Tales from the Whitethorn: The Poker Game

I never get lucky when Terrier deals and I have to listen to his crude nonsense. Boxer thought with a curl of his flabby lips. Anyways, I don’t know why I bother playing with these misfits every Saturday night. Look at him puff on that heinous cigar as if he was some kind of card shark or something. I don’t believe he is pure anyway; Terrier has that mongrel look about him. If I knew for certain then that would be the end of it.
It is good, very good. I hold the two kings. Now I have something to play. Maybe the lady of luck, she finally come to sit with me, and I get some more of the good cards, hopefully. I show them German Sheppard is intelligent poker player. Ok, I open bet for $50.
Ha! I can read that kraut like a cheap novel. But damn it, I got nothing but a shit hand of crap. Terrier thought while savoring a mouthful of bourbon. But hang in there, maybe if the other dummies aren’t loaded I might be able to bluff the son of a bitch out of the pot. Keep the Jack and the Ten. Alright, time to scatter the ducks. I call and raise $100.
This is an unfortunate state of affairs. How in heavens can I manipulate this mish-mash of a hand? Greyhound pondered with a downward glance at his chips. Too jolly rich for me. That Terrier chap seems to have all the luck tonight. No, would not be prudent to flitter good money away with just a pair of twos., could become a sticky wicket Nil desperandum, we live to fight another day.
Why does that cheat keep upping the ante when someone opens? I bet he has nothing? Boxer thought. Still three little threes isn’t bad. But Corgi is staying in the game as well. Him with his antiquated Welsh traditions and harping on about Royalty. Oh no, Terrier is calling for more whiskey with his eyes out on sticks whenever that tarted-up Red Setter waitress appears. He just doesn’t get it; he not her type. Terrier should stick to the street stray, more his level.
Oh please, that scruffy flea-bag is ogling me again. Red Setter thought. I can’t stand his smell, and would rather have it off with one of the foxes or even with a skunk than with that pervert. Ok, be professional, smile at his crude innuendoes. Mmm, that funny talking Sheppard is cute though.
Wow-wee! What a bitch, and I think she’s hot for me. Yes siree, she can sniff my butt anytime of the day or preferably night. But what have we here. I knew she’d bring me luck. Sweet as a nut! Keep calm, Terrier, don’t give yourself away. That Boxer prick is watching you. Him with his turned up snout, thinks his ass smells of roses.
Nothing good happening. Already again only two kings. Very misfortunately, the Terrier holds the better than me. So sadly, I must make only a call.
Just as I said, predictable as a poodle. Terrier thought, unable to resist a grin as he blew a perfect ring of smoke across the table in Boxer’s direction. Five hundred bucks bet.
The clown’s bluffing. Boxer thought disintegrating the smoke ring with a swipe of his paw and sitting back in his chair to hold his cards close as if cradling a pup. See that $500 and raise $1000.
Nobody beats my Straight. Terrier thought before calling and nonchalantly revealing his “straight to the jack.” He let out a howl of joy as Boxer disdainfully threw his cards into the discard pile. Read them and weep dogs.
Not so eager me bucko” Corgi said in his lilting Welsh accent I’ve got me a “Full House of Royal Queens. Gentle-hounds, it’s been a rare pleasure, indeed it has. A tidier bunch than yourselves I have yet to stumble on. God save our gracious Queen.

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