Sometimes on Saturday, after five days of rain that keeps us trapped inside our precious homestead, we start to feel a little bonkers and we start to wonder what a small Beagle mix has to do to get some action goin’ and so we look into the eyes of our owners and we picture them tied to the chairs where they often sit their big fat butts and we fantasize about rendering them helpless while we steal the keys and take the car for a joyride. But then we remember that our legs are way to short to reach the pedals and to make matters worse we have no idea where to find the blankets that usually get stacked on the seat in order for us to see over the dashboard and so we abandon that scheme and we accept our misery and allow ourselves to wallow in our insanity and we start barking and we bring out every toy we’ve ever had as if we’re having a Toy Fashion Show and when our listless owners (who refuse to let us make our bowel movements inside when it’s raining and force us to go outside with the rain pelting us in the face as we struggle to do our business in the mud) tell us “Enough Cooper! Enough!” we go back to our fantasy of escaping this asylum and driving our ass straight to Vegas where we’ll win it big and open our own Indoor Pooping Facility for all dogs of every race, creed and color and just when we’re sure we can break out of our shackles the one we adore who feeds us Greenies every morning comes over to us and scratches our head and rubs our belly and tells us how incredibly wonderful we are and that she doesn’t know what she’d do without us and as she pulls our little arms up over our head the way we like we think there’s no way we’ll ever leave this heavenly place—even if we are forced to continue to plotz outside during a hurricane—if that’s the price we have to pay, we’ll gladly pay it.
‘Scuse the Tirade,
Mister Crazy Face
President & CEO
Tweaked Out Terrier Club For Men