Conversations With Dog

‘I refuse to dignify this with a review.’
Pummie Low (Cat)

‘Not only is this book terrible, it even smells like a dog. No stars.’
Oreo (Cat)

‘Written in the same way you recall Forrest Gump speaking. Overly obsessed with someone called “Master,” interrupted frequently by the baffling inclusion of the onomatopoeic sounds of the author licking himself.’
Luna (Cat)

‘As a connoisseur more than accustomed to vociferously licking my own back passage and eating poo, I am of course familiar with the works of Chuck McKenzie. I have generally found them objectionable and offensive though, dealing as they largely do with my arch and mortal enemy, the feline. Conversations With My Cat, for example, caused me to bark insanely at a benign beige wall for sixteen hours, such was my disdain for an author who I had always considered almost my intellectual equal. This time, however, Chuck has achieved a kind of impossible redemption with Conversations With Dog. With a dexterity, skill and grace you’d never expect him to have upon meeting him, Chuck has woven a tale about Planet Dog’s dominant life form that I only had to have seven naps while reading. The pages are quite tasty, as well. I won’t be sniffing his bum, though—I’m not falling for that one again.’
Maximus Q Littledog, esq. (Dog)

‘Waste of time. Where’s my food?’
Cat (Cat)