3CHAPTER ONE
This is a story. This is the story of a dog. He is a talking dog.
All dogs can talk. It's a known fact. In fact, all animals can talk.
They don't because they know we'd get rid of them.
The thing is, very few people have cracked the code.
We now enter a small two-story house in the middle of a modest neighborhood.
See the boy with the strange hairstyle? His name is James. He cracked the code a couple years ago. He is fifteen years old. Almost old enough to drive, he is. It's not a big deal to him though, much to his parents' relief.
James is currently preparing food for our star. His name is Dave. He's a dog.
Don't act so surprised.
Dave was sitting in his little chair with his two animal buddies.
Rhett is a dog who wears glasses and Bert is a cat.
They were watching their usual allotment of television.
"Rodney just left Jessie for Mary!" cried Bert.
"How could he?!" gasped Dave.
James entered carrying a box.
"Aren't you guys worried this stuff is going to mush your brains?" he asked.
"Too late," said Rhett.
"Did you bring what we requested?" asked Dave, who didn't take his eyes off the TV.
James sighed. He opened the box and started to pass things to the animals.
"All right, let's see here. We've got your box of tissues, your popcorn, your Minute Maid, your bathrobes and a bag of candy."
"Thanks-a-doodle," said Dave, who took the items and passed them around.
"No problem. Care to explain what the plot to this is?"
"Well," said Rhett, "Rodney is this guy who's a lawyer in New York, and he's supposed to be going out with Jessie, who we were hoping would be his fiancée, but as it turns out, Mary—"
"Not the show, ya mook! The stuff I just gave you!"
"Oh," said Dave. "Well, it's an experiment. We're trying to see if we can take on humanish abilities and traits while coexisting, as you so delicately put it, as mangy flea-ridden house pets."
"You'd just dragged a dead animal into the house!" said James, throwing his arms in the air.
"Whatever. We're trying to convert to humanism. Please let us be."
James rolled his eyes and left the room.
"Okay, men," said Dave, standing up. "Apply…robes!"
Rhett and Bert put on their bathrobes.
"Box of tissues…at the ready!"
Rhett and Bert pulled out their tissue boxes.
"Rumps…to the floor!"
They all sat down before the TV.
"Present…sweets!"
They pulled out the candy.
"Turn on…telly!"
Bert turned on the TV.
"Present…sorrow!"
"RODNEY, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" everyone screamed.
James was listening from the kitchen.
"Ten thousand dogs in this town and I get stuck with the canine version of Norman Bates," he muttered.
Just then, the door burst open, and in walked Oliver, who had a giant baseball cap covering his eyes as usual.
"James my boy, we are so going to this! We are so, so going! WHOO!" he exclaimed.
There was a moment of silence.
"Uh…that was the ending to what I'm assuming to be a great story, Oliver," said James sarcastically. "Care to tell me the beginning?"
"Right, right, sorry, sorry. Give me a minute here to allow you to sit there in my sheer awesomeness for scoring so high on the coolness level? Ready? Go!" Oliver said, pointing at him.
There was another moment of silence.
James stared at the little idiot before him, drumming his fingers on the table and contemplating killing him.
He couldn't stand it.
"OLIVER, JUST TELL ME WHAT THE HECK YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" he shouted, standing up.
Oliver jumped back before finally reaching into his coat pocket and pulling two pieces of paper.
"I scored us two tickets to the New Year's party this weekend! Do I rule or what?!" he shouted.
James stared at the two pieces of paper.
"Are you sure they're real?" he asked. "It could be whoever gave them to you were evil demented people out to humiliate us and tricked you into taking tickets to a Molly Hatchet concert."
"No way, man! These are real! Check 'em out!"
Oliver handed James the tickets.
James laid them on the table and looked at them through a magnifying glass.
Then he stuck them under a microscope.
Then he placed them front of a giant telescope.
Then he held them up to a light.
Then he put them behind some x-rays.
By this point in the day, Oliver was growing impatient.
"Are you quite finished now?" he sighed.
James pulled the tickets out.
"Yes, it's true. Oliver…dear friend…WE ARE SO GOING TO THIS PARTY!"
"Exactly! Dude, this is party of the century! We're going to party only the gods go to!"
There was another pause.
"The gods go to a party with spiked punch, cruddy music and a spazzing foreign kid?" asked James.
"It's all they have at birthdays," said Oliver wistfully.
James rolled his eyes.
"So what do we wear to a party like that?" Oliver asked.
James and Oliver looked themselves over.
James was wearing his usual green sweater with blue jeans and white sneakers.
Oliver was wearing his button down orange and blue plaid shirt, blue jeans and gray loafers, as well as his red and green baseball cap.
They looked at each other.
"Eh, this should be good enough," said James.
"Agreed."
Just then, Dave, Rhett and Bert came in, still in bathrobes.
James gulped.
"We can't let them find out. They're gonna want to come!" he whispered.
Oliver nodded.
"Okay, so we're all agreed: we go down to BBC and kick their butts until they have Rodney and Jessie get back together on ship in the Atlantic," said Dave.
"We should use the word 'injustice' at least twelve times. That's won me a lot of arguments," said Rhett.
James and Oliver watched them.
"This is what happens when we leave the TV Guide lying out," sighed James, sitting down.
"So what is new with the human beings today?" asked Dave, getting up to the table.
"Oh, nothing much," said James.
"WHAT PARTY?!" yelled Oliver nervously.
Everyone stared at him.
James covered his eyes.
"Party, huh?" asked Bert.
"When, where, how, why, and what disguise should we wear?" asked Dave.
"And do we need a waxing done?" asked Rhett.
"Uh-uh. No way, Jose. You're not going," said James sternly.
"Why not? We'll be perfect little angels!" said Dave.
They put plastic halos over their heads for emphasis.
"Nice spin," said James.
"Seriously," said Oliver. "Last time we took you guys to a party, you ate too much, you drank too much and you danced too much."
"And then you asked if we could do it again the next day!" said James.
"Come on! It's fun!" said Rhett.
"Look. No party. It's that simple," said James, crossing his arms.
Dave jumped on to James' head.
"No! You mustn't deprive us! We need to hippify our bad selves! If I don't boogy-oogey-oogey, I may go mad! I'll take you to court!"
"James was taken to court today by his dog do to hip-hop deprivation. In a moment, the results of that trial," said Rhett in an announcer voice.
"You'll go before a council of my furry peers! They'll plead guilty and send you to a dungeon and make you eat peanut butter!" Dave continued.
"What's wrong with peanut butter?" asked Oliver.
"Ever seen a dog try to eat it?" Bert said, chuckling to himself.
Dave and Rhett glared at him for a second before continuing.
"You'll slowly rot in your cell, picking at a wall and humming songs from The Sound of Music and you'll think to yourself…"
"WHY?!" screamed Bert, doing a good impression of James. "WHY DIDN'T I LET MY PETS GO TO THE PARTY?! I KNEW FULLY WELL THAT THEY COULD BUST A MOVE ON THE DANCE FLOOR! I COULD'VE WARNED NEW YORK CITY TO WATCH OUT! WHY? WWWWHHHHYYYYY?!"
James finally shoved Dave off of his head and onto the floor.
"Fine! Stop it! You can come!"
"YAY!" the animals cheered.
"Just wear a good disguise and don't eat any chocolate."
Dave, Rhett and Bert saluted.
"No problem, general. We're your loyal followers!" Dave said.
James and Oliver exchanged unsure glances.
"Good," said James.
"Can I bring my air horn?" asked Bert.
"NO!" everyone yelled.
"Come on, Rhett," said Oliver. "Let's head home. Mom's making pot roast."
"You're not gonna give me the hard stuff are ya? It took me forever to get that last bit down," Rhett whined.
"You'll eat what I give ya. Get going."
"But this is injustice!"
"Get going!"
Oliver and Rhett left.
Dave and Bert headed for the doghouse.
"Come, Bert. We must find the proper disguise for the party," said Dave bravely.
"Okey-dokey," said Bert.
They went outside.
James let his head fall to the table.
"What…have I done?" he moaned.