Danny and the Toad
Danny the Dog here with another tale of lust and depravity—oh wait, that’s Andrew’s bailiwick. Andrew, for the few of you who don’t know, is my human who believes himself to be a writer. My stories have to do with the finer things in life. Such as rolling on the grass, sniffing where another dog has peed, and most important of all, hot dogs.
Today’s story has to do with an incident that took place almost ten years ago when I was just a pup, so to speak. What reminded me of it was something that happened this morning while I was walking Andrew.
It was still dark out; we were in the park, and I caught the scent of something vaguely familiar. I put my snoot to the ground and tried to search it out. Andrew stood there tapping his foot and saying, “Come on…
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