"Brain pudding," Hubert growled. Foam dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were wild. "Brain pizza, brain pastrami on rye…"
"Hubert, stop that!" I barked
"Brain juice, brain milk, brain ice cream, brains n' peas," he snarled, snapping at Old Man Sanderson.
Clearly, there was no barking the zombie down. I ran between his legs. He fell mushily to the pavement. His right eyeball popped out and rolled, coming to rest in front of my paws. I gave it a lick. (It tasted slightly better than his ear.)
"Zombies are real!" Old Man Sanderson shouted as he shuffled away. "I bested a zombie, yippee!"
"You did not. I saved you from him," I barked. "I’m a hero. As such, I should be rewarded with a steak. No, make that ten steaks."
Hubert pulled himself into a sitting position. "You ruined my dinner. I should sue you. Now, what am I going to do?"
"Take up Parcheesi. I don’t know, but this is my neighborhood," I growled. "It's taken me years to get these people trained. I won’t have you messing up my work. No chasing the neighbors! And no biting!"
"Are you all right mister?" Einstein said breathlessly as he arrived. He peered down at Hubert. "Should I call a doctor?"
"I’m fine. Thanks for asking," Hubert moaned. "Your dog is the worst dog in the world."
"Oh. That bad, huh?" Einstein said and then shouted at the top of his lungs, "Mom. Mom! MOM!"
On any other street, neighbors would have been drawn out of their houses by the ruckus, however, on Barry Schmelly Road, the Angletons had something of a reputation. In other words, this was an ordinary day as far as the neighbors were concerned, and only Mrs. Tinkle paused at the mailbox, and just long enough to shake her head.
"What!" Mrs. Angleton shouted from the porch.
"This guy is all tore up because Meat Head ran under him. He keeps moaning. I think he needs to go to the hospital!"
She cupped her hands around her mouth. "Oh great! Just what I don't need, a giant hospital bill on top of everything else! Get rid OF that dog!"
"Meat Head, stop barking," Einstein said. "Don't worry, mister, he won't bite…Oh, well, I'm sorry about that mister. He's never bitten anyone before. Oh no, is that your eyeball? Mom, this guy is falling apart, call 911!"
The day was off to a good start. I had completed my morning bark, harassed Rover, peed on the mailperson, exercised Mrs. Angleton and then stolen her lunch. I yawned and checked my watch. Are you serious? Why would I need a watch? I'm a dog. As such, I have a superior time telling device. It's whatever time I say it is.
I had just plopped down on my rug and rested my head on my paws when a voice moaned, "Why did you dig me up?" I blinked open my eyes, peering at the unexpected visitor sitting on the stoop. The flesh on the guy's arms dangled, his jowls drooped, and one of his ears flopped onto the porch. I tasted it.
"Yuck. Hey, you look like the guy in the photos Einstein showed me."
"What? Why would Albert Einstein have pictures of me?"
"What? Ah, I understand your confusion. I’m referring to Einstein Angleton, my human. He found a camera in the woods yesterday. I’m Meat Head, the best dog in the world."
"My name is Hubert Pines. I used to sell cars," he stuck out his hand to shake. I slapped down a paw. "Now, I'm a zombie."
A butterfly landed on the porch post and flexed its wings.
"Aren't you a pretty girl," the zombie cooed.
"I happen to be male. Females of my species are brown," the butterfly said in a deep baritone. It fluttered to my nose. "Are you Meat Head?"
"A turtle told me that a rabbit told him that the owl said to tell you, 'don’t talk to the ghost or the zombie or bad things will happen.' Goodbye now." It fluttered away.
"I bite people for a living." Hubert continued, staring after our scaly friend. (If you're a dog, you know that butterflies have scales on their wings.)
"They're trying to shoot you for a little thing like that?" I barked.
"I know, right? Brains are delicious. I could really go for a brain sandwich, brain à la mode—that's brains and ice cream—brain soufflé, brains N' cheese, brains N' bacon, brain soup, brain spaghetti, brain pudding, brain burger, brain fries… Hey, that woman's going to cut that dog's head off. People are sick I tell you, sick."
While we had been talking, Mrs. Dover had come home and retrieved a handsaw from the garage. Now she stomped angrily toward Rover.
"She does look mad enough, doesn't she? Unfortunately, she's just going to cut him out of the porch." Even as I barked she began cutting into a railing spindle. "So, how'd you end up in that hole?"
"I was chasing this giant through the woods," the zombie said. "She wasn't fat or anything, just slow and I can't run anymore. I lurch and stumble which leaves me with two options: One, hang around crowded areas. Biting people is much easier, but crowds are risky. People either shoot you or trample you when you try to eat their brains. Or both. The other option is waiting in the woods for someone slow to walk by."
"You couldn't think of a third option?"
"Never mind, go on."
"Yeah, so, I had just sunk my teeth into her arm when, BAM! Three bursts of light. My life flashed before my eyes. I knew my time had come."
"You saw bursts of light? Were they like a camera flash?"
"Hey, yeah, they were. How did you know?"
"My human found the camera with your picture, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. Anyway, I even lost two teeth, see." He grinned at me.
I didn't want to say anything, (because I'm socially conscientious) but he was missing more than two teeth. "So what happened next? How did you get in the hole? How did you get all that dirt back on top?"
In the distance I heard the steady hum of Einstein's car. I closed my mouth over his hand and tugged the zombie to his feet. "You've got to go because my human is coming home."
"I don't have anywhere to go!"
"Ivana Tinkle lives next door," I barked. "You can stay behind her house."
"She won't mind. She loves zombie movies. Follow me, I'll show you where you can sleep."
After leaving the zombie on a pile of leaves in the woods behind Ivana's house, I dashed home. Zombies are slow, so I was bounding up the porch as Einstein parked. Tradition requires I knock him over after work, but I needed to wash zombie flavor out of my mouth first. I crashed through the screen door and raced up the stairs, freshening up in the toilet. Two seconds later, I scampered back down the stairs, through the living room and across the porch, leaping onto Einstein as he climbed the steps.
"You've been gone an eternity," I howled. (An eternity is eight hours give or take forever.)
My human landed on the walkway with a loud, bone crunching thud. As he lay there groaning, I licked the sweat from his face.
"Mom!" he called. "I think Meat Head broke my back."
Inside, I heard Mrs. Angleton scurry up from the basement into the kitchen. She shouted, "He broke my screen door!"
After forever times three, Einstein sat up and pushed me off. He pinched his nose and said, "What have you been in?"
"Good question. Let's see… Mrs. Dover's begonias and then I loped over to Seymour Butt's vegetable garden. Did you know he uses cow manure for fertilizer? I rolled in it. And then I sat next to a zombie. A real zombie. My mind is blown." I licked him one last time before getting my ball, which I dropped in his lap. "It's time for some exercise. Not me of course. I've been running around all day. You, however, have been working which is code for doing nothing. "
"I always end up chasing this thing," he said. "If I throw this, are you going to go get it?"
I wagged my tail and barked. He threw the ball. I took two steps, sat down and whined. Sighing, Einstein rose and walked across the lawn to get the ball. I jumped in the air pretending to want it. He threw it again. I sat down and whined.
"You're crazy," he said, jogging across the yard after the ball.
We played fetch for forever times four, but then Mrs. Angleton came out of the house. I smelled vegetables, pork and spices wafting from her hands. That meant she put a pot roast in the oven.
"I love pot roast," I barked.
She glared at us from the porch. "I thought you broke your back? Well, if you're not hurt, you can do some chores."
"Don't 'Mom' me, mister. Stop playing with that beast and take out the trash like I asked you to do yesterday. Then you can rub my feet."
Mumbling under his breath, Einstein dropped the ball and returned to the house. As he crossed the yard, I helped him by running under his feet. He landed face first in the grass. I sat on his back.
"He's getting exercised," I barked at Mrs. Angleton. "The trash can wait."
"Ugh, that dog is awful," she said. "I don't know why you like him."
Einstein sat up, spilling me into the grass. "Ben Dover's mom called him at work today. She said Rover pooped in the garden, broke his doggy door, ate a box of donuts, peed on the couch, chewed holes in the cushions and jumped through a window. And he got his head stuck in the porch railing. She had to cut him out with a handsaw. Compared to Rover, Meat Head is a saint."
"Maybe the Dover's dog trainer can make him more saintly."
"She hasn't fixed Rover yet," Einstein replied and ruffled my ears. "Who's a good doggy? Who's a good doggy?"
"Me!" I barked.
"Just get the trash and stop playing with that mutt. When you're done, I need you to go upstairs to my room and get my foot cream. And close the interior door. I don't want him eating the roast again!"
"He can't eat it out of the oven, Mom." Einstein tramped after her, looking constipated.
"Eat more fiber!" I howled after him.
This joke was short lived because Einstein came thundering downstairs. "Meaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat Heaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! Mom is going to be so angry!"
"Why am I going to be angry?" Mrs. Angleton asked.
What followed was a lot of unpleasantness, because my human told his mother what he had found in her bedroom instead of trying to hide it. After I had been tortured with "Bad dog, bad dog!" for forever, I was tossed out of the house. Sighing, I settled myself on my porch rug and recommenced my nap. If you're a dog, you know that recommenced means I went back to sleep. After enduring unfair blame and punishment, I deserved a beauty rest.
A while after I had started to get beautiful again (five or ten forevers later), a damp, ozone smell permeated the air and sent me into a sneezing fit. The Nuisance seized my left ear with two cold ghost-hands.
"Boo!" He shouted and then stuck his finger up my nose, chasing away every ounce of lingering sleepiness.
"Hey!" I snarled. "Didn’t you hear the butterfly? The owl said I can’t talk to you. Now, move on."
"Oh, so you listen to owls, do you?"
"Most days, I only listen selectively. Furthermore, the owl just started sending me critter mail yesterday. I can't determine if I’ll do anything he says. But in your case, the answer will always be yes."
Einstein exited the house carrying two bags of trash. He walked through the Nuisance and sat down beside me, putting the trash bags to the side. The ghost disappeared in a huff.
"Did you feel that? It's gone now. Strange. Meat Head, you can't make messes like that." Einstein gave me a scratch. I sniffed the trash. "First of all, I had to clean up Mom's room. Secondly, she said that I might have to choose between you and living here. I can't stand to lose you. You're my best friend…" He put his head in his hands. "Though, with you for a friend, it's a good thing I don't have any enemies."
I put my head on his lap. "I didn't do it, I swear. All this is making me sad. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Leave the kitchen trash with me. I need a snack."
"Look at that." Einstein chuckled. "Old Man Sanderson is playing a game of chase with his nephew. They're a bit old for that, aren't they?"
"I have four words for you: live action role playing." I barked as I glanced up the street.
Old Man Sanderson hurried down the road as fast as his walker would let him: shuffle scoot, shuffle scoot, shuffle scoot. The zombie hobbled after him, arms out-stretched and moaning.
"Hubert, you can't even catch an old man with a walker!" I howled with laughter.
My jest egged the zombie on. He staggered faster and began gaining on Old Man Sanderson. Suddenly, I had a terrible thought. What if this is the misfortune the owl had foreseen? Old Man Sanderson is one of my favorite people. He only eats take-out, so his trash is always greasy and delicious, and he smells great because he's old and poops in his pants. If he became a zombie, he wouldn't need to eat and thus wouldn't produce garbage worthy of my admiration. Realizing that a tragedy was about to take place, I rocketed off the porch, across the yard and into the street barking madly.
"MEAT HEAD," Einstein yelled, "come back here!"
On the fifteenth try, I crashed into the Dover's living room. Revenge works up an appetite, so I went into the kitchen first and ate a box of donuts that someone had left on the counter. Next, I bounded upstairs and drank out of the toilet. Outside, Rover barked and snarled. While in the bathroom, I chewed up some toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste and some towels. After returning downstairs, I peed on the couch and chewed a few designer holes in the cushions. Then I leaped against the walls, knocking family pictures to the floor, and I pulled all the curtains down.
Finally, I exited the Dover's house through a window screen and trotted around the corner, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps.
"Don't worry," I barked, "your humans will get you out."
"How did you—"
"The window of course. I left a surprise on the couch. Tell the dog trainer I barked hello."
"Why did you do this to me?" Rover's ears sagged.
An inkling of guilt swept through me, followed by an iota of doubt. What if Rover hadn't destroyed Mrs. Angleton's bedroom?
Had I known how things would turn out… well, dogs know it's best not to dwell on matters that might make you feel bad for longer than a fiftieth of forever. Also, I had other pressing business—peeing on doorsteps, neighborhood flowers and the mailman. Excuse me, I mean postal service worker. Many of them are woman, you know.
I jumped off the porch and loped across Barry Schmelly Road into my yard. As I drew closer to my house, I detected a strange odor. I slowed to a trot and then paused, nose tilted toward the sky. The scent was both familiar and unlike anything my nose had encountered before. It grew stronger as I followed it into the house and upstairs to Mrs. Angleton's bedroom. I stopped dead on my paws, stomach sinking. All of Mrs. Angleton's angel tchotchkes had been swept from their shelves and lay shattered on the carpet. The pillows had been dragged off the bed and chewed, and the stuffing was scattered everywhere. Family photos had been knocked from the dresser and the curtains pulled from the windows. Anyone making a mess like this would have awakened the dead, but the house was silent and the air lacked the aroma of wrath. Mrs. Angleton did not yet know anything had happened. Her bedroom was the last place I wanted to be found. But, how could I, in good conscience, leave without investigating? I was the Angleton family protector after all.
I padded to the picture frames and sniffed deeply. The scent was stale with a sharp chemical smell like air from a broken air conditioner. Sometimes humans say a thing is otherworldly, but I never understood what they meant until then. Puzzled, I padded over to the curtains, smelling those thoroughly.
Forever later, I cocked an ear to listen for Mrs. Angleton. I heard the tick and bumps of the house, but all else was silent. Too silent…
Silence is boring. Plus, Rover was obviously guilty because he was the only thing—animal, plant, or mineral—that didn't like me. Now, you might think I was I didn't have enough evidence that Rover was involved with the destruction of Mrs. Angleton's bedroom. He, himself, was trapped and there was another smell corrupting the crime scene. Well, I'm a dog and as such, my keen instinct was the only proof I needed.
I spun on my paws and galloped downstairs, through the living room, off the porch and back across the street. Rover was still trapped in the porch railing. I barreled past him, running head-first into the doggy door. Caught by surprise, he didn't bark until my third try.
"Ha. It's one way. You can't get in."
"Watch and learn."
Over the years, things have gotten a bit tense between us. The last time we barked, he told me he'd chew my face off. I cautiously approached his yard, ears pricked. As I drew closer, I heard the telltale buzz saw snoring of a dog sleeping inside the house. I trotted over to the garden, tail waving happily. The begonias looked especially lovely, so I chose to toilet there.
Usually, I delivered my package quickly and quietly. However, my gift to the garden felt like sandpaper on account of the broom I had eaten. I thought for certain I'd get a splinter where nobody should ever have one. In pain, I howled and woke Rover from his nap. His head poked out of his doggy door, and he surveyed his domain. He didn't see me at first because the begonias offered good cover. Then our eyes locked.
"You!" He growled. "I'm going to kill you!"
Don't you hate death threats while going to the toilet? Me too.
"Oh, look at that. Reduced to using a doggy door," I barked, giving one last push. "Hey, Rover, come out and take a look at this one. I've been saving it for three days and it's enormous."
Snarling, he dashed forward and tripped. Momentum carried him across the porch and head first into the railing. He sat up and discovered that his head was trapped between two spindles. As he struggled to jerk free, I padded across the yard onto the porch steps and sat down a few paws away.
The truth is, I’m not motivated solely by revenge. I do things all in good fun. And by that, I mean my fun. By the way Rover was snarling, I don't think he was having a good time at all.
"I'm going to chew you to pieces," he growled.
I yawned. "So you keep saying. I'd love to stay and keep you company until help arrives, but I've got a lot to do to today and as the human's say, the early bird gets the worm."
"As usual, it's been entertaining, but I have to get home. Mrs. Angleton will call my house any minute now. It's better if I'm in the back yard sleeping. One more thing before I go. The cat said the snake said the owl said 'tell Meat Head not to go over to Rover’s house. Tell him not to make friends with a zombie and not to talk to ghosts or he's going to get Einstein killed'. Well, see you Meat Head." Molly loped away.
The owl was right. Molly was an instigator. She knew I couldn't resist making trouble for Rover, so she always told me when he was alone. Our enmity—dogs will know that enmity means ill will—had begun eternities beyond measure, or four years ago.
I was the new pup on the block, recently weaned from my mother. The dog across the street offered a friendly shoulder to whimper on. Rover instantly became my favorite dog, so when he invited me to chase some chicken a week later, I bounced with enthusiasm.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
The next morning we left before first light, covering most of the six miles at a slow lope. Being just a pup, I was exhausted and flopped panting to the grass. After letting me rest for a few minutes, Rover showed me how to shimmy under the fence. Once inside the pen, I suddenly had all the energy in the world. I flew after dozens and dozens of chickens, barking furiously. I was having so much fun that I didn't notice Rover sneaking away.
Suddenly, the farmhouse door burst open a whack! A very angry farmer rushed off the porch with a loaded shotgun. Boom! The rifle cracked. I skittered to the left. Boom! Something hard struck me in the hip. I yelped and scrambled under the fence, scooting into the tall grass. After forever, I came to the main road and paused to lick my wound, which turned out to be a bruise. The gun had been filled with salt. As I was licking my hip, the dog catcher slipped a rope over my head. I was loaded into a truck and then taken to the animal shelter where I spent ten days before Einstein found me. One more day and I would have been put to sleep. Also, the only thing I had to eat was dog food. Can you imagine?
Anyway, when the Dovers think Rover is bad, they call the dog trainer. She's about the scariest human I know. She wears all black, has shoulders like a moose and a face like a camel. She is fond of shouting orders like "sit" and "stay." Rover hates getting trained and tries desperately to tell the Dovers that I'm the bad dog. That sounds like "woof".
"An owl told a snake who told a cat who said that I shouldn’t instigate by telling you Rover's people are gone, and he is asleep. Who does the owl think he is, calling me an instigator? I never start trouble."
"He told me not to go into a meadow yesterday. Uh-oh, Mrs. Angleton is looking for the broom," I barked.
"Yeah, what's up with that? She usually has it by now."
I grinned. "I ate most of it… Ugh, she found the part I didn't eat. Look out!"
Mrs. Angleton swatted at us with a broom that looked like it had gone through a wood chipper. Molly ducked and we both raced out of the house. Einstein's mom followed us as far as the porch steps. She stood there picking at the splinters in her hand and giving us stink-eye. Molly halted by the old oak tree in my yard. I sat down next to her, trying to flair my nostrils like Einstein's mom.
"You're so childish," Molly barked.
"Nice harness. What is that, Star Wars?"
"Worse. Eye of Argon," I barked. "It’s taken Einstein three years, but he's finally realized that my collar escapes haven't been accidental. Last night he proudly pulled out a plastic bag from his closet and told me he had ordered a special surprise. I thought he had treats so I jumped about, excited. 'All the experts say dogs can't get out of this,' Einstein had said after he put the harness on me."
"And?" Molly asked.
"I can’t get out of it," I replied. "He tied me to a tree and gave me a bath. It was horrible. He used his mother’s Herbal Essence shampoo. I smelled like cherry blossoms for hours. Are you coming with me to the Dover’s?"
Muttering about barking dogs, Mrs. Angleton stormed back into the house. The screen door banged shut. I heard the thud of her footfalls as she stomped into the basement to use Einstein's phone. Molly jumped to her paws.
"I'm wounded, I'm wounded! Call an ambulance," I yelped and flopped onto my side.
"You're not hurt," Mrs. Angleton humphed. But I didn't get up. Finally, she leaned over to check on me.
"I don't think you'll be using the cordless again." I licked her face. "Serves you right for throwing it at me."
"Oh!" She balled up her fists and hopped up and down. "Ohhhhhhh!"
She looked like she was trying to run in place. Humans often do this to exercise. I find it the least interesting kind of exercise ever invented, but I always do my duty by encouraging even the smallest efforts. I jumped around her barking.
"How'd you get in here?" Mrs. Angleton screeched as Molly padded up. She's a Golden Retriever mix, the guardian of the Turners, the family that lives on the other side of Ivanna Tinkle's house. Molly is a good friend so she doesn't need to bark before entering.
"The screen door. Meat Head left a hole in it," she replied, and then turned to me, "What's going on?"
"Just exercising Einstein's mom."
Molly sniffed my butt and sneezed. "You've been eating… oh my paw, that's just gross."
"I know, isn't it great?" I sniffed Molly's butt in turn and sneezed. "Yuck! Your humans are still feeding you rice and vegetables. It's enough to give me nightmares."
"Shoo, shoo, shoo!" Mrs. Angleton shouted.
"That doesn't deserve an answer," Molly barked. "You're driving that old woman crazy."
"Naw." I jumped over Molly and danced around Mrs. Angleton some more. "She lives for this. If it weren't for me, she would have died a long time ago and Einstein would be motherless."
Molly dodged a kick. "You're practically a saint."
"I know, right? So what brings you over?"
In the morning, I howled for two hours after Einstein left for work. Eleven out of ten doctors recommend this to clear morning phlegm from your throat. Mrs. Angleton worked herself into a tizzy. She was trying to talk to her father, Papa Angleton, while yelling at me to be quiet.
"Sir Richard Cecil once said, 'the shortest way to do many things is to do only one thing at a time.' I read that somewhere."
"I hate you! No, not you, Dad. I hate Meat Head. He's the worst dog in the world." Mrs. Angleton is always extra sensitive on the days her father calls, so I try not to take what she says personally. "But… Yeah, I guess."
She hung up the phone and called Einstein at work, lips pursed into a thin grimace—that means she's serious or constipated. With humans it's hard to tell the difference.
"Your dog's at it again," she said. "His constant barking is driving me crazy! What? Of course you don't hear him. He quits every time I call you—No, I'm telling you, he does it on purpose. What? No, I'm not being ridiculous… Yes, I know he's just a dog. Now, you listen to me Einstein... Okay, I'll prove it to you. I'll pretend to hang up. You'll see."
She set the phone down on the couch and went into the kitchen where she pretended to be very interested in the contents of the dish cupboard. I sneezed and flopped onto my side to wait her out. This took half of forever.
"Oh fine!" She slammed the cupboard door and returned to the phone. "I know he didn't bark but… Einstein? No, of course not, but—…I see. Well, if that's—… Don't you hang up on me! I know you have to work. No, I can't promise that. Fine. I won't call you at work unless it's an emergency. Love you, too. Bye."
"Hey, genius, I understand English," I barked, springing to my paws. "If you want to fool me, don't sneak so many peeks in my direction. It's a dead giveaway."
She picked up the first thing within reach—the cordless phone—and threw it. I jumped aside. The phone smashed into the wall and plastic shrapnel flew everywhere, clattering against the wooden floor.
Einstein put the sheets in his closet before I had a chance to roll in them. Darn (clean sheets stink) and double darn. I'd caught a glimpse of Einstein's computer screen. He had opened the picture files from the camera he'd found. The woman in the photo was huge. Einstein plopped down in his chair and rolled up to the computer.
He scratched behind my ears. "You're a bad dog and not very trainable, but I love you. See the spaceship in the background? She's an alien. I'm going to find her and prove it."
"Your spaceship looks like a smudge. The woman probably has a glandular problem. I think doctors have a special name for it: gigantism," I barked.
Einstein continued. "I bet she can even shape-shift. And I bet her ship is hidden in the woods. Check out these last three photos. They're of the guy who owned this camera."
The pictures were creepy self-portraits of a pale guy with vacant, zombie like eyes. (This expression is common among Excitement Land Amusement Park employees and every member of Einstein's family.)
"You have not thought this through," I barked. "Why would a shape-shifting alien choose to walk around looking like a giant? If I were a shape-shifting alien, I'd be a squirrel. Okay, not a squirrel, but something, anything, less conspicuous than a giant." If you're a dog you'll know that conspicuous means attracting notice or attention.
At this point, I started laughing so hard my eyes watered. It sounded like awooooo, awooooo. Einstein draped his arms around my neck and gave me a big hug.
"That's right boy. We're going to find us an alien and then get rich."
I sighed. He's an idiot, but at least he's interesting. Not like Rover's human, Ben Dover. I think I've mentioned him. Ben is six. That's forty-two in people years. He lives with his mother, Eileen Dover. Sometimes Einstein goes over there to LARP. Dogs will know that LARP is an acronym for "live action role play," also known as dress-up or make-believe by children everywhere. The game usually involves costumes and plastic swords, but my human has referred to me as his "mighty steed" after putting a cardboard saddle on my back. (Reason number fifty-six why I'm the best dog in the world.)
Suddenly, Einstein grabbed my collar. "You stink. Let's get a bath."
"Nooooo!" I yelped.
Meat Head the Worst Dog in the World will be posted here in easy to read increments. Read for oldest to newest if you haven't been following along.
Can't Wait to find out what happens next?