Scene: A sloppy woman Of A Certain Age in a disreputable gray sweater is sitting on a couch. Her computer is on a small table in front of her, and she is trying to type. A roughly 25-lb Rat Terrier with absurdly pointy ears and notably good teeth is sitting beside her, gnawing contentedly on her left arm.
WOMAN: Um, Buddy…can we have a word?
WOMAN: Yes, well. You see, Buddy, I think we need to have a little chat about this thing that you do.
DOG: [Hums That Thing You Do in his head, smiles inwardly while continuing to gnaw on the woman’s arm.]
WOMAN: I mean, you know I love you, right? I think you’re a cute little guy, and I don’t regret taking you in. I don’t mind telling you, it cost me a lot of clout with the other dogs to override their “nay” votes at the meeting where we decided whether to let you stay.
DOG: Mmph? OMNOMNOM
WOMAN: I just want you to understand, Buddy, that what I am about to do is motivated by love, not anger. Please don’t think I don’t like you, or that I don’t care about your happiness.
WOMAN: [Takes out a squirtgun, aims it right between the dog’s eyes, and opens fire. Or, well, water. Whatever. You know what I mean.]
Wet dog, shocked, stops gnawing on her arm and sprints out of the room, shaking his head.
Two other small dogs (another Rat Terrier and an aged Jack Russell terrier), sit nearby and look smug.