Remember
We start this story with Foul Ole Ron.
Sort of.
We all know that there's
a)Foul Ole Ron,
b)Foul Ole Ron's Smell,
and
c)Foul Ole Ron's Dog.
So this story is about the Dog.
And this story is about Life.
You know about Death, yes? The anthropomorphic being.
Has it ever occured to anyone that there might be an anthropomorphic being... being Life?
There is. Anthropomorphically speaking.
Susan Death, dutchess of Sto Helit, sat enjoying the second-rate sunlight outside the Mended Drum. Ah, the memories...
And Susan was glad it was over, in a way. It had been a year ago, and she was NORMAL again. She had almost forgotten what it was like, being normal.
Susan had found that if she twined her hair just THIS way, and over here, and up under, she got a sort of ponytail-bun-loopy kind of thing. But it stayed put, and she could keep it tame that way. After all, it was better than the paper-white halo with the black streak in that was her hair when it was down.
A flea-bitten, moth-eaten mongrel wandered up, sniffing here and there.
"Woof, woof, give the doggy a... whoops," it said.
"You're..." Susan's mind threw up a name. "Gaspode, right?"
"Dammit, shoulda known, shoulda smell'd you instantly. I must be gettin' old..."
Susan let out a little moan of despair. She was doing It again. She was remembering.
"And... You're Foul Ole Ron's dog now, right? But you had that thing with whatserface, the, the, the, the werewolf, didn't you?"
"Yeah, well, mister Carrot-brain got to her first..." Gaspode muttered. Maybe he'd been Ron's Dog too long, maybe his nose had just stopped dead after... oh, he'd say the first couple of minutes.
"And then there's someone else..." Susan's eyes glazed. "someone important, i think. Ugh, where's Granddad when i need him-"
[i invite anyone to continue the story, but what do you think so far? or should i continue it myself? i dunno...]
