Digestive, oat and raisin. Gimme, gimme more. Lick, lick, crunch.
He looked plaintive, his furry little face wringing every drop of pity out of me. This was going to be difficult. How do you break it to a puppy that his poetic skills are, frankly abysmal? His agent had misled me regarding expertise in this genre. Regardless, this didn’t detract from his genius as a writer of gothic fiction. The public devoured every book and the film rights had been snapped up. This Pup’s star was on the rise.
My throat was drying fast. Oh this was getting harder. I brushed my face with a bamboo fan. His eyes glinted with humour now. Insightful little scamp! He knew what he was doing and gradually sidled towards me. Playing with my mind, how unscrupulous…
Barnie laid a little paw on my arm, which was strangely reassuring. I think it was time for a drink, red wine for me and a little warm milk for him. No biscuit though, his binge last night was terrible. We both needed to mull over our plan of action.
The silence between us was warm and filled with expectation. Words were unnecessary. Barnie cleared his throat and launched into a rather naughty offering.
Velvet darkness melting on my tongue, you tease me chocolate covered biscotti.
Infused with mandarin orange and spicy chilli, warming and teasing. Warming and teasing.
How my heart beats with your scent and taste, chocolate covered biscotti.
This was more like it. We shook, er, paws on it. A best seller was waiting in the shadows. Our meeting was over, Barnie was late for a photo shoot for GQ magazine. We air kissed and I left.