By George the most brilliant, stunning, perfectly designed…
(That’s enough George, get to the story. —Your secret-ary)
I’m on a Texas ranch in the middle of nowhere. It was pretty sweet when we got here. The Peeps who run the place set up a special shrine for me. That’s me on the left.
Other than my secret-ary’s dogs, who are worthless, I have no company. The sleeping is good. There’s a nice big couch with a soft blanket. The dumb spaniels won’t get off. They won’t even make space for me. I will never understand their attraction. They shed, they smell bad, and they listen to commands. The only use I see for them is they are good at counter surfing when the Peeps are gone.
Look at those big feet!
They could stomp a poor basset flat in no time. My PackPeeps are too trusting! I warn them of the danger, how can I convince them to let me get rid of the ferocious monsters?
As the most brilliant perfect basset hound familiar, I tolerate my incarceration and time in this forsaken country, and continue educating my GirlPeep about healing and understanding the land. Even if I’m not sure the land wants to understand us. Now excuse me, I have to find some water, the cow patties didn’t agree with me.
George (as dictatored)