Westminster is only an hour away, dearest pocket pooch, so we must magnoperate your style to earn us the top smooch. The dollop of vulnerary foam is not for you to eat; It heals scritches got by the chasing-squirrels-through-thickets feat. “No! No! Do not shake it all off why you are lathered and wet!” Those Hepburn eyes will not extenuate the splashing deed’s debt. Yip at the dryer, growl at the towel, but you better not bite; Until a poof ball of cutest cute, you shall not leave my sight. Oh, so now you want to lick me after drying the last sud? Why, yes, I do feel the same; you are my best four-legged bud. Let me put you down for just a sec while I clean up this flood. “We’ll win for–Wait! Come back! Not the dog door! It’s raining! The mud!”