doglets: (k and f)

“So” said Frodi “We’re not married after all?”

“Nope” replied Kato

“We’re not Mr and Mrs I-am-Microchipped”

“No, that’s not why it says it on our ID tags”

“We’ve got microchips in our necks” he pondered “Sounds far-fetched to me Katrina”

“That’s what human said”

“So we’re like Stepford Dogs”

“Yep, totally obedient” said Kato “That’s why we’re compelled to obey and if we abscond we get put through a supermarket checkout to get our unique bar code...or something”

Human: Dogs here... DOGS...KATO...FRODI...HERE...HERE

Frodi: Think we should see what she wants

Kato: Nah, fight the chip Man, we’re not numbers we are free dogs

Human: Kato...Froodle ...FFS... any dog...the neighbour’s dog...well don’t have these discarded chips then...oh there you are...

doglets: (frodi resting)
Feathers strewn all over our garden and strange noises emanating from the internal workings of Frodi. The three of us were sat on the back door step staring down at boy-dogs tummy. I half expected an Avian-Collie Alien to burst out.  Frodi had hiccups and shook his ears after every hic.

I doubt that Canine (in)Security Inc. (tm) have actually caught anything. Probably Mr Fox leaving a reminder that he is Bear Grylls and Mr & Mrs Overly Domesticated can catch nothing more challenging than a Sleepy Bee. Next door but nine have 80 (according to Dave-the-Shop) hens in their back yard. Well, 79 now.
  
doglets: (kato eye)

In the Garden, the dogs were on high alert, tails up, snooters down, driven by an unfamiliar scent and instinct. Sniffing and re-sniffing a suspicious patch, pawing at the earth then moving on, checking their internal instinctive maps and radar. One ear to the wind, eagle eyes scanning every minute detail.

“What are we actually looking for?” asked Kato after ten minutes of following endless scent trails and colliding with Frodi several times

“I’ve no idea Katrina, time for Tiffin anyway” said Frodi “Oh look there’s that cute little fellow who makes you go squee”

Dogs had managed (by accident not design) to corner rat in the “water feature”. Hippy went to have a look and there was a little fella swimming around.

“Don’t meet his eyes” I said “And don’t anthromor...”

“Aww, look at her little hands” said hippy “She’s doing the breast stroke, oh, she just looked at me, she looks very young, where’s your mum? Aww”

“And whatever you do, don’t give it a name” I advise

“Don’t give who a name?” said Hippy “Come and look at Bernadette, ohhh, she’s really nervous, her bottom lip quivering, little hands trembling, please don’t shoot me mister”

Bernadette (!) seems to reside in one of our compost bins. So, we find ourselves doing knock & run to deposit compost things in the bins. Or in my case, throwing a tennis ball at the bin to alert ratty that we’re about to open up her.... house.

Hippy took the vegetable peelings over, knocked on the bin “Bernie! Are you decent?”


doglets: (safari)
Java went to Gromit with her Walllace over Xmas so took her presents with her. Pleased with the box of Dog-o-Chocs but less pleased (initially) with her big present - until she realised its usefulness whilst going to the Poo Tree on Lindisfarne over New Year. Her Wallace thought we had bought her a Santa Paws outfit.........

 

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