Eight

The next day, Brian dialed a call.

"Hello, I would like to place an ad for a found dog?" said Brian, who then saw Spot enter the kitchen. "You. What do you want?"

"You speak to the phone," said Spot. "I wait for you to finish the talk."

"Mumble?" said the operator. "Mumble?"

"What do you want?" said Brian, who hung up the phone.

"Now is the time for me to dine as I enjoy my stories," said Spot, whom Brian served away from the kitchen. "The can opening tool requires the toes to oppose the paws. The defect in design is atrocious, no? And the mustard, s'il vous plait."

"Hello, I would like to place an ad for a found dog?" said Brian, who again saw Spot enter the kitchen. "Can I call you back?"

"Mumble?" said the operator. "Mumble?"

"You," said Brian. "What now?"

"Come, come," said Spot. "Now is time for the bath. Why must Monsieur le Brian play coy with my few, simple, royal pleasures?"

"Time for your bath?" said Brian. "You had a bath yesterday. A bath once a week is plenty for a dog."

"The humans with no fur," said Spot. "They take the bath everyday. But the dogs with the fur, they do not?"

"No, they don't," said Brian. "Not when the dog likes to empty so much of the tub on the human that bathes him."

"Sacre bleu," said Spot, who again left the kitchen. "I cannot believe the corruption of sense you deliver to my sensitive canine ears."

"Hello?" said Brian. "I would like to place an ad for a found dog. Yes. Found? Deluded, talking circus dog. Insists he's the King of the World. Also responds to Spot."

"Scoundrel," said Spot. "I catch the evil things you say."

"You're spraying foam everywhere," said Brian. "Is that my toothbrush? Who said you could use my toothbrush?"

"—no, no," said Spot. "Do not hide the conniving eyes. Your chicanery now I realize."

"Have you been using my toothbrush all the time you've been here?" said Brian.

"Monsieur Backstabbing Traitor," said Spot. "You must come to your senses. You must let someone love you. For which the dinosaur toothbrush is too little too late."

"Keep that away from me," said Brian. "The places your mouth has been."

"Enough, Monsieur le Backstab," said Spot. "I can stand to hear no more."

"Don't leave the house with your mouth foamy," said Brian. "You look like a mad dog."

"Le angry dog? I know not where even to begin to say," said the little dog who then dashed from the house.