Butt lickin’ muttwits just dont appreciate my responsibilities Treacle is grumbling as he drags Sixlegs towards home so easy for GitOrrf and thems hundred other West Pid muttwits – wotz trotting about squirting and pooping all they wants
Ah, to slip the leash in Herdwick pooping park and be allowed to run. To run. Free. Not him, alas. Not a service-assist dog. Life zipping him by, tethered to a handicapped hindlegs. Can’t even cross the road anywhere he lyks. Must always snifz out the designated crossing point, always waiting peep peep peep before it’s safe to trot on.
“nowlookhereTreacle,you’regoingtoofast” Sixlegs yanks at his handle “thisain’tarace,don’tyerknow?”
I don’t, coz I never been in a butt-lickin’ race, boss
Clouds are scritchy-scratching together and Treacle snifz rainlick getting ready to spill it down. Bad news for Treacle coz all the black arrows are still pointing Sixlegs in the wrong direction.
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