The Real Story

One day a large, portly fella named Otis was sitting on his front porch, busting out a new tune on his old harp. It was a typical summer day on the Mississippi Delta. Steaming tire swings. Drunk mosquitoes. Creole aromatherapy. Like always, Otis' long-time cur and companion, Claude, was lying next to him. Claude wasn't especially moved by Otis' daily cacophony, but he sat through it because he was a dog, and that's what dogs do. But there was something different about this particular song. Something that made Claude yearn for something more. A better life. A better home. Air conditioning. No ears. All of it sounded pretty darn good right about then. But none of it was quite right, either. No, this day, with that God-forsaken song squealing through Otis' rusty harp, called for something more. Something that would help Claude get off the porch. Before he turned on Otis. Claude needed a better dog toy.

Seriously. This is the truth about our name.