(We begin on a farm, with a quaint little cottage. Sasha looks frightfully over a pair of absolutely identical (save for one having white ears and one having black ears) dalmatian puppies warring over a stick. We cut to a shot of a bright red cat eating lunch. He eats his lunch for a full five seconds before the dalmatian puppies abandon their delicious stick to slide down the perfectly flat ground. Now the White-Eared Puppy is sauntering vaguely westward, presumably to escape the creepy artists.)

Sasha: Where are you going Lucy? Don't you want to play?

Lucy: I do, but I'm hungry. I'll be right back.

(Sashamel and Black-Eared Puppy do not understand the concept of "me time" and stalk after her. Either that, or they decide they're hungry too. Lucy's legs bend in ways never meant to be in order to get her tragically stunted neck down to her dish of cherry gumballs.

Sashamel leans in for a snack, too, with his eyes shut tight, but when his tongue his the cold, unyielding metal beneath, he realizes the awful truth)

Sasha: (Girl gasps) My bowl is empty! Must've been Charlie!

(Charlie snickers)

Lucy: How mean! As if he didn't get enough to eat himself!

Sasha: One of these days, I'll beat him up so bad he doesn't know who he is.

Black-Eared Puppy: Oh YEAH! I'll help you! Since when do dogs allow themselves to be tirnyzed by a stupid cat?

(Charlie walks back in, clutching in his mouth a box with a picture of Lucy and the word "DOGGI" on it)

Sasha: You get LOSS, Charlie or something NASTY mill happen!

Charlie: Can't be like that, it was only a little joke and I brought you something to make up for it.

Lucy: And what may that be?

Charlie: Cake! An A-1 doggie cake.

Lucy: Mmm! It looks rather tasty.

Charlie: Of course it's tasty. You don't need to look so skeptical or anything, it's not poison, just try it!

(All the dogs bend over to sniff the treats. But—oh, no! It causes their eyes to spontaneously close and their mouths to distort! They make a few snuffling sounds of vague discomfort. Silently, Charlie's outline pulses with laughter, and his eyes roll deep into the pits of his malformed head. He drinks their mild displeasure like a demon drinks souls.)

Sasha: Pepper! You sprinkled pepper on the cake (stuttering) you (not stuttering) NASTY tomcat, you... you NASTY!

(Charlie darts off, his legs flapping together like a wild encyclopedia bounding gracefully across the savannah. If that's the way he runs, it would certainly explain his arched spine—that doesn't look healthy at all. The puppies set off in pursuit, and the four chase each other around the same couple pieces of scenery, one after the other, in a Benny Hill-esque chase that pads out a full fifteen seconds. We fade to black. And then back to the forest)