* He Doesn't Know I Exist

Yes, the many dogs that Tom has known and loved in his life are all dead. But I live—and love—on, as the Hegelian "absolute spirit" (and ideational canine epitome) of all of them. However and again, Tommy Boy doesn't know of my existence, having repressed his love for us domesticated animals after too many of my incarnations died cruel deaths, and after he read too much of that "animal-rights" bullshit.

I'm here to tell you about, to apologize for, Tommy. He's not really the spiteful SOB of a cynic that he sounds like, in his too frequent blogs. He is a troubled man—or rather: a hurt little boy, who must spew a lot of spittle to hide that fact. He'll never tell you about his childhood, and I'm not sure that I will, either. I've just re-begun this blog as a potential future confessional.

* OOPS . . .

Sorry, I no longer have a dog. But if I did, he/she would write such things! . . .