Howdy folks, it’s time for another one of my fur-raising adventures. For those of you who are new to these pages and my literary genius, I’m Danny, dog extraordinaire.
Unlike my last two communiqués, in this one I shine. I’m the hero.
It was a dark and stormy night. My human, Andrew, was fast asleep in our boat. I was on the dock patrolling the perimeter. When I’m on guard duty, I am always vigilant and on my toes.
They came out of the darkness. There were at least thirty of ‘em, and they were all armed to the teeth. But they didn’t scare me, no sir! I stood up to them, and for every blow I took, I bit three. And when the fur stopped flying, there were bodies strewn everywhere. And those not lying on the dock were in full retreat.
Okay . . . okay already! It’s Andrew, he’s been reading over my shoulder. He’s saying that I can’t tell lies when I’m writing these narratives. Well, he said barefaced lies. Whatever!
It’s his computer, so I reckon I’ll do as he says and tell you what really happened. But I’m still a hero.
It was around midnight, I was asleep and dreaming of hotdogs. (It was a good dream. In it, I was running through a field of hotdogs and eating every one of them.) Then I heard a noise and sat up. There was some guy walking right up to our boat just as fancy as you please. Well, I wasn’t going to take that, so I barked at him. He did a U-turn and made a hasty departure. And that was it.
You know . . . I wish Andrew would stick to his own writing and let me do mine. It read a lot better when I defeated thirty killers.