29/08/2025
The Adventures of Pooches Mobile
by Jacqueline
Featuring...
Charlie the Sproker
(AKA fishpound Charlie)
Jacqueline was not just any dog groomer—oh no. She was the Fylde coast very own mobile magician of mutts.
Armed with her trusty grooming van, which smelled faintly of lavender, wet dog, and just a hint of biscuits (her secret to making friends with reluctant clients), she set off each day to tame the wildest, fluffiest, and occasionally stinkiest of pooches.
Her van was her kingdom. She polished her scissors, fluffed her towels, and whispered to her shampoo bottles as if they were old friends. Everything was in order—until she arrived at Charlie’s house.
Charlie was a sprocker spaniel with a glossy black coat, a proud white bib, and the personality of a cheeky toddler who’s just discovered sugar. He lived in a house where he, not his humans, ran the show. His “den” under the stairs was his throne room, though he often abandoned it to charge the front door whenever visitors appeared.
When Jacqueline knocked, Charlie sprinted straight to the door like a furry cannonball.
But the moment he saw it was Jacqui—the Lady of the Bubbles, the Mistress of Shampoo, the Bringer of Baths—he screeched to a halt, performed a flawless U-turn worthy of Crufts, and bolted the other way.
It wasn’t that he disliked Jacqui. Quite the opposite—he adored her. He would happily lick her face off if only she didn’t insist on making him smell like a posh soap advert. Charlie was a firm believer that a real dog should smell of mud, mystery puddles, and last week’s chips.
Eventually, with the help of a biscuit bribe (Jacqueline’s secret weapon), Charlie was persuaded into the van. Inside, he gave her his best “I’m being tortured” eyes as she shampooed, rinsed, fluffed, and puffed him until he gleamed like a canine chandelier. He emerged, smelling of roses and ready for Crufts’ red carpet.
But Charlie had other ideas.
The very second Jacqui opened the door, Charlie shot back into his house like a streak of black lightning. Straight through the hallway, under the stairs, onto his bed—then he began the ritual: The Roll.
Back and forth he wriggled with the enthusiasm of a dog possessed, rubbing away every trace of “Eau de Fancy Dog Shampoo.” Within seconds, he was once again a proud ambassador of Eau de Charlie, complete with notes of sock, cushion fluff, and mysterious stair dust.
Jacqueline sighed.
Charlie’s owners laughed.
And Charlie, well… Charlie grinned, tongue lolling, tail thumping. He knew he’d won.
After all, every adventure of Pooches Mobile ended the same way: Jacqui with a damp arm, a van full of fur, and Charlie smelling exactly how Charlie thought a dog should.
