Friday, 21 February 2014

Friday 21 February 2014

Gisèle was going to write this entry herself.  I believe she was going to "entertain" you with the fact that she wasn't currently barking to me, apropos my lecture to her on morality after her frolics with Boris.  She was also going to provide you with a list detailing why I was (a) wrong; and (b) a boring old fossil.  These, however, are "treats" to be savoured at some future point, for events have overtaken her easily-distracted mind.  Ah well.  Anticipation, they say, is but half the thrill... For goodness' sake.

Betty has returned.  She is, I am pleased to bark, behaving herself extremely well - despite the insolence of Gisèle, who had convinced herself that it was in honour of another visit from Boris that the house was being prepared.  On discovering that it was The Hon. Elizabeth (she had not bothered to listen to my partner's prior information of Betty's visit) at the door Giz, in response to the Giant Schnauzer's hearty greeting, snapped "Why aren't you Boris?!  Go away!"  Fortunately Betty is used to Gizzy's habit of barking first, sniffing later and actually thinking as the merest of afterthoughts.  All is well now between the girls.  Now...

The very evening of Betty's arrival last week coincided with the worst of these awe-inducing and destructive storms under which much of Britain is currently suffering.  The wind literally roared around our little house, the trees at the side creaked and twisted most alarmingly, branches crashed down, and the rain sounded like pebbles being repeatedly hurled at the windows.  Even Gisèle, who is not normally troubled by such things, was afraid.  The power flickered on and off and the two trembling dogs clung to each other for comfort and support.  My partner, after having lit a few candles "just in case" suggested, in a braver-sounding tone than I suspected she felt, that Gizzy tell Betty about her nice weekend with Boris (by way of a distraction from the wild elements without-doors).  The two girls trotted upstairs and I could hear them chattering away quietly.

After twenty minutes there was a sudden outbreak of hysterical screaming.  There were then two thumps - one soft, one heavy - more screaming, followed by a great deal of scrabbling.

My partner and I raced upstairs.  The two girls were in witless hysterics, screaming and shrieking, pushing, shoving and scrambling over each other in frantic attempts to squeeze themselves into the little airing cupboard.  My partner's clothes were flying everywhere.

"What are you DOING?!" cried my partner, but Betty and Giz were both in such a petrified state that neither heard her.
"OI!!!" I roared, "Pack it in, the pair of you! Now!!!"  The squealing stopped, but the desperate scrabbling did not. "Come out of there!"  Giz was half-way up one of the legs of my partner's pairs of trousers and reluctantly reappeared, still shaking.  Betty reversed out, wearing a pair of my partner's flowery-pink knickers on her head like a hat.  My partner pulled them off her with a look of disdain.

"What's going on?!" I demanded.  Both girls looked too terrified to bark.  They looked at each other shiftily, still quivering and squeaking.  "Come on - out with it!"

Eventually, Betty mumbled "Gizzy told me about all the naughty s*x-things she and Boris did..."
Giz corroborated this with a whimper, and then burst into tears.
"Oh, Jasper!" she wailed, "It's ALL my fault! All MY fault!!!  We're ALL going to die!!!"  Both girls began to squeal and cry again.

After what amounted to almost twenty minutes of extremely tiresome coaxing, I finally got the two to concede that they had decided that the weather and the flooding is some sort of Divine retribution for Gisèle's weekend of immorality.  It took me a further twenty minutes to get them to accept that it was merely weather, and that the natural behaviours of two young dogs, mutually attracted, were unlikely to bring about the full Apocalyptic might of the End of Days on the entire planet.  As soon as that rather heavy penny had clanged down in their relatively empty heads, they were quite satisfied and trotted off so that they could "do each other's fur-styles".

Terrific.  Another evening wasted.  Although I'll admit that the weather WAS pretty scary.

Thursday, 6 February 2014

Thursday 6 February 2014

I have wrestled long and hard with my judgement concerning this entry.  Several times I have composed this blog-post only to re-think it, decide against it, only to change my mind and ponder anew.  Am I justified in posting this?  Was it a bark too far?  No; I concluded.  I have a duty.  The young males of the world have a right to be forewarned that such a wanton creature is in existence - and, based on available evidence, that she will be actively hunting them out and that they ought to prepare themselves for the persistent tap-tapping upon their doors...

I suppose such scenes were inevitable, given the untamed passions of young Gisèle.  But they still rendered me barkless.  Boris was the hapless "victim", though not an entirely unwilling one.  He had come to stay for the weekend and, initially, all proceeded in a well-mannered fashion.  The morning after his arrival, however, ushered in a new scene.

As my partner gradually wakened from her slumbers, she was aware of the sounds of rather frantic activity accompanied by heavy breathing.  Had I been physically able to, at that point I would have leapt in front of her face, to spare her the scene at the opposite end of her bed.  She shouldn't have had to see that...  Two dogs; one large, with black curly fur - the other tiny, with wispy white fur, were united in an act of frenzied passion.

"Turn away, oh, turn away..." I whimpered to my partner, but she was staring in shock at the spectacle before her.  Had she not been certain that Boris had been "attended to", she may have resorted to actual screaming.

With a certain amount of haste, she left the two lust-crazed creatures to get on with their foul, depraved business.

Returning to the room some time later, having not-unreasonably decided that it was high time the bed-linens went into the washing machine, we were a little disturbed to find the two furry fornicators still committed about their business.  My partner turned hurriedly away, shaking her head and muttering darkly to herself.

Now then. I confess that I had, during my lifetime, failed to be sufficiently sympathetic to my late, dear, friend Ewan's plight each time he bewailed the events which took place every time his basket-mate Fizzy was in season.  Fizzy, like Gisèle, had not been "seen to".

Cometh the seasonal onslaught; cometh the torment...

Ewan genuinely believed that hiding beneath the dining-table would sufficiently shield him.  He thought that no-one would possibly be able to find him amidst the myriad legs of table and chairs.  He was wrong each and every time.  In every season - without exception - Fizzy found him, hauled him out and smacked him about the face and neck until he capitulated and fulfilled her sordid whims.  The only difference betwixt Ewan's and Boris's plights was that Gisèle was not, at present, in heat.  Oh no.  Gisèle was beyond EVEN Fizzy's justification.

I realise, now, that Gisèle is basically a torrid whirlpool of salacious hormones and passions, bound with wispy tan and white fur and an endearing smile.  She knows the powers she possesses in her beauty, her lithe young figure and the deep liquid pools in her pretty brown eyes, in which an unprepared young man could easily drown... And she knows how to best employ that exquisite witchcraft in order to get what she wants...

All weekend, this went on.  ALL WEEKEND.  Sickened.  Sickened is what I am by these immoral developments.

Some images exist.  Obviously no pictures of the most base acts.  If you are looking for those I suggest you leave here IMMEDIATELY.  And take your perversions with you; they are not welcome here.

And so:-

1. Mata-Hari ponders her victim

2. Battle commences

3. Boris claims that he is "too tired"...

4. ...Gisèle informs him that he is not.

5. He begins to weaken...

6. Weakness scented, powerful
wiles are unleashed...

7. A tender kiss is bestowed

8. And our reluctant suitor capitulates; totally
hoodwinked by the tiny doggy-Delilah.  Wimp.

Let us leave the scene.  Admittedly, there was a certain charm and sweetness at the outset.  Boris is genuinely enchanted with Gisèle, and he has always been a fond friend.  But the fact that this carried on ALL weekend - added with the fact that my partner has been single for a VERY long time (and I accept my share of the blame for that; my efforts whilst alive in attempting to kill all her prospective suitors whether by fang or by bottom-gas - borne out of jealousy - cannot have helped her situation) - and topped-off by the incident when Boris's nice owner came to collect him and the two dogs fled upstairs giggling to have "one last go" before he went home - all combined to make a most trying and tiresome weekend for my partner and I, no matter how much Boris and 'Sèle enjoyed themselves.

When Boris has finally been bribed into leaving his lady and returning home with his owner my partner wasted no time.  The bed-linens were in the washing-machine and Gisèle was in the bath, both in less than ten minutes.  Giz did not go quietly into the soap-water; she protested volubly but was too tired to resist my partner's determination.  Justice and cleanliness were thus served, I feel.

One more photo remains from that first day to share with you.  Immediately post-fun, that first time, he fell instantly into a deep, snoring sleep:-

You may judge 'Sèle's view of this by her expression.
Poor Boris...

It was NOT a blunder he committed a second time.

I reiterate - Gisèle was, and is, NOT in season.  So I warn you gentlemen.  She's out there - and she will find you.

I urge you to persuade your human partners/owners to purchase a double-lock for your door at their earliest convenience.  Don't bark that I didn't warn you...

Stay vigilant, my friends.