The dog Biscuitgoat is the subject of a plot!
I don't want to sound paranoid, but lately I've realized there are people who are out there to get me. I'm serious. There are those who are actually hovering around, calling, planning, plotting my death. Don't think I don't know what you're talking about.
All just because I'm an old dog. Okay, a really old dog. And I can't get around quite as quickly as I used to. And part of my head is sunken in, causing one eye to dry out requiring regular applications of Visine. And I might be a little scrambled, as evidenced by that one night that I got into the spare bedroom, shut the door, got into the narrow gap between the corner wall and the bed and stood there for who-knows-how-long until someone happened to wake up at 3 am to find me in stuck facing the corner of the room and unable to move because I can't possibly back straight up.
The conspirators will say it's for my own good, it's to relieve my suffering. You want to alleviate my suffering? GIVE ME MORE HAM.
It's not that I'm afraid of death, you understand: I've seen the Twilight Zone episode, and I know I'll be let into heaven. What I don't know is whether there will be any ham in heaven, or any meat products at all ... after all, it would seem antithetical to have slaughterhouses in the holiest of all planes of existence. And yet it wouldn't be a place of complete bliss and delight if we all had to eat vegan.
So, just to be on the safe side, I'm getting all the ham I can get while the getting is good. Just today I had three different kinds of ham and felt much better for it. So even though even I must admit that my death may come sooner rather than later, DON'T RUSH ME. There's still ham to live for.