This is an open letter to the monkey-person known as "Beth." Thank you for clarifying your earlier remarks about my breeding (although I was singularly unimpressed by your "hearsay" argument). As your Pack Leader, I take my responsibilities for maintaining the dignity of my office seriously. As a subordinate, it is simply not your place to question the origins and nature of my Majesty. True, I mentioned my "war within" in a moment of weakness; I shall be more discrete in the future. Still, you would have been wiser not to have brought it up. All of which is to say, despite your apologia, I will be keeping a close eye on you. You are obviously a candidate for seditious activity. Finally, although I find it mildly gratifying that you identify so closely with me, there is a surer way to get out of my doghouse: meat. Lots and lots of meat. And the sooner the better!
One last thought for my Anonymous language pundit (see "Still Rankled"): BITE ME. That should give me all the legal cover I need to really bite you. Hard.
It has recently come to my attention that a simian, who shall remain nameless, declared that I could not have been a "deliberate combination." Why, you may ask? Because my breed, the North Georgia Mini-Retriever, is a combination of the Golden Retriever and the Chow Chow: personalities that this monkey-woman declared to be "mutually antagonistic." Naturally, I took umbrage at these remarks. For one fleeting moment, I even had murder on my mind . . .
But now that I've had a chance to sleep on it (approx. 14 hours worth), mostly what I feel is pity. I feel pity for the ape-mind that fails to conceive the dialectical possibilities of a soul such as mine -- one that is capable of bringing back a stick one moment, then completely turning its back on humanity the next; or the way I greet you in a friendly way, then, in the blink of an eye, lunge at your throat. A lesser being would see these as contradictions. I, on the other hand, view these improbable 'combinations' as my greatest work of art!
I almost didn't survive Athens-Clarke County, Georgia. As the story is told, I had taken an extended stroll from my first monkey-person's home, when an "Animal Control" officer apprehended me. He kindly took me back to my den, but the femme-chimp told the man she didn't want me back. I overheard the officer explaining to her that at the county prison, they only gave hounds seven days to find a new pack--or else.
This information, though, left her cold. "Go on," she said. "Go ahead and take her."
And away I went.
Then they put me back in the truck, and drove me to secluded facility out by the airfield. Prisoners from the county jail (hominids), dressed in orange jumpsuits led me to my new home: a cold, hard cell measuring three feet by five feet. I had one week left to live.