Hello. It is I, Penelope.
I have a complaint about that Human Brother of mine. He went wandering off into the world––the way he always does––and came back saying that he knows how to train dogs. Apparently, I am a dog! I do not like this development.
Human Brother insists that I sit! When I see him coming, I hide behind the theater seats. He pulls me out.
I get big scaredy eyes.
The worst part is that Mom Mom approves of his bad behavior. She told him how well he's taught me. How could he teach me? I have always known how to sit, and I sit when I please. Why should I sit to please people? Mom Mom used to tell me to sit. I refused to do it, and she said, "Well, all right then." She gives up so easily. Human Brother does not give up.
I must admit that Human Brother gives me something yummy to eat for doing as he wants. But if I give in to him all the time, before you know it he'll expect me to roll over, which is what he has that idiot Franklin doing. Franklin has even gone to the park to practice his new "skill." Anyone could have watched him.
Some matters should be private, as dictated by propriety. I will not be on my back, allowing my woo-hoo to show.
I WILL NOT ROLL OVER! I won't do it for any treat.
Treat . . . treat . . . treat . . . I am dreaming of treats now.
Now that I think about it a bit more, I'll sit for an entire square of a graham cracker.
If he expects me to roll over, I want my own roast chicken.
That is all.
I shall dream about the possibility of my very own roast chicken, without the bones of course.
