So, what happened to Sir Broderick’s beloved ass Sassafrass, anywhatway?

One may remember the moment when the bouncer got right up in Sir Broderick’s face to demonstrate that he did not smell like a dead animal and instead smelled like sandalwood. Well, it so happened that the scent of sandalwood emanating from the bouncer’s chest was indeed so overpowering that Sir Broderick let go of poor Sassafrass’ rope. Which, it must be noted, did itself smell like a dead animal, and not at all like sandalwood.

Now Sassafrass was, like most asses before, after and during his time, what one might consider obnoxiously nosy. And that was not just on account of his humongous nose. That said, when presented with the opportunity, Sassafrass simply walked right past the bouncer and into the guilded archway entrance of the Caldonian Kennel Club Exclusive Wine and Dining Hall.

The first thing Sassafrass noticed was that the rugs of the Caldonian Kennel Club Exclusive Wine and Dining Hall as well as the floors underneath them were enchanted. Probably by a warlock, by the look of it. Assafrass made this discovery when he tried to cover them both in his own urine, disappointingly to no avail. If an ass could not cover the ground it walked on with its own defecate, was it even an ass at all?

Then again, maybe it was better that Sassafrass felt he was not even an ass at all for this moment. His beloved ass master Sir Broderick had just recently claimed that he was not an ass at all but instead some sort of wolfhound, of all things. This had, though Sassafrass was scared to admit it, given the poor ass a bit of an identity crisis.

Wasn’t he an ass?

And if he wasn’t an ass, then wasn’t he a dog?

His ass master said he was a dog, and as everything an ass master says to and of his ass was gospel, he clearly had to be a dog.

However, the bouncer at the Caldonian Kennel Club Exclusive Wine and Dining Hall claimed he was not a dog at all. And if a member of the Caldonian Kennel Club claimed he was not a dog, well, who would know a dog better than some who twerked for them? So clearly, Sassafrass was not a dog.

And just like that, poor Sassafrass had eaten the entire ornamental rug under his feet out of nervousness. His stomache grumbled anxiously in distemper as he settled back into his skin, jarred by the near out of body experience his anxiety spiral had wrought.

“Oai naow, whaat ian thae blaooming clauck ias thias?”

Sassafrass froze like a person who had had a paralyzation spell cast on them or had just emptied their bowels into their undergarments or maybe a little bit of both.

“Whay, ias thaat aan aass oar maight iat bae aa woalfhound? Ai caan’t raight saay!” the extravangantly robed nobleman peered down at him, a bloodshot human eye magnified to the thousands by an enormous, glassy, handheld magickal magnifier.

Even whoever this jovial fellow was couldn’t tell if he was an ass or if he was a wolfhound. Sassafrass figured he ought to look into therapy. Unfortunately, the jovial fellow was now squeezing his belly. That is to say, the jovial fellow was squeezing Sassafrass’ belly, the jovial fellow was not squeezing their own belly, though surely the belt they had tightened around said belly, said belly referring to the jovial fellow’s belly of course, was indeed squeezing that belly. That belly referring of course to the belly of the jovial fellow. The short of it was that both Sassafrass and the jovial fellow accosting him were experiencing some squeezeage.

“Hmmm. Iats braisket caould usae aa gaood pauffing,” he mused as he continued to grope Sassafrass’s lumpy, rug-filled gut, “Baut Ia dao belieave, iaf thaat vualgar charactaer Ia oaverheard speakaing tao thae baouncer waas caorrect, thaat thais ias naothing oather thaan aa rarae woalfhound waith snaout oblaongification, reaar straetchification, faur stainkification and saack straengthification, aall oaf whaich manay CKaC jaudges fiand veray daesirable.”

Sassafrass could scarcely understand what this strange person was saying to him but the constant asshandling he was experiencing was making him quite uncomfortable. It made him feel like some sort of rug-eating, assy piece of meat.

“Caome gaive haim aa snaiff, Bauford. Saee whaat yaou thaink.”

A fluffy Old Caldonian Sheepdog padded up to Sassafrass and sniffed his anus thoroughly. Once finished, it accented this assault by grumbling incoherently while pouting at its owner.

HEE HAW HEE HAW HEE HEE HEE HAW

A sudden fluttering and wrenching siezed Sassafrass’ intestines as he bellowed in agony. He bucked his back legs and nearly knocked the sheepdog in the face as he released three bouts of flatulence so terrifyingly tempestuous that dog and owner alike were soon quivering in horror.

It deserves to be said before going further that Caldonian animals were capable of speaking to one another through a sort of imagination-based telepathy. This only carried over from animal to animal, they could not communicate with humans, as their imaginations were often crowded with unpleasant vulagrities. Even less could animals use this ability to communicate with inanimate objects, which were decidedly vulgar in their own right.

Oh cluck, Sassafrass thought to himself in shameful agony, Why on Gurth did I eat that hamned rug?

I don’t know, why did you eat me? a strange, rug-sounding voice replied in Sassafrass’ head. This was so jarring an experience that Sassafrass immediately let loose another blast of gas that apparently caused the sheepdog behind him to plop on its side and lose consciousness.

“Bauford, may dearaest daoggie!” wailed the man, who turned to Sassafrass and glared, “Ia dao naot carae haow rarae oaf aa waolfhound yaou maya bae, whaat waith yaour ealongations aand oblaogifications and straetchifications and straengthifications! Ia caould naever assaociate mayself wiath sauch aa vaile, vaulgar and hataeful anaimal aas yaourself!”

Sassafrass crumbled into a rug-bloated heap, sniveling.

“Arae yaou saad oar someathing, yaou claucking craetin?! Whay, maybae iaf yaou waere naot yaourself, aand werae ianstead somaeone elsae, maybae thaen whaat yaou’ve donae waould bae eaxcusable. Baut Ia caan saee intao yaour eayes, yoau daisgusting saack oaf salaad dreassing. Ia seea whaat yaou arae naow, aand whaat yaou arae ias saomething shamaeful, somaething thaat oaught naot eaxist, saomething thaat nao oane caould eaver laove oar waant oar naeed!”

Sassafrass receded into himself, wishing at this moment he were a turtle and not a…whatever he was. Not only had this lunatic’s outburst hammered home his already shaky grasp on identity, it had virtually knocked his self-esteem off a cliff. If only his ass master were here. Sassafrass’ ass master wouldn’t let anyone talk to him like that. At least not without doing his absolute best to maim the offender.

“Ia saay aold chaup, whaat ian thae chaickens arae yaou shaouting aat?” drawled a pair of mutton chops attached to a man emerging from a side room.

“Iat’s thais claucking waolfhound! Whay iat’s pratiacally maurdured may darlaing praincess!” he gestured to his comatose sheepdog twice for emphasis.

“Ia saay, waasn’t therae aa raug caovering thais paart oaf thae hallwaya earliaer?”

“Ia daon’t knaow Ia daon’t knoaw Ia jaust uagh Ia aam ianfuriated!” the nobleman growled, storming off to cock knew where.

“Ia saay. Haow traoubling,” tut tutted mutton chops, looking down at Sassafrass, “Naow, may laittle waolfhound, whaat aall agaain daid hae saay yaou’ve goat? Aa thaong snaapification? Naose stauffification? Skain wraiknlification? Taail uaglification? Whay, Ia haaven’t thae slaightest iadea whaat anay oaf thaat maeans baut iat saounds laike maoney. Yaou’re caoming waith mae.”