As you can see from the accompanying photo, Wolf is still too traumatized to write a protest letter about what our cruel master just made us do. The innocent-looking wall of plastic blocks in the background is really the result of a hideous act of exploitation by our master. He is desiging a specific version of a game that requires the blocks in wall to conform to various rules. For example, there must be at least three green blocks in each row of the wall; no blue block can touch a yellow block, and there must be a vertical red block all the way up through the five rows.

There are other rules, but I’m trying to forget them. Besides, in my current state of mental exhaustion (just look at my photo–that’s me, Bear, on the left), I’m in no condition to remember anything. Our cruel master forced us to build the wall while he read the rules and mocked us when we got something wrong. I’m afraid that Wolf will never be the dog he once was–just look at the vacant stare and the robotic tail wagging. Blunted affect or catatonic hysteria, it seems to me. (I can’t find my copy of the DSM IV-TR right now, but I’m sure poor Wolf is on several pages.)

The other traumas of this past week were that our master took us to the vet to get our nails trimmed. Note that our master won’t trim our nails himself–he doesn’t want any incriminating evidence. So he leaves the dirty work to the vet, who takes us into a back room and does the deed where no one can hear or see us. I thought they were going to take my leg off at the joint, but somehow I survived, and so did Wolf.

Then, back home, our master started talking to us in his saccharine voice, as if we were going to get a treat. Naturally we ran over to get it when he seized me and swung me up into the sink where he had a stream of hot water running. He sprayed the water all over me for awhile, and then rubbed some foaming smelly chemical all over my fur. Then he ran the hot water all over me again. Finally, he rubbed my fur with large pieces of material until my fur was all frizzy and puffed out. (No French poodle will ever give me the eye while I look like that.) Then he proceeded to do the same to Wolf. I tell you, we need to formulate an escape plan.

After it stops raining.