It was a foggy morning in the wold, when I his human, yet to become known as Jeeves, Scamp, and Little Brofur set out on a quest abreast our noble steed Tucson.
We headed west along the old Roman Road colloquially known as the 419. The journey was wrought with many a peril, but Tucson that mighty diesel chugging beast battled dutifully against these omnipresent foes known as boy racers and Sunday drivers to carry us safely to our destination: Demi Eden. Fertile land where deer, pheasant, and rabbits roam freely alongside an enchanted brook.
But first we had to pass through the mighty turnstile gates. Valiant Little Brofur passed through the narrow gap between the gates of Doom in the blink of an eye. Scamp however, baring some resemblance around the middle to his fellow nobleman Henry VIII, almost got ensnared between the giant metal teeth. But he reached within and with a twist of the torso and a thrust of his mighty paws, he did it—he was free. To celebrate his victory he lifted his leg against the post so that any other dog who dared to travel this way henceforth would know of his triumph.
Next was the most perilous part of our quest. We would have to cross over the mighty rapids of The Lock. The water gurgled and roared as if powered by some dark beast within. Fortunately the gods had seen fit to build a bridge for one to cross over. And yet it is well known that when you have four paws, the five yard journey can be a frightening one, fraught with many a peril. Being light of paw, Little Brofur did a running vault and made it to the other side in three alacritous jumps. Not one to be outdone Scamp followed suit, albeit with slightly less aplomb. Though he was not light of paw, what he lacked in agility he made up for in courage, and so he boldly took the lead up the next crossing. The boardwalk across the marshland that separated our trio from the safety of our trusty steed Tucson who was bedded down next to the road, and our final hurdle: The Brook of Styx… otherwise known as The Ampney Brook.
Scamp scamped along the boardwalk taking care to avoid any gaps that might ensnare a paw that could see him dragged down into the jaws of Boggon: the bog monster that was well known to dwell within the muddy waters beneath, quietly laying in wait for fresh prey. “Not today Boggon!” Scamp followed closely by brave Little Brofur cried as they both boldly scamped across to safety on the other side.
Next up we had to traverse the muddy path toward the Brook, taking care to avoid the engorged roots of the trees that lined the path in yet another test of the courage that lay within each of our hearts. After lifting their legs on the sidings to signal to other dogs that they had once again prevailed, Scamp, Little Brofur, and I arrived alongside the mighty Ampney Brook.
There in the middle lay a great rock as the fast running water of the Brook sluiced by on other side. It was clear, to reach the other side, we would have to walk through the water. Little Brofur being undertall, jumped at the side of my leg to indicate he would need my help ferrying him across. Scamp sniffed at the water’s edge to ensure there were no tricksy water sprites lurking within. Satisfied that all was safe, he strode into the water and carefully began to walk towards the middle. With great courage and stout paws he made it to the great rock. He stood atop the great rock in triumph, and that is when it happened!
The Lady of the Brook emerged from the deep and presented him with Excalibone; anointing him so that he should henceforth go from that place and be known to all as The Duke of Bork. He turned toward me and decided that as his first royal decree henceforth I would be known as Jeeves, his loyal servant. He gave a snort in Little Brofur’s direction to let him know that he would be known to all as Sir Little Spare. Jeeves obligingly captured the moment for posterity so that they could leave this place and spread the word so that many would know about this day, and The Duke’s triumphant feat.
The Duke and Sir Little Spare continue to wander the realm of the wolds, at times lifting their legs in unison to ensure that both their legacies will evermore be preserved. As for me… I not certain about the Lady in the Brook, or Excalibone, which bore a striking resemblance to the remnants of a fox’s meal. But then again, who I am to challenge how my dog self identifies?
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