Danielle_Nadie

There're some folks that're just kind'uh on the'small side'uh things. Like a five foot, four inch mark sort'a small.

What yer'lookin' at is one'uh them herdin' dogs, this'uns height a good match with what y'might peg her muttish exterior as-a Shetland Sheepdog. Th'ain't no Lassie in'mini'a'ture though with'a snout too'blocky and ears cripply flopping in'every direction but'straight. With'a mask'o pepper across her face, it'brings th'idea o'some Border collie in'er heritage, wrappin' itself 'round two eyes of'duelin' color. Stone washed denim blue in'the left, and the right a grey stone out'uh that same wash, she watches th'world go by through differin' lenses, windows'that'uh've seen life'fer som'twenty-one tuh two years.

Like mos'dogs, she's got herself one'a them sniffers, her'own black an'wet, sittin' on a'muzzle o'flour white, wrigglin' like'it should. When sh'smiles-which'is often-y'll note som'dis'color'a'shun, a'lack uh'tha fluor'ide taintin' th'precious bodily'fluids. None'uh that stuff'back home'on th'border. Neck thin, it's'uh feminine'sort, lackin' th'unsettlin' bulgin' tendons y'might see on'th'buffer folk...salt'n pepper flecked as it'leads in'tuh hay bale-haulin' toned shoulders. From'em sprout her'arms, long, thick'thangs that know th'same work as'er shoulders, ash'furred wit'forearm length gloves'o bleached bone'white fur, capped by lady'ike, dainty fingers.

Not'uh single foot'o'her fur's of a normal color pattern, givin' them Wild Dogs a run'fer their money as patches'uh white are in'ter'spersed wit'dirty snow gray and charred hotdog blacks. It shows some'sta'bil'uh'tee 'round her breasts, of'which are pleasantly bare an'loose. Shirt fer'gotten on a'line somewhere, them C-puppies're white'fuzzed and hangin'with gravity'n charge. Lil'peaks a'pink, her nipples're stiff when cold, an'excited, creamy satin silk jus'beggin' fer'attention. Breasts're all'n good, but there's more'n that to a lady-far more, but if'n you want that, yuh'need not be'ogglin' her and 'stead start talkin'.

'Course it is a'mighty fine view, so as yer'attention winds its way back up, 'tween her breasts you see a'scruffy, trimmed'down fluff'a vanilla brown'speckled with'white'n gray streams, small 'nough to nestle b'tween the canyon of'breasts while presentin' a diamond'of raised fur. Back on down yer'eyes go, notin' th'paunch of a belly that knows a bit'more n'it should 'bout food, mostly white'fuzzed with'a innie'button. 'Round the love handlin' hips th'stormy plains sky'gray takesover, weavin' itself lazily up an'down her back, powder black trails wormin' though'out.

At'last yer'focus moves on down past th'belly'n breasts, and onto that'B most folk can't ignore. S'fine rear that's captivatin' yer'attention, fat 'nough t'wobble should she be'runnin' without 'er pants, but smaller'n what them shuttershade wearin' sort go bitin' their lips'over. Gray'bordered an'creamy sort'uh white on her'cheeks, it's a purdy'little behind, often'dusted by a marbled brown'gray tail that's waggin' or'twitchin'.

Long last yer'eval'u'a'shun finds 'er'legs, strong'n firm, but narrow, bird'like legs that know runnin' an'long, long walks home. They're mostly' gray an'charcoal black, which bleeds into'er paws. Sooty, 'dorable little'things they'are, that digitigrade style with'rough pads, like'she's always'walkin' on'her tiptoes, wit'claws capable ah'gougin' parts soft an'drawin' all manner'uh nasty scratches...but, th'sunshine demeanor seems t'say th' "Safety's on".