled on the carpet, and Dad’s leg began looking pretty
damned attractive! I piddled on the floor.
I rushed over to the TV to give Mr. Muggles a hot, steamy, tongue kiss, but by the time
I got there, that ditzy blonde girl who likes to stand in front of that picture and draw
squiggles and puffy things that look like clouds all over it, got all my passion. Ahhh-
ooooooooh! Gag me with a cat hairball!
Then Today, while I sniffed out who-all had been down by the river, and who’d peed on
what Bush or tree, I found the upwind end of a downwind skunk. I’m a Collie/Siberian
Husky mix (that ugly hound in the picture is NOT me; that’s Dad’s idea of a joke), so I’m
strong, quick and agile. I jumped out of the way before she could get a direct hit, but
some of her spray almost hit me. Even so, the stink cloud was so bad I howled, and I
knew I would stink just from being near it. And boy! Was Mom going to be mad at me!
I raced through the woods to outrun the smell, but I couldn’t run fast enough. I jumped
in the river and swam around a bit, but that didn’t help much help much either. I rolled
in the dirt until my long white hair was matted with sandspurs and black with mud; that
helped enough that I thought it was safe enough to go home, and Mom probably
wouldn’t notice the smell.
I sneaked into the house and to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat and nearly jumped out
of my skin when my Mom screamed, “Rufus! Come see what this Damned Dog has done
now!”
I growled menacingly as I looked around for Damned Dog, ready to fight her off my turf,
but, as usual, she was nowhere to be seen. I was Top Dog here, and not one bit did I
like it that another dog was here to challenge my position in the family, even if she was
so afraid of me that I’d never seen her!
“Awww, shit!” Dad said, pinching his nose. “Better take her to the Groom-her!”
“Take who to the Groomer?” I asked Dad, hoping it was me, and not that Damned Dog! I
wagged my tail and my whole back end, then stood up, put my front paws on Dad’s
shoulders and gave him a whole bunch of doggie kisses. Mom laughed, but I thought
Dad was mad, until he started calling my name. “No! No! Bad Dog!” Satisfied that I’d
driven all thoughts of Damned Dog from their minds, I gave Dad one last big, wet kiss,
and ran to fetch my leash. Mom made me ride in the back of Dad’s little Dog-Sun (it’s so
undignified to ride in the back of a Dog-Sun, even if it is made specially for dogs); but I
didn’t mind so much because we were going to the Groom-her, and she always made
me so pretty!
When she saw me, the Groom-her asked me, “Did you meet up with a skunk or a
warthog, Miss Bad Dog?” I prefer to be called “No No,” but “Miss Bad Dog” is better
than the silly name of that other dog she always gets me mixed up with. I mean, a dog
can’t have a more stupid name than “Cherie!” That Cherie must look a lot like me,
though, because everyone at my Vet’s office mistakes us one for another too, and
sometimes even Mom and Dad think I’m Cherie! I’m just glad that she doesn’t live with
us like Damned Dog does.
Anyway, the Groom-her combed all the sandspurs out of my coat. I got a special bath
that smelled kind of like salad, and then another bath with that lovely perfumed
shampoo. I was dried with the Little Wind, brushed to perfection, and my toe nails were
clipped and made even more beautiful with “am-it-is paul-is.” A pretty am-it-is bow was
put in my hair, and Mom bought an am-it-is bandana and put it around my neck. I looked
in the mirror to admire myself, and Oh, My Lassie! I was one beautiful babe!
I peeked through the clear walls of grooming room to see if all the other dogs were
admiring me too (and they were), when, Oh, My Lassie! There was Mr. Muggles and his
Mom, talking to another groom-her! I began trembling all over and nearly piddled on
the table when he wagged his perfectly groomed tail and he yipped a sexy little,
“Whoooo! Baby, baby!” at me.
Mom snapped my leash back on, and I jumped off the table, never breaking eye contact
with Mr. Muggles, who wriggled in his Mom’s arms, trying to get down. He wanted to
sniff me! Mom opened my room door, and I slowly paraded out, my head held high, my
tail curled up just so, struttin’ my stuff and giving the Little Man a look he’d never
forget!
“What a beautiful girl!” Mrs. Muggles said to Mom, as she reached to pat my head. Mr.
Muggles used the opportunity to get free, and immediately jumped to the floor and
started sniffing me. I sniffed him back. And then we sniffed some more, just to make
sure. No. I didn’t smell right. **SIGH**
Mrs. Muggles scooped Mr. Muggles back into her arms, and said to Mom. “Mr.
Muggles is quite taken with her, too!” She gave Mr. Muggles a cuddle and said to him
in a puppy-talk voice, “Yes, you are, Mr. Muggles! Aren’t you?” I think he was a bit
embarrassed at being treated like a puppy when he was trying to impress a lady friend!
But I know how idiotic humans can be, so I told he didn’t have to be embarrassed by
his human’s lack of consideration for the preservation of his dignity.
While Mom and Mrs. Muggles chatted about a See-Men-Are, (Mom called her “Mrs.
Bennet” and “Sandra.” Maybe she should go to the Vet; her memory is slipping away
almost as fast as Damned Dog hides from me!) Mr. Muggles and I chatted too. I asked
him why humans don’t call people by their real names, and he said that it was OK for
his Mom to be called Mrs. Bennet instead of Mrs. Muggles because his first name is
“Bennet”…sort of. His first name is “Bennet’s Aged Are Ji Mr. Muggles.” Odd name, I
thought to myself, but the rich and famous do have their eccentricities.
He asked if I would be at the See-Men-Are. I gave a doggie shrug, and said I’d never
been to a See-Men-Are, so what were we supposed to See about how Men Are?
He grinned and said we weren’t going to see men. He wasn’t sure what the “Are” was
about, but said, with a sexy little growl in his voice, that any time he’d heard See-Men
mentioned, he always had a VERY good time! Then he winked at me, and said he really
hoped I would be at the See-Men-Are, and that I would smell right so we could have a
really good time together!
I blushed, but I hoped so too! And I hoped that I would smell right too, because I’d
never had a really good time, or been to a See-Men-Are.
We did go to the See-Men-Are, but I didn’t smell right (Damn that son-of-a-jackal,
Anubis!), but Mr. M. (he asked me to call him “Mr. M.”!!!! Bless Lassie!) and I still had
fun! We chased each other, and ate bits of four grass (it tastes chicken liver!), cab-ee-
Are and lob-stirred bites that fell on the floor. A bunch of “classy” bitches sat in a
corner growling about Mr. Muggles ignoring them to play me. A simpering little apricot
toy poodle, wearing a cheap, gold leather collar covered with fake sparklies, wondered
how such a divine stud could prefer an overgrown, piece of white, mutt-trash like me,
when he could have any one of them for the smelling. As she intended, we overheard
her. Mr. M. turned on her with a savage growl and told her that I wasn’t a mutt, or trash,
but a “Designer Dog,” with a beautiful full ruff (and here he preened a little, showing
off his own magnificent ruff), and the brightest blue eyes! “Furthermore,” he growled,
“this stud will never have anything to do with a dog with “poo” in her breed-name!”
And we sauntered off, leaving those snide bitches to hump each other!
I didn’t see Mr. M. for a long time, after that. It was a long, lonely time, filled with
restless dreams and depression. My appetite waned, and then my tail that once curled
so proudly over my back, began to droop. I developed a strange desire to howl at the
moon, and spent most of my nights out running by the river and roaming the streets at
night. I was so depressed! A few times, I tried to “ride the pony” on Dad’s leg, but it
made him really mad, and he locked me in the garage. I didn’t like that, because I
couldn’t sneak out on those nights I spent in the garage.
On one of my nightly excursions, I met another dog. He was a real mutt! His coat was all
matted with burrs and he smelled of the garbage he’d been eating. He was badly in
need of a long, soapy bath! And then another one. There were scars all over his face
and ears, and big patches of hair were missing on his body. I think he had fleas, and
maybe mange! Even so, when he asked me what a beautiful babe like me was doing all
alone on a night like this, especially when I smelled good enough to share a big, juicy
bone with, I was tempted. Yes, I was tempted.
Then what he’d said, clicked: I smelled good! That meant that I was ready to have a
really good time with my beloved Mr. M.!
Instead of answering the mutt’s questions, I ran off into the night, determined to find
my darling. The mutt chased me for a bit, but I can run like the wind when I want to, and
he hadn’t a chance of catching me. So he soon gave up the chase and stood in the
street barking curses at me for being such a tease.
I began a methodical search, sniffing the sidewalks, yards and alleys for any scent of
Mr. M. The longer I searched, the more urgent became my need to find him. The need
was so great that there were certain points during my search that I regretted ditching
the mutt. I jumped fences to search back yards. I poked my nose through doggie doors.
I barked his name twice on every block, and three times on the long blocks and at the
parks. And finally, I jumped the right fence, and landed right in his kennel.
He had a pretty nice set-up. There was a kennel run, and a small shelter under which
there was a private fire hydrant, so he wouldn’t be exposed to the elements when he
needed to use the fire hydrant, along with a sand box for--well, you know. Best of all,
he had a lot of lush grassy area in which to dig holes and hide bones. I mean, I have no
complaints about my own home—if you don’t take Damned Dog into account—but I
never realized dogs could have it so good!
I poked my nose through the doggie door and woofed softly, once, then again. Then I
heard the clicking of his perfectly groomed toenails on the kitchen floor, and my heart
went supersonic!
We had a joyful reunion, full of kisses and nips, and jumping, and when we sniffed each
other, it was pure magic! This was the right time, the right place, the right dog for me,
and there would be no holding back now! Except for one small problem. No pun
intended.
I’m three times the height of Mr. M. He can run under my belly without even touching it.
And if we didn’t come up with a working solution, there would be no really good time
for either of us. I nearly howled out my frustration.
We tried alternate positions. I lay on my side, but that didn’t work. So we tried it with me
on my stomach, and then my back, but no good time there either. We finally reached
the conclusion that the only way we were going to reach our really good time was the
conventional way: good old, genuine doggie style!
Disappointed beyond words, I sadly told Mr. M. that I should end our torment and just
go home. I hated to leave him under such hard circumstances, but I really saw no
choice, unless he wanted to ride the pony on my foreleg. We kissed one last, sweet
time, and then, head and tail drooping, I turned to go. Just as I was about to spring for
my leap over the fence, Mr. M. yipped “NO!”
Something in his voice made me turn around, and I saw the most incredible thing I’ve
ever seen in my life! Mr. M. was growing! And not just his--well, you know--like before,
but his entire body! And he looked as completely incredulous about the growth spurt
as I did!
“What’s going on?” I whined.
“I don’t know! This had never happened to me before!” he whined back as he added on
another inch. The top of his head now reached my mid-chest. When he stopped
growing, he was about half a small dog biscuit shorter than me.
“It’s a miracle!” he yipped.
“Yeah,” I growled. “Now stop wasting time!”
***
I sneaked out of my house every morning and evening to visit Mr. M. Each time, shortly
after my arrival, he grew, and then he would return to his normal size within seconds
after we broke apart. Eventually, the heat of our passion waned, and we realized that
our affair had burnt out. But our friendship remained, and we were glad that our
relationship had more substance than just fleeting, but really incredible, lust.
Our meetings in his kennel stopped when we almost got caught by Miss Muggles. Well,
we did get caught; she saw me jump over the fence. But she just laughed, scooped up
Mr. M. and told me to go home and not worry that she would tell, because she knew
how to keep a secret.
***
I missed my friend, but I wasn’t unhappy. My appetite returned, and I put on weight. It
seemed like I was hungry all the time! I needed frequent naps too. Then one day, Mom
told Dad she thought I was going to have puppies!
Puppies! I was going to have puppies? I was going to have puppies! There was
something left of the love between me and Mr. M. after all!
So I had puppies. Eight of them, five girls and three boys, and they are all healthy and
beautiful! Some have my coloring, and others have their father’s. Some are blue-eyed
like me, and some aren’t. They were so big at birth that Mom and Dad will never guess
who their father is, and I’m telling. I know how to keep a secret too.
The puppies are almost ready to be weaned now. Mom says she’s going to start
looking for homes for them. I don’t see why she’d want to do that when they have a
perfectly good home here.
Well my story is finished, and it’s time to nurse the puppies. It’s a good thing they’ve
started eating a bit of puppy kibble, because they’re so voracious that I couldn’t
possibly produce enough milk to feed them all! Why, just now, Mr. M., Jr. is so hungry
he bit a sizeable chunk out of Dad’s bowling ball! And you know what? The other day
after Little Emma coughed up a hairball? I could have sworn that for a moment her eyes
looked just like a cat’s!
Copyright 2007.