Roxie’s got it bad, y’all. Poor dearie.
She’s picked on – incessantly – by the two smaller beasts. They nuzzle her and swipe at her and gnaw on her ears and jump on her when she’s sleeping, and she just takes it.
But now, this latest development is just too much. Wozzie won’t complain, but I will. It’s not fair to my baby.
“I’m in your kennel, dog. Not because I like it, but because it is yours. And what is yours shall become mine. Whatcha gonna do about it? Huh?”
“I scwatch my nosie and avoid eye contact.”
“C’mon, bitch. I dare ya. I DARE ya to try and get in your own kennel. Just try it. See what I do.”
“I’d like a dwink of water, Mr. Macbeth sir.”
“OK one. But only because I am nice. I AM NICE, ya hear me? And don’t you forget it!”
“Wozzie one dwink. Thank you, Mr. Macbeth sir. You are too kind.”
“I’m watching youz, cretin.”
“Yes Mr. Macbeth sir. You’re watching Wozzie.”
“And now it is mine. MY WATER. MINE. Not yours. Go away, you scum of the earf!”
“Wozzie just wants one more drink, Mr. Macbeth sir!”
“This Macbeth’s water now. I win.”
Roxie: [[cowering behind Jeff]]
‘T just ain’t right! Poor Roxie.