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Sun worshipping sausage

My new name is the coconut kid. As I rushed round the garden this morning I had an overwhelming urge to stuff my snout into a great pile of fox poo. I fought it, I fought it hard but in the end – it won. So I inserted my long wiry snouty hair into a great mass of warm steaming fox crap. Trumpton was not amused and screamed at me but you know what? It was worth it. That warm fugue of foulness curled round me like a cashmere blanket and as I was held aloft and in front of her by her gloved and revolted hand and she stomped over the garden and in to the shower I couldn’t hide the smile on my face.
Happy as a sausage in shit.

Now however is a different feeling paraben free coconut shampoo and conditioner have been trickled all over me. Revolting.

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