âThese are really called Dog Days?â Fido said.
âThey are, but itâs not what you think,â I replied.
âIâm a dog! I donât think. I guard, I feel, I bark, I sleep, I eat. But I do not think. I am a life-support system for biscuits and my water bowl. Everything after that is gravy.â
âOnce again, you Big Red Lug, you are mixing your metaphors something awful, but thatâs perfectly OK during the Dog Days of August.â
âHey hey hey hey!â Fido yelped. âWhat will we do to celebrate?â