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The Prime Minister as a Dog

What fun, he thought, I have a tail!

The Prime Minister woke up one day and found he was a dog.

There was something wrong with his eyes – it was all rather grey and blurry – but his nose… his nose was being overwhelmed by the smells. He could smell himself and know he was somewhat male, quite large, a bit tubby, lots of fur everywhere and… and a tail!

What fun! He had a tail!

Hang on a minute, he wondered. Do I have a tail?

He wagged it. Thumped it up and down, wagged again. That made him feel happy, just wagging by itself made him feel much happier.

He could smell the gods also living in the big den: they smelled strongly of ape-dog and strongly of artificial smells a bit like flowers and he could also smell food nearby.

He sat up.

He had four legs, no hands and his legs were covered in rather attractive yellow fur. Labrador fur. I’m a golden Labrador!

Wow! he thought, and found he had said exactly that, loudly. “Wow! Bwow! Ruff ruff…WOW!”

He jumped out of bed and shook himself all over, nose to tail, shedding fur everywhere. He went to his water dish and lapped some water. It tasted wonderful. He went to his food dish.

His food dish was EMPTYYYYY!

“Aroo!” he said, because his tum was growling at him, “Arooo ooo  WOW ooo aroo…”

He could quite clearly hear a god getting out of bed upstairs and he could hear what he was saying but he didn’t understand it.

Oh, he did. A bit. “…bloody dog… greedy… bububub in the morning…”

“Aroo!” he said encouragingly.

“Sharrup!” said the god, his feet thumping on the stairs.

The Prime Minister ran up and down the kitchen in excitement – food, FOOD was coming – stood on his hind legs and pawed at the handle and found somebody pushing back and was accidentally thrown over backwards by the god opening the door.

No matter. He rolled and jumped to his feet with his tail going wag wag wag and pawed at the god.

“I’m starving, give me food,” he tried to say, but he found it too hard and what came out was “Aroo, arururu, roof.”

The god wasn’t fully awake, the Prime Minister could spot that from the way he smelled, so the Prime Minister jumped up and licked his face to wake up the god so that he could rejoice in the morning too.

The god gave him a friendly shove, grabbed his FOOD DISH and put it high up on the counter. The god poured some little food-lumps into it and then some water.

“Urrgh,” said the god, but the Prime Minister knew he wasn’t growling at him, because the smell was too friendly and sleepy.

“Come on, Boris,” said the god, putting on wellies, delicious smelling wellies. The Prime Minister rather thought he’d investigate having sex with the wellies, if he could be alone with them for five minutes. The god clipped a lead to his collar and the Prime Minister tried to run up and down again but fell over.

Then the god opened the back door, saw the rain, put on a coat.

Oh lovely, thought the Prime Minister, I LOVE the rain.

Do I? he wondered.


There were exquisite-smelling muddy puddles, a fox had passed by, two rabbits had passed by and been frightened, a badger…

The Prime Minister snuffled everything, found an abandoned day-old chip and ate it, found a very old seagull’s wing and ate it – exquisite, a little like a good Stilton – and then some cat poo and slurped it up because cat poo was fantastically rich, a bit like excellent Parma ham. No day was wasted in which he’d chomped up some cat poo though the gods didn’t like it and said things like “Yuck!” and “OhgodBoris,” probably because they were jealous that he found it first. He was just snuffling after some kind of mushroom when the lead pulled him into an open area.

The Prime Minister felt the lead being unclipped from his collar and started running around barking. There were all his friends! How lovely to see them!

The gods were standing to one side and talking.

“How’s Vladimir?” asked his own god, and one of the other gods – female, quite plump, smelling like she ate a lot of fruit and chocolate – smiled and said, “Oh he’s very dominating as always.”

The Prime Minister looked where the goddess was looking, following her gaze and saw a Doberman, standing staring around himself. Yes, he smelled a bit frightening. A little way off was a nice Rotweiler. He galloped up and licked her nose. He rather thought her name was Angela Then he saw a handsome white standard poodle who haughtily turned his back and did a poo.

“Emmanuel,” shouted one of the other gods, “You already did one.”

Somebody shouted behind him and he turned to find a chihuahua running towards him, growling soprano and yapping. “Dominic!” roared the god, chasing him, “Stop bullying Boris!”

Still Dominic smelled very dominant and powerful, so the Prime Minister rolled on his back for him, and Dominic did his best to shag the Prime Minister’s leg.

There was a smell of anger and rot and there was a big Golden Retriever shambling over the grass. “Donald, no!” shouted his goddess.

Donald lifted his lip at his own goddess – Boris was quite shocked at that – and then tried to mate with Emmanuel, who snarled at him, Angela, who barked once meaningfully, Dominic who ran away, and finally Boris who just let him get on with it. They were all friends here.

Seconds later they were running round and round madly, barking and playing.

The Prime Minister had never been happier in his life.

[With thanks to Umair Haque for his stories about the dog park]



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