Summary: …along the journey he had more than once been mistaken for an unusually fluffy red rat…
Written: 17 July 2003
The small bedraggled Pomeranian limped through the pipe, for once not regretting his lack of size (along the journey he had more than once been mistaken for an unusually fluffy red rat and been chased by angry humans wielding various blunt objects; been forced to waste time defending his masculinity against scores of taunting midsize dogs who were only projecting their own insecurity onto him; and frustratingly, ignobly been unable to run fast enough or leap high enough to catch a free ride on the boxcars that passed him regularly as he trudged along, following the tracks to Washington DC – and this was aside from the mishap that had started his whole adventure: narrowly escaping from a giant alligator who’d seen him as a tasty after-dinner morsel and snapped his retractable leash like a piece of recalcitrant dental floss), but instead feeling thankful that he could fit into small places, and also, at last, heartened to see that his journey was almost over – there, gleaming, was the light at the end of the tunnel: the grate leading to Dana Scully’s bathroom.