This is getting old. Mom and Dad are bolting out of here again today. I thought I was going to get to go along. They keep saying "truck." It's truck this and truck that. Am I going for a ride?
They did this to me before. They left in my very first truck, a really nice and roomy silver truck, and came home with a big blue monster that shows every little hair I shed. Dad sighs when I shed in his truck, but I can't help it. Shed happens, you know.
I've got the scoop on it. I listened really close to what Mom was saying. They want to get rid of the little red truck that belonged to Jack and bring home another truck. I never ride in that one. It's way too small for me to get in the back. Dad even took the seats out and I didn't have enough room.
This will be Mom's truck but Dad will be allowed to drive it. And of course, I will be allowed to ride in it. This is a good thing!
I hope they won't be gone too long. I'm Deuce, and I'm a good dog, but the last time took hours and hours and I really had to pee-pee by the time they got back.
Hurry up, guys! Get it done so I can ride in a new Colorado!