My Precision Puppy Pen/ Prison, by Ziggy.

I don't care what Jamie has to say about this confinement to a puppy pen business jail; it's a prison in all but name until I say otherwise.   What dignified puppy would say any differently, I ask you, dear reader? 

Seriously!  Quick, people!  Someone call the ASPCA!  Or  PETA!  Or maybe Extreme Makeovers:  Home Edition, at the very least.  Because who in the world of caviar and happy romps on the banks of the Champs Elysee with French dilettante poodles named Georgette decided this thing monstrosity was "luxury pet living"?  Certainly not moi.  

Jamie claims this contraption, which looks like something directly modeled from the Spanish Inquisition torture chambers, will help me "housetrain."  I beg to differ.  I see nothing resembling a train here; not wheels, not a caboose, not a food car.. Nay,  nothing so refined as even steam engine in sight (*because all puppy's train references come from the 19th century, of course.  I'm mean, it's logical, yes?).  And  I certainly refuse to see what part of this chamber of doom is likened to a "house."

 Nay,  I fear it is as I expected.  It's a treacherous plot to keep me confined.  Me.  Little.  sweet. cute.  innocent. Ziggy.

Think of the children, ma'm!  THINK OF THEM NOW, I SAY. 

Well, Jamie can keep her raised flooring and removable waste tray and solid chrome bars instruments of torture.   

The war is not over, dear Jamie.  Oh no!  It has just begun, mon amie!

Vive le France chien libre! Et vive le resistance!

*Jamie's input, there.