what did we do wrong? . .
. . . is what eyem asking myself these days as we contemplate the loss of Delaney to another family on the far side of the city, who may love her, and cherish her . . . and exercise her or who may allow her to get fat.
i know the sensible thing to do is; get rid of the Bitch, causer of fights so savage, she turned our hopes of lucrative contracts with dog modelling agencies, to despairs of financial ruin. I know that life may be better, both for herself and her saintly sister, Bonnie, and yet eyel miss her, eyel miss her mischief and eyem sure eyel cry over her . . .
. . . WHAT TYPE OF DUDE CRIES OVER THE LOSS OF THEIR BITCH DOGG?
i remember the Sunday afternoon i first saw her, hiding behind a bag of dry cement as her sister played for a home with Moo Moo, and right there i thought; thatz mah dogg. And she is my dog, the bond i have with her is strong and she recognises me as her master and now within the space of two weeks i must decide whether to leave her with a family from Blanch. I dunno what to do . . .