American Accent only, Natural speed, possible just males
This is the story of Greg King, a poor old the dog, who was originally from Oregon, but lived in North Florida, in a remote pen close the Ocala Forest, near Marion County.
He looked really scary, with his furry brow and his hairy face, and he had a brown peg-leg, because years before he had been in a horrible accident. Anyway, he didn’t feel sorry for his leg, he was in fact a calm and cheerful dog and he was used to saying: “Life is precious like a gem… Don’t spend it in sorrow and depression, or you’ll end up gloomy and harried, and you will need a cure for your mental illness”.
Greg had no kin, except for his brother Ken King, who was really keen on visiting him, and he had a girlfriend, Mary Merrit the cat, who Greg had met on Craig’s list. Mary was originally from Paris, but had moved to America with an exchange program to study law. She was a guest of the “Merry Cowmen Inn”, a ghetto hotel with many flaws, but she had guessed it would be a fair place to stay.
Mary was fascinated by the American way of life; she wanted to move to New York, and tour all around America, to taste every American cuisine. Mary’s favorite junk foods were chocolate milk and sugarcoated nuts, mostly almonds and hazelnuts. She used to pour cups of coffee all day long while she pored over books. She loved having for breakfast an egg omelet with onions, and some kind of dairy and a berry, even if Greg would rather have a bone and a glass of water rather than eggs and coffee.
Greg wanted to marry Mary and start a new family, but he was really poor and he had no job, no insurance and he didn’t receive any pension, so he couldn’t afford a gold ring with a gemstone to propose to Mary.
He didn’t want to quarrel with Mary, and he didn’t want to borrow money from a bank either, so he kept struggling for an idea. Once he sat on the street with a bag to beg for spare change, while reciting a lyric poem by Timothy Leary about a leery centaur and a mischievous fairy, but that ridiculous charade didn’t work.
On a windy night, while he was still in his pajamas, he threw his pillow on one side, and got up from his cot; then he caught a glimpse of his hairy face in the nearest mirror, and mused: “It’s better not to feel sad. Tomorrow you’ll go to the market and you’ll try to get some jewelry”.
The next morning it was a sunny day, he woke up at dawn, took off his pajamas and tried to wash up and get dressed quickly. He put on his shoes, and looked for his comb in a drawer, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, so he used a hairpin and went out of the pen.
Then he started going along Fir Tree Road, until he reached the ferry down the street, which carried him to the other side of Wendy creek, and he finally managed to get to the central market square near Benson road.
