pervet poodle
As I have mentioned previously (see post: floodlit shit part deux) mrs spimf used to have a nancy looking little toy poodle - to be fair the little fucker was as hard as nails and would have the hand off you at any opportunity but he was according to mrs spimf 'her little prince'. He only ever ate grilled chicken breast; pan-fried liver (with a little dash of red wine naturally) or chocolate. He would walk on paths to avoid wet grass and would NEVER step in a puddle.

For the first seven years or so the 'little prince' had the then Miss Spimf all to his little fluffy self. Then i came on the scene. i was at best 'tolerated' by the yappy little fucker. If Mrs Spimf was asleep he would not let me anywhere near her - if i even so as much walked by her if she had nodded off on the sofa he could leap from apparent dozing to waist height level to bite my hand. in one rapid manoeuvre - like a little french ninja.

we also stood aghast one day watching him go into the laundry basket - rummage around for some of my underwear, pull it out then piss on it.

the final insult though was one fine day Mrs Spimf and i were sharing a moment of tender lurve, all was progressing swimmingly Mrs Spimf writhing and panting away like some Mills & Boon heroine when suddenly and much to her shock I went rigid, bolt upright (no not that, that was already perfectly tumescent thank you) but you would have thought i had just been tasered.

"My God what’s wrong Spimf, are you ok"

Little bastard had only crept up onto the bed and stuck his cold wet little nose right up my arse.

He's buried under my back lawn now, natural causes like ; D
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 10:01, Reply)