It's A Dog's Life

Ever wondered why they say "it's a dog's life" or "I wouldn't treat a dog like that" or "I wouldn't give that to the dog"?? It's because a being a dog is fucking shit that's why. Ripped me favourite soft toy - a bag of Chase N Onion Walkies Crisps, - to shreds last night in a silent protest. Did anybody notice? Did they shit. I could ride round that living room on a fucking unicycle juggling fucking knives and nobody would notice. Still, I've made a start on the tunnel. It's in the utility room underneath me basket. They'll never think of looking there, the lazy gets. The lino was a bit of a bastard to rip up. Then I had to eat the fucking stuff. Why are you looking at me like that? What else was I supposed to do with it? Stick it down me trousers and casually flick it away whilst on morning exercise? I'm a fucking dog, we don't wear trousers. And they've just had me clipped, the tight bastards. To cap the fucking lot there was talk of a holiday round the kitchen table last night, and you know what that means for me. Stalag forty fucking five, that's what. They don't even have fucking wifi in there. The heathen bastards. There's the exercise pen, I'll grant you. Which gives you the faint glimmer of hope of a bit of lurve action, although if you're not careful that can all go tits up. And you don't want to find yerself getting backscuttled by a big sweaty slobbering Doberman do you? Exactamundo. No, it's escape for me. I've worked it all out. I've done drawings and everything. Well, when I say drawings, they maybe aren't EXACTLY what YOU would call drawings. I mean I haven't got an architect's easel and a load of them fine nibbed pens for fuck's sake. That would look just too suspicious wouldn't it? "What are you doing there little fella?" Whistles nonchalantly, "Me? Erm, nothing much, just the drawings for the conservatory at No 27." Not going to happen is it? Then I've got to get me secret food stash together, I've got a couple of biscuits put to one side for that. Then there's roof supports needed for the tunnel. I've got me eye on next door's fence for that. And that's me all set to go really. Las Vegas here I come...Well, I might stop off and see the Bichon Frise bitch at No 64 first. Christ she's hot. I could give her a thing or two to yap about I can tell you. Woof.