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One Hundred Dog Years of Solitude


Okay, I have to admit I didn't expect to ever be posting here again. Not in a million dog years.

If you didn't figure it out, a couple of months ago Woody and I packed up our bag of bones and moved to Dog Island. And let me tell you, we�re not like those fools on Star Trek who, every time they come across some utopian society, become immediately suspicious and initiate some kind of regime change. I guess that�s a human thing: if life is really really really good, then you�re morally obligated to muck it up.

But not this dog. Dog Island was, indeed, really really really good. After the first week I threw away my tags and vowed I�d never ever sit-on-command again. It was like I was a queen. I can honestly say that I didn't miss a single thing about my old life, with the exception of warm cat turds. But when they're not trying to pass off meat byproducts and rotten vegetables as dog food, I can live with that.

But nirvana was not to be my fate. Why, you ask? Why? WHY? Let me tell you why. @&#%# WOODY GOT US VOTED OFF THE ISLAND.

Now excuse me while I go bang my head against a rock.



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