Sir Porter & the Heaters

I have a dog you may have heard. His Porterness is as friendly as a dog can be, as far as I’m concerned. The real deal is that he has a certain keeness for all things foodish. By which is meant he worships his belly. This is why St. Paul referred to the false teachers in Philippi as dogs as far as I can tell. But for the moment the thing that wags his tail the wrong way are the heaters. He has bad dreams about heaters. His hair pricks and his tail droops. He cowers and whines and goes wee wee wee all the way home. And I don’t mean anything other that what it sounds like. He brutally attacked and murdered the chord of one of my heaters, and I fear the day he attacks the one in the kitchen. His Porterness has beknighted himself and finds his destiny somehow fulfilled in throttling the dragons inside my heaters. The other thing is that it’s getting to be a bit cold here. And that’s really the heart of my concern.