April 27, 2009

—Speaking of feeding the dog, I feel compelled to let you know that the dog in question is not happy with his current situation.

“Which is?”

—Completely confused and uncertain: time-honored traditions and routines are being violated daily and it is upsetting my stomach.

“Not that one could tell given how quickly you wolf down your chow.”

—A purely nervous response: I’m so befuddled and anxious I have little control over my eating speed.

“I see.”

—Yes, so a soothing biscuit is probably in order.

“More food?”

—Biscuits aren’t food, really, they’re more . . . analgesic.

“Big word for a dog.”

—This dog abides with a nurse, remember?

“True.”

—So . . .?

“So . . . what?”

—The biscuit?

“No.”

—The constant cruelty I suffer isn’t good for my nerves either, you know.

“My sympathies.”

—And any minute now the idiot little dogs will start their yapping and I’ll be forced to restore order to this canine sector again.

“Better rest up for your coming labors.”

—Good idea.

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