Sin City 2000 Type IX Part 3
Type 9: Rated Poodle Generation 13
Past 2
by Fixate

	Almost a full generation ago, Marcel Tibias Poodle IV looked at his wristwatch and grimaced.  He didn't know why he had agreed to stay home alone with the pups, giving his beautiful mate some free time by herself.  She had explained that it was necessary and that the puppysitter had been busy.  She had explained and wrote down every possible situation that might come up at his request, and he had watched her do almost everything she had explained at once on a day to day basis, but this was still the first time he had ever really been left to tend the pups all day long.
	After a couple hours of whimpering and yipping, he started to get the impression that the pups knew that he had to take care of all eight of them by himself and that he really had no idea what he was doing.  The pups were unruly and extremely undisciplined, and though they had provoked him many times to fall back on his military training to beat some sense into them, they were pups, his pups, and a Mammal did not harm unarmed pups.  They had squirted him a few times, but it was out of fun not anger and as the hours went by he realized that a loving voice was a hundred times more effective with the pups than an angry growl and scolding.
	"*Hmmm* Seventeen hundred.  No pups are crying, but I might as well check on them anyway", Marcel told himself as he got up out of his recliner and headed for the stairs.
	Marcel had already heard all the current world events and other than that, he saw television as a complete waste of time.  Maybe later he'd play another online VR war game, but the other furs were getting too predictable, and as much as he'd hate to admit it, he was getting tired of combat and weaponry.  Also, no matter how involved he got into it, he knew it wasn't really the Mammal Corpse.  No fur ever did or would make a VR program on the day to day training of other fighters so that they could eventually be as good as he was.
	His reality now was his eight purebred poodle puppies, which he couldn't really tell apart, but knew that there were four males and four females.  His mate had given them regal poodle names, all of which he approved of, but if he couldn't match them with the appropriate pup and they couldn't remember them, then they were completely useless as far as he saw.  Newborn poodles needed more suitable names until they got older.
	As he stood over the female pups' crib, admiring the cute little pups happily sleeping in a small pile inside of it, one of them woke up.  Instead of immediately crying, she blinked up at him with her big purple eyes, yawned, and then pawed up at him as her face slowly went sour.
	"No.  It's not revile yet... Christina?" Marcel softly scolded in his baritone voice as he snatched up the little pink rubber muzzle beside her and held it over her mouth.
	Taken completely by surprise, the little puppy's eyes went wide and then she started making a bunch of weird faces as she wiggled around and tried to paw the muzzle off of her.  So as not have her waking up her sisters, Marcel finally picked her up and let her blow the muzzle off of her.  Just in case she tried to yip before they got out of the room, Marcel quickly bent down, scooped up the muzzle, and popped it back over her mouth.  She made a happy little squeaking sound as her eyes momentarily went wide again and as Marcel walked back into the hallway, his daughter directed all her attention to the bright pink thing over the bottom half of her face.  Every time he let go of the muzzle, she'd blow it off and then giggled as he bent down to pick it back up, so he walked down the steps, he held her by the back of her neck and let her bounce freely with each step he took.
	Once he'd gotten to the living room, Marcel took hold of his daughter's left arm and leg, swung her around in a circle as few times, and then made her dive-bomb and zoom over the furniture.  Next, he flipped her onto the couch, walked back over the rubber muzzle at the foot of the stairs, and, on a whim, and popped it backwards into his mouth.
	As his daughter bounced herself on the couch cushion and looked at him, Marcel knelt in front of her and noisily chewed on her squeaky muzzle.  Then he took it out of his mouth, smiled at her, and stated, "I see no problem with your muzzle, daughter Poodle.  It's no chew toy, mind you, but there's no reason why you should spit it out."  Marcel placed the muzzle in front of his daughter and watched as she looked up at him, then at it, sniffed it, and then started licking the outside where he had been chewing on it.  "Hmmm.  Maybe it is a chew toy after all.  Very well then, belay my last and carry on."
	Marcel's daughter started happily yipping at him, and he waggled his finger at her, jokingly commanding, "At ease, daughter Poodle, eh, *hmmm* Fluffy.  Yes.  At ease, Fluffy."  Marcel playfully poked her in the nose, she looked at and wiggled it, then looked back up at her father, and started to yip again.  Before she could get out a second yip, he stuck one of his fingers in her mouth and said as she went from gnawing to looking at to licking and sucking on his finger, "That, Fluffy, is 'at ease'.  Now if you stay quiet, like.  That. *Hmmm* you like the taste of Daddy's finger, don't you, Fluffy?  Very well then."
	Thoughtfully, Marcel popped his finger out of Fluffy's tiny little mouth, looked her over skeptically, looked at his watch, looked up at where the pups' bedroom was, and then looked over at his reading chair.  As his daughter watched him curiously, he walked over to the television, took a drab green book off the top of it, went back to the couch, picked up his daughter by the back of her neck, and sat down in the recliner.  Then, with his daughter nuzzling him on her lap, he opened up the book with one hand as he scritched the top of her head with the other.  Finally, he spread his legs and watched her giggle as she fell in between them and settled on the soft cushion.
	"Your Mommy has trained you, and I suspect all of your brothers and sisters, very well in the Basic Suckling MOS, Fluffy.  I, Marcel Poodle, or if you prefer, Daddy, hereby state that I am very impressed with your performance and have recommended you for the intermediate course of Gun Cleaning.  As a fellow Poodle, I, Daddy, expect you, Fluffy Poodle, to study long and hard and take every opportunity available to be a perfect Gun Cleaning Specialist", Marcel awarded as he undid his belt and unzipped his fly.
	Being that it was her first time, Marcel didn't make his daughter work that hard to see the reward for her effort.  Then, after burping her and washing her fur to a pristinely fluffy white, he laid her back down in her crib and smiled at the tiny pile of happy little poodle pups snoozing before him.
	Now, more than ever, Marcel Tibias Poodle IV was determined to create an entire Corpse in his own image.