Doody Scratch

I coulda had lots of money, but it woulda got stole. Coulda had a big fancy sports car racing robot with shiny things and big tires. Coulda wore them fancy get ups you see them folks in the city put on to go watch the airplanes take off. Or have a room holdin' a hundred picture books with lots of nonsense in them like how caterpillars jump so high or what kinda food clouds eat. When I had me a roll of dollars I coulda paid a fella with one of them snakeskin bow-ties to sing a song about the way a pretty girl washes her pantloons, while me and Billy Mack mighta went and special-ordered a bushel of cracklin boiled peanuts and throw the shells out the window without a care. I woulda spent some time makin pau-pau pickles or turnip butter like the hooty French rascals you might find ona TeeVee machine dancing around funny with their tiny feet pointed down so they wont have googlywhat sunder or crookburn rash. Sure.
I coulda done all that nonsense and in full daylight, but instead I got a old dog. Doody. He's afraid of baby shoes and holiday whistlers. Will chew a dent in my Bonner hearing trumpet if I run outa red wigglers that go into his water bucket. Doody dont do nothin' except sleep on his back and chase the haints Nurse Alewine dont like him cause he stink up my rinky tink water parlour with the evil devils handsoap. I could had a good bit of fun but I wanted to be over here lookin at Doody scratch. Coulda. Hes a fine boy so I think I'll keep him.