This is my morning face. Um, hi.  Typing is hard because, well, I don't have thumbs.  And I don't like things touching my feetsies.  But I like some things.  Not the biting fence.  The biting fence bites me.  Mom and Dad said to leave the biting fence alone, but I toucheded it once and then I ran away fast.  And I cried.  Now I don't go near the biting fence.

Sometimes they tell other hoomans not to touch the biting fence, but stupid hoomans touch fence anyway.  Just like me, Nike.  Um, hi.  DON'T TOUCH THE BITING FENCE, HOOMANS.  It's bite-y.  When you are here, maybe you shouldn't touch anything unless Mom or Dad says.  Because when you touch it it will bite you.  Or if you eat poop like my sister Pinot, they will yell at you.

Well I would love to stay here because I am on the couch, but I have some toys to squeak and some grass to roll in, and maybe I will find a sunshine spot for sleeping.  It's a ruff life.

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