Before we begin, let us take a moment to remember the Queen’s Corgis, who remained humble to the end despite being the prized pets of the British royal family, because: they were dogs. And as such are unbending in their commitment to good living; being unaffected by the foolish vagaries of the social constructs of man; and just general, reliable, tongues-out awesomeness.
With the final remaining member of the Queen’s Corgi’s having passed away last Sunday, put down after 14 years of keeping the palace real, the Queen has reluctantly agreed to give another boisterous, furred animal who doesn’t mind the occasional treat, his exercise.
Boris Johnson, reached for comment as he madly cycled through London, contradicting himself and deriding sovereign nations, said that while he was vaguely insulted by the comparison to a domesticated canine, the truth is he doesn’t mind a little scratch behind the ears.
“Yes that’s the spot,” the secretary of state for foreign affairs said, as we gave it a go. “Don’t mess my hair though. Just kidding that’s impossible don’t stop.”
The Queen, while understandably upset after bidding a quiet good-bye to 80 years of pet ownership – for the selfless reason of not wanting to leave any dogs alone without her, should she pass away before them – said that while she finds Boris “a little intense, and rather untrained,” that she will, as ever, do what is best for the nation.
“We’ve all seen what Mr. Johnson gets up to when he doesn’t get his walky,” the Queen said. “Whole country in a bloody uproar and hanging out with the likes of Nigel Farage begging for treats. It simply won’t do. I hope he likes Hyde Park.”
Later in the day, a decidedly off-put looking Queen was spotted fielding questions from curious tourists while trying to get Boris to stop sniffing the bottom of a nervous-looking poodle.
“He’s an Upper Crust Etoner,” Elizabeth said to an Australian family visiting London for their first time, “Very rare, but rather inbred I’m afraid. Full of strange ideas and not particularly good at following direction.”
The Queen broke off here to ask Boris if he’d shake a paw. He declined, and instead ran in ever-widening circles for ten minutes before legging it into a pond when he spotted a duck.
The Queen watched this all with a remote, aloof expression; before pulling out a flask, pouring herself a cup of tea, drawing her raincoat closer to her 91-year-old frame, and sharing a sentiment that billions on earth, regardless of station, can likely relate to.
“I miss my dogs.”