Pre-Emptive Bark

Creak here, and very a pleased Creak indeed. As I write this, I reflect on a highly productive weekend. On Friday, after I finished ripping the Dog Street Journal to thousands of tiny shreds after discovering my stocks were down in the Biscuit sector again (note to self: diversify into rawhide), I was feeling low. A little gain here, a little gain there, and then they take a nose dive at the end of every week. I needed something to take my mind of all the money nonsense; I needed to do something to help me ignore the ache in my bones and the bigger ache in my wallet. After doing a little research, I found much of my block was feeling the same way. To help take their minds off their own problems, many effective solutions were found and problems that had been ignored for years were finally being solved!

I needed to find something I could handle, and it seemed like problems were mounting faster than I could say 'chase a cat up a tree'. Unpopular businesses were reeling with the economic shocks, and the French Poodle's normally busy brasserie was empty for some odd reason, so I sat there. After noting the curious menu rearrangement (oddly enough, I couldn't find my favorite fries, only some new Freedom kind, so I just had a foie gras burger), I started brainstorming ideas and writing them on my dog pads. This method of note taking became quickly outdated when I discovered walking on a wet surface meant I lost everything I wrote down there. Nevertheless, some of the better plans stuck in my head, and I decided to initiate phase one of my neighborhood improvement plan the very next day.

The first step was to eliminate that eyesore across the street, a garish doghouse built by the colossal German shepherd, Barkin von Loud. The doghouse was a potential threat to the canine morale in my area, and it was a difficult target. Rumors had been flying for weeks that von Loud had been hiding two Dobermans in the basement of his fortress, right under the dog dishes and extra chew toys. It was widely known von Loud had an enormous doggy biscuit reserve, just what I need to get my stocks back on track. A team of St. Bernards armed with Dober-dar, the latest in Doberman detecting equipment, had already searched for weeks for the violent dogs, but had been unsuccessful. I could wait no longer. It was time to take out von Loud and his maniac mutts, and although I knew the French Poodles and Black Russian Terriers would never help me, the Shelties were lined up behind me. Von Loud was given the ultimatum: hand over your Dobermans and biscuits, or we'll take them by force in Operation: Plush Toy Freedom. Needless to say, he refused, and I write this atop a mound of the finest in biscuits.

My stocks haven't seemed to rebound yet, but I have been able to trade my biscuits for a few deep massages from a nearby Swedish Vallhund. Barkin von Loud fled his manor before we were able to apprehend him, but we imagine he's hiding out with some of his canine cronies. Fear not, Creak is on the job...just as soon as I can get down from here.