"Is That A Pooch In Your Pouch?"

Awhile back, I may have mentioned that I'd never want to be a dog.  Well, I was barking up the wrong tree.  "I take it all back, my canine friends.  Can you ever forgive me?"  See, I recently took a sec to view one of those rich wives reality shows (I swear, I usually don't watch anything so vapid, so trashy -- honest!) and what did I see? -- a pooch getting carried around in a sequined purse on Rodeo Drive... "Hey, I can do that!"  I swear, it's like watching some Egyptian pharaoh getting fed grapes... "Grapes in my belly!"  Simply put, life doesn't get better than that, guys.  "Where do I sign up?!"  Put a ribbon in my hair, feed me fancy dog biscuits that taste like snails -- I don't mind. (as long as I'm included in the will)  I'll even wear a cute little sweater -- one that reads 'Precious.'  And you won't ever, ever hear me complain if I'm put in one of those over-sized handbags either... "Wow!  It's like a condo in here!" (there's enough space to fit a satellite dish in some of those lady purses) I can already see it, my lady master and me shopping all day long, getting our nails -- and paws --done, riding home in a shiny new Rolls... "La vida rica."  I'll be willing to sit there and listen to Plastic Woman's tales of reductions here, enhancements there -- and every subject in between... "I need more jewelry!" Yes, being the toy dog for some filthy rich family's the best thing that could ever happen.  "I'll be treated like one of the kids! -- even better!"