The two-leggers are the strangest of dogs. They have food and don't eat it. You should eat food as soon as you find it. If you don't, some other dog will and that will be the end of that.
The two-leggers can open the wall and leave at any time but don't. They stay in the den, sometimes all day, and never go out at night when things are most interesting.
When they do open the wall, they stand in the way, as if they don't want us to go out. We're so eager to go out. They open the wall, come in or go out, and then close the wall. I don't understand why they just don't leave the wall open and any dog can go out at any time.
They complain about the smell. Then they make the floor wet with a foul-smelling and terrible-tasting water. If I wet the floor, they bark at me.
They do not mark trees.
They won't help me kill the cat. It'd be easy for them. They're very talented, in some respects. They can climb the fence. They can pick up a stick in their paws. I've seen them. They could knock the detestable, stinking creature from the fence and I could bite it hard, crushing its bones with my sharp teeth, shaking it viciously and killing it. We could play tug-of-war with its dead body. What fun we could have! Never again would the cat leer at me just out of reach. I'd teach it to be a cat. However, this is a joy the two-leggers won't consider.
They always walk on their hind-legs, which is pretentious beyond belief.
They do not howl with the wolf-god. I've never seen the wolf-god but I hear him every day, running through the woods and fading into the distance. He's a hard runner. The wolf-god has a fine, loud voice and I join him singing whenever he runs by my house. You can hear him for miles. He must be huge. He must be very glad to be outside so much. I suppose he knows how to mark a tree.
I yearn to hunt with the wolf-god, running down some swift-footed beast full of fear all bloody and lame, or climbing a high mountain pass on a moonlit night, howling our loneliness out to the world.
But not the strange dogs. They don't go out at night when the moon is full and the despised cat creeps the fence tops and the great, mournful wolf-god howls up and down the streets, smelling of blood, unconstrained. No. The strange dogs stay in their dens with the walls closed and watch the flickering lights.
I wonder if they're dogs at all. Should we stay with them? Should we run away and join another pack?
For now, I council the other dogs to act happy, get plenty of rest, eat quickly, and think escape. Never cease to look for the way out.