I’ll tell you what manner of dog thou art, Marley: a spoiled dog, one rotten to the marrow and blessed beyond measure.

See how ye the worthless one shreddeth a stick of rotten wood, making crumbled mess on the patio for Papa to clean up?

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Mess not, fret not: Marley’s cooler than his Papa.

Yet thou hast no care.  Life is rich for puppy dogs!  Yay, better than  masters, who in the view of puppy dogs truly art not masters.  More like servants.

Mess up?

Fret not!  Papa hath means whereby to clean up.

Bark up?

Papa better wake up to let Marley out!

Beg up?

Papa better give Marley what Marley wants, lest Marley pees on Papa’s Basil plant!

Yay, o dog, thou art blessed among creatures, and rottenest of all.

 

 

 

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