Girlsie here - as in Boysie and Girlsie, and we belong to Mrs. Brooke Astor, so don't you forget it. Now we live up in Vermont on a farm, far away from all that fighting over our Mommy's will. It was all Boysie's fault for piddling on the couch when he got excited. Someone told somebody else, and all of a sudden people said our mistress was living in a filthy house. Maybe they'll ask you to testify, Boysie, and you can tell them the truth.
"Woof."
Easy for you to say, but Mr. Tony was always nice to us, and so was his wife, Mrs. Charlene. She gave us treats. Of course one time somebody, who shall be nameless, locked us in the dining room. Tell that to the judge, Boysie.
"Woof, woof."
You're such a busybody, always sniffing people. Me, I just lounge, though I do miss our Mommy. She was so good. But the butler comes to see us, Mr. Christopher. He's going to testify, at least according to the Daily News. Unlike yourself, I actually read the newspaper, as opposed to doing you-know-what there. Some days they deserve it.
Mrs. A used to say the best thing about the New York Times was that it came in a blue plastic bag, useful for picking up - ummm----I'm not going to say it, but you can sure smell it.
"Aaarf!"
