I am a dog my name is Rupert and I am going

I am a dog my name is Rupert and I am going to eat my food, then I am going to drink water... My friend Tom the cat said " I am going to...

Find my human while she is writing in her journal and grab some attention! Her lap is my favourite." The dog next door

just reinforce this. Except Rover...Rover is a good name. Regardless, I urge you, brothers and sisters, cast of you leashes, be your own master... Oooh, look. A cat...

Rover ran after the cat & got hit by a pick-up, but I felt he was on to something.'Rover' it sounded adventurous & daring.Not like 'Spot' I tried to train my own master to call me

"Kwai Chang", but he insists on "Grasshopper". This creates an identity crisis, because what dog is a man's pest friend? So I ran away from home, living off my kung poop skills

that my mother taught me. I had developed quite a rancid trait, and demand for timely well-curated flatulence was going up. As a canine, my next ambition was to expand into

the fattest dog that ever lived, using my clever plan to eat everything in sight at all times. My dreams were ruined when my owners pushed me into the fenced yard and I broke a

mortal sin by watching CNN instead of Faux News. "To get perspective," I heard myself argue as the red hatted throng took me away. I woke up, still a dog. Now confined to the yard.

To top things off, the late Patti Page suddenly appeared on the back porch and burst into song: “How much is that doggie in the backyard?” Christ, I always HATED that song!