I would have thought I could outrun a crocodile but The Boss says you can't see them coming. They lurk in muddy water just waiting for a furry feed to come along.
Years ago he took the offspring up to Kakadu and had a tour around the Yellow Waters lagoon, where there were several very large crocs. One of them was named Pluto, on account of his affection for hounds like myself.
Anyway, as usual he sent me off to Nathalia Kennels, along with Queenie, my mum, and the Golden Leave-it-There. I don't mind it up there: there's plenty of room to run around and a lot of other dogs to play with.
They draft you into the right pack when you get there, so the pesky little dogs get to play with other pesky little dogs and bigger dogs play with bigger dogs - and true athletes like myself get to play with the pick of the bunch, the elite dogs. As you would expect.
This all goes pretty well until Queenie starts flexing her muscles. She's not a true athlete like me, but she reckons she's top dog anyway and keeps nipping me on the ear to remind me.
On Queen's Birthday weekend (as distinct from Queenie's birthday) they had a real party and put our photos up on Facebook, so we're probably famous.
The girls at the kennels even send The Boss a note so he can see we're having a fine old time. He says he doesn't need to be reminded of me when he's on a holiday but, underneath, he quite likes it. I can tell.
Sometimes The Boss comes to pick us up but, when he doesn't have time, Maddy gives us a lift in her Dogmobile. We like Maddy a lot. She understands dogs better than dogs do and it always means fun when she turns up: fun going to the kennels for a holiday - and fun going home again. She just opens the door and in we leap.
A change is as good as a rest, The Boss says. But he reckons my life is one long rest anyway. Woof.