Stavanger Bay 8 dogs 8 banjos (Optional Packtivity)

murgash had gone for a leisurely stroll through the caches (taking stock -- both literally and physically in his mouth) when the howl came. he recognized it as atoll's and swung his slobbery muzzle around, dirt still crumbling from the half-rotted fish held between his teeth.

it was not out of duty or subservience that he heeded doe's call -- rather, it came out of his duty to perform. his stomach's hunger was abated, but doe had eluded his advances yet -- perhaps tonight would be the man's lucky and fateful night.

the repulsive beast quickened his pace when he saw doe was alone, and a flittering hit his stomach that was not the doing of the putrid fish he had just consumed. she looked anxious, excitable -- perhaps he could put that to bed. with a roguish grin (one that did him no favors and exposed every crummy, plaque-lined tooth in his crooked snout) he sided up to the fair lady -- had he arms he would have thrown them about her in an uncomfortable, too-personal gesture of camaraderie. "oi! de beaut-ee-ful loidy -- wot's de occayshiun, darlin'? he half-bellowed, half-sang, his baritone an offensive bugle probably too close to her ears for comfort.