It MustCan't Be OverDone
But still I ctry. I don'tneed sleep today. This is the story I'm going to tell you, another story about a dog, or at least some people who were a lot like dogs, or who fancied themselves to be dogs, of a sort, though not the truest sort, the freer sort. No, these people (and that's what they were, people) merely wished to be dogs, because who wouldn't? And who doesn't? Not a noble wish, perhaps, and maybe even a selfish one, but with some folk you can't really blame them, because the world's an unkind place to some, and what's more than unkind, an outright hostile place, a dangerous place - the sort of place you'd very much wish to be free of. And so they were. This is the sort of story which is about one thing and another thing all at once, and I've just given you a lot of information I think, to help you on your way to understanding it - because the real secret here is that even I myself don't understand it, and maybe if you can understand it, then at least SOMEONE will understand it. Anyway. The story isn't about a dog today, it's about when things were new.