The king is in his counting house counting out our money.Meanwhile. A massive black dog, a Newfoundland, with a faded black inflated car inner-tube around his neck is on his way to the vet’s he wails in terror as he’s dragged to his destiny. He senses that something bad is coming. His owners tell him that it won’t be as bad as he fears. Somehow, he can smell it on the wind, perhaps his suspicion is inbred, perhaps it’s instinct, but he knows his desecration awaits he will no longer be a dog and he won’t even bark like a castrato. The