Willy, the Rat Terrier

Willy, the Rat Terrier He nibbles on my nose. Why? Heaven only knows! Each tooth feels like a pin. I need much thicker skin! Yet Willy, the rat terrier, could not be any merrier. After a bath or stroll he sprints around the whole apartment like a race car driven by an ace who’d swallowed too much speed. (Perhaps it’s just his breed that is to blame for that.) He’s like a mad preschooler who drank from the wine cooler and got so hugely gassed, runs so awful fast, is such an acrobat, a poor rat would have no shot at evading such a tot. I wouldn’t like to be that rat, believe you me! He’d shake it side to side until the critter died, which would be just as quick as death by a dropped brick. Even a swift hare wouldn’t have a prayer! Yet the only life this brat has so far ever seized was neither hare nor rat, but the schnoz from which I’ve sneezed.