PUP.
I'm a typing puppy, you know.
Hey, perhaps you didn't!
On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog.
People (and some crustaceans, and a couple of fish) here know about it, but they write to me like I'm a regular person. This has set me free. Well, as free as I get, not being allowed out of the back yard anymore.
All things considered...it's really better this way.
I am not allowed to possess cash, checks, money orders, letters of credit, stamps, negotiable securities....as part of my Release Agreement from the Institute for Incorrigible Cartoon Characters.
Now that I have mended my ways, I am allowed to run around here and (almost) make any mess I want, because it seems to cut down on the amount of holes that somehow get dug in the back yard Muttly Compound, especially near the birdbath...an Official NO-Muttly Zone.
Jim Robinson doesn't seem to mind my presence, and has even added my Official Personal Signature paw-print (minus the mud) in the upper right-hand corner of everyone's screen, for which I am very flattered, and grateful. I clicked on it once, but it made a noise, so I ran away. I look at it from a distance though, all the time....and gloat.
Oh...and I like to eat. My Indian name means "Dog who denies stealing the deer-chops." So, "the pic-a-nic basket (and the Birdbath, BTW) was like that when I got there."
I am working on a revolutionary new technique of eating while scratching, eating while sleeping, and eating while eating.
The first one was easy (almost).
Paw Print ??!?!?
I have one for you
Bomaskadious: the bold art of creating a persona as a mask