We slog through the antediluvian swamp, a diaphanous mist rises from the quagmire and a miasmal stench fills our nostrils. The authorities are pursuing us, though we have done nothing wrong. Well, Andrew has done nothing wrong. I, on the other hand, bit a man—a big, obnoxious slob of a man. He had it coming to him. He said I was the ugliest dog he had even seen. Me, Danny the Dog!
After I bit him, he pulled out his cell phone and called the cops, but Andrew and I didn’t stick around and wait for them to show up. We hightailed it out of there pronto. Now we are hunted fugitives, with a price on our heads and the law closing in. Andrew always told me I’d go to Doggie Jail if I didn’t mend my sorry-ass ways.
They are close now; we can hear their voices, so…
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