How Do They Always Escape

How are they doing? I asked my dog Scott. He put his hand to his lip and whispered “not!” I knew at that second the poker was intense. They were as quiet as could be; the air was quite dense. I tiptoed away, not bothering them with dog chow or drink. Some of the flatulence in that room reminded my nose of dead mink. These dogs always play poker in a way that makes us all feel dense. The bulldog pulled out a full house and yelled out “Mike Pence!” The rest of the pack was on him like flies on rice. They gnarled and snarled, and showed him every damned vice. I thought they would be jailed, and of course many were led away. King dog and his son raised fists in solidarity and escaped another day. How do they always escape? I wondered. But then I realized something new. They held the keys to the pot All the money the others could not get to.