“Hey! I’m top dog in this park. That’s my hydrant. Go get your own.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know. You see, I’m a new dog around these parts.”

“Is that so? Are you from out of town?”

“No. I was born and raised here. However, I wasn’t always a dog. I used to be a human, but yesterday, a wicked witch turned me into a dog.”

“You don’t say.”

“Uh, uh. I used to have it all – a wife, home in the suburbs, two or three concerts a week like Avril Lavigne and Bryan Ferry.”

“That’s one thing I’ll say for you humans. You’re always going to concerts.”

“Of course we are. Us humans love concerts. Toad The Wet Sprocket, Queens Of The Stone Age, Ja Rule, you name the act and we’re there. But I guess that’s all in the past.”

“Because a wicked witch turned you into a dog?”

“Uh, uh. And it sure is frustrating. For example, I tried to call Ticketmaster today to order tickets for Kenny Chesney, but all I could do was bark.”

“Lemme guess. The sales rep didn’t speak dog.”

“Exactly. I spent a half-hour growling and snapping into the phone and all I got for my efforts was a subscription to Entertainment Weekly. It really sucks being a dog.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. You may not be able to see Pearl Jam or The Beach Boys, but you get to chase cats, bite mailmen and lick yourself.”

“I know, but it’s not like seeing Yanni.”

“No, but it’s close.”

“Maybe for you, but I miss being a human.”

“Why did a wicked witch turn you into a dog in the first place?”

“It all started with my wife. We both loved concerts. Heck, hardly a week went buy when we weren’t going to a show, like Alison Moyet or R.E.M.

“Sounds like a good life.”

“Oh, it was. That is, until I lost my job as the publicist for Gary Glitter. The economy, you know.”

“And then a wicked witch turned you into a dog? Talk about your bad luck.”

“No, that’s not how it happened. After I couldn’t afford to buy anymore concert tickets, my wife ran away with the local promoter.”

“And that’s when a wicked witch turned you into a dog? That’s terrible!”

“Uh, no. After my wife ran away with the promoter, the promoter banned me from all future concerts, like The Rolling Stones and that Elton John / Billy Joel co-headline. He even stuck my picture up on the bulletin boards at all the Ticketmasters. Not one single clerk would sell me tickets. Then I met the witch, and… well… here I am.”

“You’re kidding! You mean to tell me you just walked right up to a witch and asked her to change you into a dog? All because no one would sell you any concert tickets?”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t ask a witch to change me into a dog because I couldn’t buy any more concert tickets.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right. I begged her.”

“Uh?… Ohhh… You, too, uh?”