A GOOD HOLD

June 24, 2019

A GOOD HOLD by Rick Haynes

 

Here we all are, playing the same old waiting game. My mistress, the three children, the luggage and me, waiting, always waiting for something, and this time it’s the car to take us to the station.  My mistress couldn’t even organise herself let alone the rest of us. The car isn’t due for another ten minutes but here we stand outside the house, waiting.

 

Why am I stuck, once again, under her arm? My stomach aches and her firm grip always manages to squeeze my nuts. Still, I’d better not complain as the last time I did she dragged me to that nasty bastard reeking of Chlorodyne.  Calls himself a vet but I had my doubts straight away. But at least he told her that my collar would only fit a puppy; it was no wonder I constantly gagged on my food.

 

I’ll lick her face in a minute, she deserves a slobber.

 

Was that a response? Well, sort of I suppose, so perhaps another one would get her to put me down, or should I just rub my hind legs up against her thigh? It works with the master, she throws him off easily enough, so why not me?

 

The children look as bored as I am and take a peek at all these cases. We’re only spending one week in the country with her sister and kids, not forgetting the two deadly sisters. How on earth anyone could call those two poodles Puddles and Cuddles is beyond my understanding. They look so sweet in their little coats. Yet, looks can be deceiving. Fang and Claw would be more appropriate.

 

 

 

Damn, it’s been ages since I met a decent bitch. I really need a good one to mount; in fact, I’m rapidly becoming one randy old dog.

 

If I have to stay in my mistress’s embrace much longer my legs will go completely numb. But what can I do? I suppose I could bark but that only gets me a heavy pat on the head and a severe headache for an hour or so. What about a good shake? On second thoughts that’s not a good idea either. The last time I did that her sharp nails nearly took the tip off my dog-hood, and it took days for Mr Knobby to recover. I suppose I could piddle down her leg and that, that would be sweet revenge, especially over her brand new dress.

 

Problem solved then, I’ll just jiggle into position and . . . is that . . . a bitch on heat?

 

Freeing myself from her tight hold was so easy; shame about the stain on her dress and the scratches on her arm though. Still, I’m off and running and if she thinks I’m going back, not a chance.

 

 

Now, where did that lovely Cockapoo go?

 

 

 

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