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?