After the addition of a new squeaky toy to my collection yesterday, I decided it was time to do inventory. My ghostwriter took everything out of my storage facility for me to look at.
Indeed, I have a vast and wonderful collection; and I know each toy and who gave it to me. The squeakers and stuffings have all been removed, and all of them are well chewed. I have spent hours of contentment with these toys.
But when I look up, I see this:
Isn't it beautiful? For some mysterious reason, nobody will ever take this enchanting, fluffy squeaky toy off its lofty shelf and give it to me! I’m certain it is in dire need of a squeaky-ectomy.
No matter how much I serenade and bark and whine, it never comes down!
(Yes, I know my esteemed colleague Joseph (Joey dog) Stephens thinks I’m a weirdo.)
|A-woooooooooo! Bark bark bark!|
It's simply … untouchable! Now, if you'll excuse me, I’ll just have to retire to my doggie bed and sulk for a while.
Joey dog here. Perhaps my woebegone associate should focus on more attainable goals, like samples of lunch: a delectable, juicy pear, and toasty grilled cheese sandwich. I am rarely disappointed. Yum.