I’m Danny the Dog. I wrote an article for Chris a few weeks ago, (click on this nifty little unobtrusive and discrete link to see it) and according to him, it was well received. Of course it was. I wrote it.

Well, one thing led to another and now Chris wants me to write a monthly column (fourth Tuesday each month – don’t miss it!).

I like Chris. He’s a great help to you struggling writers, but I’m rather busy. There are two new dogs where we live and I have to see the cat up at the Tiki Hut every morning and steal . . . I mean borrow . . . some of her food. But because Chris is such a nice guy, I decided to help him out. I’ll be sending in stories that I’ve already written on my blog because I’m too busy appropriating that damn cat’s food. Just remember, all my stories are true. Here is my first harrowing, fur-raising tale.

Unlike my last communiqué, in this one I shine.

I’m the hero.

Danny and the Midnight Marauder

It was a dark and stormy night (what else?).

My human, Andrew, was fast asleep in our boat. I was on the dock patrolling the perimeter. When I’m on guard duty, I am always vigilant and on my toes.

They came out of the darkness. There were at least thirty of ’em, and they were all armed to the teeth. But they didn’t scare me, no sir! I stood up to them, and for every blow I took, I bit three. When the fur stopped flying, there were bodies strewn everywhere. Those not lying on the dock were in full retreat.

Okay . . . okay already! It’s Andrew, he’s been reading over my shoulder. He’s saying that I can’t tell lies when I’m writing these narratives. Well, he said barefaced lies. Whatever!

It’s his computer, so I reckon I’ll do as he says and tell you what really happened. But I’m still a hero.

It was around midnight, I was asleep and dreaming of hotdogs. (It was a good dream. In it, I was running through a field of hotdogs and eating every one of them.) Then I heard a noise and sat up. There was some guy walking right up to our boat just as fancy as you please. Well, I wasn’t going to take that, so I gave him a single bark. He did a U-turn and made a hasty departure. And that was it.

You know . . . I wish Andrew would stick to his own writing and let me do mine. It read a lot better when I defeated thirty killers.