George here. I've sneaked on the computer while Mum is baking to send this urgent message to all my friends out there: call the RSPCA! Call Social services! I am a neglected dog. You don't believe me? Wait until I tell you what happened yesterday ...
Mum sends me out as usual for my late-night wee and check of the garden for monsters - I frighten off a few with my ferocious barking - and then I have a little wander around the place, sniffing the grass for signs of those doggone foxes. I notice the lights going out in the hall as I'm passing the front door and can just hear Mum saying, 'Night, George, see you in the morning, sleep tight,' and I'm thinking this is a bit odd but don't make too much of it.
I make my final sortie, and go and sit on the front door step and wait to be let in. And wait. And wait. I hear Bob in his garden round the back so I run back there to woof good night and finally, when I'm there, I hear Mum shouting, 'George, George, where are you?'
When I get back to the front door, Mum's standing there in her nightie, saying, 'Oh George, you twit! Why didn't you bark to remind me to let you in!'
So it's my fault now? She goes to bed and forgets about me and it's my fault? Same as it was my fault that I got left behind in Devon I suppose.
They forget about me, make me go for long walks in the rain, tell me I'm fat and on a diet and they expect me to be their faithful hound. Take me back to the kennels, please, someone!