A dog gets a rare chance to talk about what's on, and in, his mind
Look at that silver Frisbee hanging up there in the black sky. I can see it through the big square in the wall. I need to grab that thing and bury it in the backyard right now. Then, I'll dig it up tomorrow and chew it into tiny, slobbery pieces. Oh geez, I'm starting to quiver with excitement. What's the best way to snatch that delectable disk? Let's see, I'll walk to the end of the hall, right about here, run hard at the big square, take a flying leap, and . . . Oof! That hurt almost as much as the time I mistook the neighbor's cat for a chew toy. It was just after he'd gotten his hair shaved off to treat a skin infection. Curled up asleep on our front porch, Mr. Bojangles was as smooth as a gob of vanilla pudding hanging off a baby's bib. That cat wakes up nasty, though. They should have clipped his claws, not his fur.
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