As I observe Dan, my dachshund, I realize

As I observe Dan, my dachshund, I realize I am just like him. I know I shouldn't chew on Suzy's red Manolo Blahniks, but my instincts have proven otherwise. I'm a baaaaad doggy.

I also strongly believe red shoes are a sign of mental illness. I rationalised my need to chew Suzy's shoe by convincing myself it would save her from being taken away from me by

the men in white coats. Suzy's left shoe was soon chewed to unrecognizable, tattered bits, and I felt my job was done. Yet after Suzy saw my work, she remarked, "If the shoe fits

wasn't normal, it was more like a dormitory. Concrete walls, bunk beds, milk crates everywhere. I told myself that it wasn't real, but the metal headed doctor confirmed my fears

by saying, "Yes, your fears are confirmed." He was cloaked in a green hood and robe. He claimed to be a Doctor but this was no hospital. I was in a dungeon in some Eastern European

holiday camp on the banks of the Vltava. Every morning the doctor would 'check' the camp inmates before 60 minutes of physical jerks followed by cold showers and potato dumplings.

The dumplings were an old family recipe from Mme. Rousskaki. Her family was Greek and Russian. The Vitava lived for the idour of Mme. Roussaki's cooking, as did the camp inmates.

But Eileen Jenkins next door did nothing but complain about the smell of their "ethnic food". Mme Roussaki tried to placate her by bringing her over a plate of spicy eels in bleach

but Eileen was in no mood to be placated so she refused the dish and the obligation. She then introduced Mme Roussaki to the neighborhood orgy and things have been peachy since.