Red Coat
She made me wear the red coat.
I could not BELIEVE it. Every single winter this happens. Every single winter. (Note: one winter it didn’t happen but, it’s like, who’s counting? Answer: me.)
I mean, how many wolves have you seen wearing a RED COAT recently? One wolf? Two wolves? Or maybe how about NO WOLVES? Yeah, thought so. The things I have to do to get a walk around here.
So, anyways, I get the RED COAT on and I take Amber for her walk, and as we pass this building site thing, I notice that the workmen are all, "oooh, lookit the little poodle!" I mean, I didn’t think anything off it at first; I just assumed they were talkin’ about Amber and, well, yeah, she totally IS a bit of a poodle sometimes. It was only when I heard one of them go, "yeah, lookit its little red coat!" that I realised they were talkin’ about ME.
Now, let’s just get one thing straight right now. I am NOT a poodle. I am a Bichon Frise, and let me tell you, there is a BIG difference. See?
Poodle:
Bichon Frise:
I just get so sick of it, y’know? I mean, here I am, fierce and wild, and they got me dressed in a freakin RED COAT and builders are callin’ me a POODLE. I am SO not happy about this. I think someone’s shoes may be in for a little surprise tonight, let me tell yoos.
Smell ya,
Rubin
