Sir Nigel Hufflesnuff, the Royal Dog Walker, is sad. The Queen is gone, but her corgis remain, and they are saddest of all, so thinks Nigel.
After several attempts through various intermediaries, Nigel has tried to bring the corgis to the attention of the King, even though Chuck sleeps just above the dog walker.
According to Royal Rule #777, “The dog walker shall on no occasion talk directly to his or her Majesties. Even if the house is on fire.”
Finally Nigel was able to get the King’s opinion, and Chuck was very nice about it. He came along with the corgis for a lovely walk on royal grounds.
Nigel issued a complete report on his walk with the King and the corgis.
At first he had difficulty corralling the corgis – now that the Queen is dead, the little dogs tend to roam where they will. They shit wherever and bark at squirrels – which are in no ways royal at all … terrorists squirrels exploded by MI6.
(But you didn’t hear that from me.)
The corgis chase their tails and nip at each other, have another slash or plop, scratch the earth with their hind feet, chase more squirrels (MI6 lock and load, targeting enemy, and … fire!), and even sit down to give their nether regions a thorough lick. Maybe more.
(And now for the punchline. Did you see it coming? I did, but then again, I’m writing it. And here it is:)
Oh sorry, that was Nigel’s report on the behaviour of the King during the walk.
The corgis were well-behaved and enjoy the grounds, barked at nothing, didn’t lick their dicks even once, and held in their business until they were granted permission to be dogs again.
The King is in the dog house for his bad behaviour, and Nigel even once had to rub his nose in it and say, “That’s a baaaad King! Yes you are! He knows what he did. Bad boy!”