This story is fiction. I found it while cleaning out old computer files. Goodness knows, nothing like this could ever happen in real life. I was never overseas. I was never in the military, and never shot a rifle. 
That said, you'll just have to trust that I know what I'm talking about. It is also a first draft. I never edited anything to improve the writing. You get it, warts and all. (Cause I know a tiny few of you might be former teaching colleagues of mine.)
This story was not submitted to a university professor, complete with colloquial speech patterns, for consideration as part of a long ago assignment. It was not submitted to shock anyone, or to tell a story that damned few of the uni-cursity faculty understood. Everyone knows that the world is full of unicorns, white clouds and endless sunny days.
This is part one of three.
Poodle's "Thing"
This here story is about Poodle's thing. Poodle's willie. Poodle's man bits. Okay? I hope you like it 'cause I was thinkin' about sendin' it to that military magazine they keep givin' out when we’re in the field. It's sorta like a Hollywood glossy, but instead of movie stars, it's generals tourin' around, gettin' their pictures took.
Anyway, I was in the army. That sucked because I never would have gone to Yugoslavistan if I was in the navy. It was just my luck that some general decided to send us there.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Generals don't send troops anywhere. That would be the politicians. Well, you'd be wrong about that. My best buddy in the regiment, Poodle Johnson, he told me that them generals are always looking to find themselves a cushier job than the one that they got. They figure when their army days is through, that they should be a company chairman or a consultant or something. The trouble is, most of them don't know enough about anything to be incompetent outside of the army too.. At least, that's what Poodle says. And heck, I believe him. He's smart.
So anyway, me and my buddies - Poodle and Squint - was on patrol, movin' through what was left of this village called Ulo Buka. This would be after them insurgents got through blowin' things up and setting fire to stuff that they said they wanted to keep. Strange eh?
You're probably wonderin' about Poodle and Squint. Poodle, he got that name from wearin' bright white runnin' shoes instead of boots, when we was trainin', back in Canada. The sergeant yelled at him to get rid of them and put his boots back on. He said, "You look stupid! Like some kind of french poodle!" So Poodle said, "But Sarge, them boots pinch my feet! Can I wear slippers instead?"
The Sarge just gave him one of them NCO looks and said, "NO!!!" He's an okay guy, but real military. Poodle ditched the runners but kept the name.
Squint got his nickname 'cause of the time the RSM told him he had a face that could stop a train. The RSM was wrong; the train kept goin'.
Back to my story. Poodle's got to take a whiz. Like that's anything strange, what with the food they give us. Anyway, he stops beside what's left of this house and begins to relieve his kidneys. Well, this old dog comes runnin' out from behind the bricks and darned if it didn't take a nip out of old Poodle! Me and Squint, we was laughing so hard that we didn't see what direction that dog ran. Poodle's screamin' blue murder about stoppin' the dog and retrievin' his "thing", what the mutt had bit off.
What's a guy to do? Squint said that even if we find the dog, wouldn't it be a good bet that Poodle's "thing" woulda been swallowed? I mean, there are some things a guy will do for his buddy, but rootin' around for his private parts, well, that ain't one of 'em.
"Darnit Squint! I'll gut the dog myself! Just find it!" Poodle screamed.
So, while Poodle kinda stood there, hoppin' around from one foot to the other, we went lookin'. I guess we was gone two or three minutes when I seen the mangy lookin' mutt, lookin' at us from behind a bush. I suggested to Squint that it was easier to just shoot it, but he said no, the noise would bring other guys from the regiment. They'd ask what was goin' on and we'd have to tell them about Poodle, the dog, and his "thing".
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a Schneider's Hot Rod. If you never seen one, they're supposed to be a processed meat snack - sorta like a small sausage, wrapped in a plastic tube. Anyway, I opened it and shook it at the mutt. I guess he was hungry 'cause he came runnin' at me for to get the Hot Rod.
This is where the story got weird. Squint, he stood there with a big stick, ready to whack the dog over the head when it got close enough. The mutt grabbed the treat and started to run, but stopped. It began coughin' and shakin' its head. I thought it was crazy! Just about that time, Poodle, he comes walkin' over toward the noise and goin's on. Talk about your perfect timing! That stupid critter started heavin' up his guts, and howlin' to beat Jesus. He deposited everything that he'd ett right there on the ground in front of Poodle. The contents included one slightly abused "thing".
Poodle grabbed his Johnson and started off towards the medical tent. Me and Squint followed along, content to be there for moral support...and to watch the reactions when the doctor asked what happened!
TBC
That said, you'll just have to trust that I know what I'm talking about. It is also a first draft. I never edited anything to improve the writing. You get it, warts and all. (Cause I know a tiny few of you might be former teaching colleagues of mine.)This story was not submitted to a university professor, complete with colloquial speech patterns, for consideration as part of a long ago assignment. It was not submitted to shock anyone, or to tell a story that damned few of the uni-cursity faculty understood. Everyone knows that the world is full of unicorns, white clouds and endless sunny days.
This is part one of three.
Poodle's "Thing"
This here story is about Poodle's thing. Poodle's willie. Poodle's man bits. Okay? I hope you like it 'cause I was thinkin' about sendin' it to that military magazine they keep givin' out when we’re in the field. It's sorta like a Hollywood glossy, but instead of movie stars, it's generals tourin' around, gettin' their pictures took.
Anyway, I was in the army. That sucked because I never would have gone to Yugoslavistan if I was in the navy. It was just my luck that some general decided to send us there.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Generals don't send troops anywhere. That would be the politicians. Well, you'd be wrong about that. My best buddy in the regiment, Poodle Johnson, he told me that them generals are always looking to find themselves a cushier job than the one that they got. They figure when their army days is through, that they should be a company chairman or a consultant or something. The trouble is, most of them don't know enough about anything to be incompetent outside of the army too.. At least, that's what Poodle says. And heck, I believe him. He's smart.
So anyway, me and my buddies - Poodle and Squint - was on patrol, movin' through what was left of this village called Ulo Buka. This would be after them insurgents got through blowin' things up and setting fire to stuff that they said they wanted to keep. Strange eh?
You're probably wonderin' about Poodle and Squint. Poodle, he got that name from wearin' bright white runnin' shoes instead of boots, when we was trainin', back in Canada. The sergeant yelled at him to get rid of them and put his boots back on. He said, "You look stupid! Like some kind of french poodle!" So Poodle said, "But Sarge, them boots pinch my feet! Can I wear slippers instead?"
The Sarge just gave him one of them NCO looks and said, "NO!!!" He's an okay guy, but real military. Poodle ditched the runners but kept the name.
Squint got his nickname 'cause of the time the RSM told him he had a face that could stop a train. The RSM was wrong; the train kept goin'.
Back to my story. Poodle's got to take a whiz. Like that's anything strange, what with the food they give us. Anyway, he stops beside what's left of this house and begins to relieve his kidneys. Well, this old dog comes runnin' out from behind the bricks and darned if it didn't take a nip out of old Poodle! Me and Squint, we was laughing so hard that we didn't see what direction that dog ran. Poodle's screamin' blue murder about stoppin' the dog and retrievin' his "thing", what the mutt had bit off.
What's a guy to do? Squint said that even if we find the dog, wouldn't it be a good bet that Poodle's "thing" woulda been swallowed? I mean, there are some things a guy will do for his buddy, but rootin' around for his private parts, well, that ain't one of 'em.
"Darnit Squint! I'll gut the dog myself! Just find it!" Poodle screamed.
So, while Poodle kinda stood there, hoppin' around from one foot to the other, we went lookin'. I guess we was gone two or three minutes when I seen the mangy lookin' mutt, lookin' at us from behind a bush. I suggested to Squint that it was easier to just shoot it, but he said no, the noise would bring other guys from the regiment. They'd ask what was goin' on and we'd have to tell them about Poodle, the dog, and his "thing".
I reached in my pocket and pulled out a Schneider's Hot Rod. If you never seen one, they're supposed to be a processed meat snack - sorta like a small sausage, wrapped in a plastic tube. Anyway, I opened it and shook it at the mutt. I guess he was hungry 'cause he came runnin' at me for to get the Hot Rod.
This is where the story got weird. Squint, he stood there with a big stick, ready to whack the dog over the head when it got close enough. The mutt grabbed the treat and started to run, but stopped. It began coughin' and shakin' its head. I thought it was crazy! Just about that time, Poodle, he comes walkin' over toward the noise and goin's on. Talk about your perfect timing! That stupid critter started heavin' up his guts, and howlin' to beat Jesus. He deposited everything that he'd ett right there on the ground in front of Poodle. The contents included one slightly abused "thing".
Poodle grabbed his Johnson and started off towards the medical tent. Me and Squint followed along, content to be there for moral support...and to watch the reactions when the doctor asked what happened!
TBC
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