ugh, Id rather be back at the pound right now, talking to Monty about the good old times, when we roamed free and sniffed every butt in site…
But no, instead i was here: In this small, uncomfortable and hard plastic box which had been rolled down the stairs probably a hundred times…
Before that he insisted that I sit for him, HA! He went as far as putting his hand on my back side and trying to force me down. I gave him a mean growl, showing my teeth and all. Ha, the look on his face was priceless. After that he picked me up and put me in this godaweful plastic box. The static from the sides of it made my fur stand up… I thought i was going to die, but fortunately his mother called him to dinner.
“Yay!! dinna time!!”
“Where’s Jack, sweetie?”
“He’s resting” (He’s westin’)
She giggled, “Aww, you two must’ve had so much fun! What a great dog.”
All i could do was hope for a peaceful night’s sleep.
“Hey, buddy, what’re ya doing in there?”
She pulled me out and put me in a small bed
“g’night, jack”