Now that she's out!

Alright, so now I'm back ... although I'm not the same old dinged-up person that I used to be. Actually, I'm not a person now at all. I'm a dog . . . a chihuahua to be precise. After my master left this site open, I managed to navigate my way around it and even downloaded useful content onto the micro-chip she cruelly allowed her vet to embed in my neck. So now whenever my master leaves me alone to guard the house, I read . . . and I write.Yes, dear reader, we dogs not only understand the spoken word, we understand the written one as well, and, if fortunate enough to live indoors, we learn to typr (whoops; my claws need trimming) ... we learn to type too. What! It's not exactly rocket science, just a few dozen buttons is all. Anyway, this here dialogue box is my way of communicating to the world what it's really like to be a dog. Warning: If you the reader have a weak constitution or abhor the thought of animal cruelty at any level, then I suggest you stop reading now, as this story gets, at times, pretty graphic. I begin: My name is Binx. I live in New Zealand, so I guess that makes me a Kiwi. (Like its not bad enough to be roughly the size of a gourd). Actually I read in an encyclopedia the other day that my breed was originally from China where we were carried around in the sleeves of men while they went about conquering. Sounded rather comfy, until I read on. If the travellers ran out of food, guess who got eaten.