Once upon a time, in a small white house, in a tiny little town, at the foot of some very old mountains, lived an extra large dog named Chester.
Chester was the color of chocolate pie filling just before it boils. He had white toes like he had walked through a shallow pail of paint. And maybe he had. Chester had a vicious bark and a vigorous wagging tail and he was very, very loved. He was also very, very spoiled, because the Princess who “owned” him had been very, very spoiled when she was a little girl.
When he wanted to go get a fluffcup and he used his very scary big britches bark to get her attention, the Princess would tell him, “Chester, the Rolling Stones taught me you can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.” And then the Princess would go and make them a roast or meatloaf, or sometimes a barbeque sandwich.
And Chester loved the roasts and the meatloaves and the barbeque sandwiches.
And he and the Princess lived happily ever after.
Especially when she scratched his belly when he was full of meatloaf.