Thus Dog spake to Moses, the neighborhood pug:

I am Yap-weh, The Lord Your Dog, who brought you out of your fenced yards into an off-leash dog park teeming with squirrels and rich with soil redolent of gloriously stinky fish emulsion. Freely may thou wallow in it, nor fear the reproach of thy masters who worship pristine carpets, for I shall plague their clean floors with mud.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me—although any humans bearing cheese chunks or sirloin cubes may be revered as lesser deities, and their hands anointed with grateful slobber.

Thou shalt not make for thyself any graven image. This is a thing, evidently. But honestly, dawg, it’s not an issue, considering: paws. (Note to Self: upgrade vestigial toes in Dog 2.0 to thumbs).

Thou shalt not bow, nor bow-wow, to the graven image things just mentioned, nor shalt thou roll in them, nor bury them in hidden fields, for the Lord Your Dog is a jealous Dog. This goes double for chew toys, and thrice for bones! Yea, and the Lord Your Dog will love to a thousand generations those who love Him and rub His tummy in that special spot, the one right above the lamb-chop-shaped birthmark that makes His leg paddle, yea Dog also will love all those who set hollowed-out bones stuffed with cream cheese at His altar—and be careful you don’t stuff the cheese so deep I can’t get to it, Oh My Dog, that is sooo frustrating.

And listen: if I get a spot of cream cheese on my nose, don’t dare try to lick it off, for The Lord Your Dog is a jealous Dog when cream cheese is nigh, yea, and whipped cream, too.

Thou shalt not misuse the name of the Lord Your Dog by calling Him “Pupsy,” “Pupsy Wupsy,” “Iddie Biddie Boo Boo,” “Snookalicious,” “Sir Scrumptuous The Destroyer Of Worlds And Plush Toys,” or “Hunko the Hunky Hound Of Huckledy Love,” for the Lord Your Dog bares fangs of wrath and fain would use them.

Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy. For six days shall ye not work, nor shall ye work on the seventh day. Nor the eighth. Nor the ninth. No, thou shalt not work on any day ever, world without end, sing Howl-lelujah!

On the other paw, your people, whom you may visit when hungry, cold, or itchy, yea, your people shall work a full seven-day measure, for neither cream cheese nor sirloin grows upon trees—though squirrel steaks do. Thus The Lord commands thee to find a squirrel-hunting human to hunt withal, and set burnt offerings of squirrel steaks, squirrel fritters, and squirrel kebabs before Me.

Honor your father and your mother, if you can find them. This may necessitate sniffing thousands of heinies. You still may not find them, but you’ll have a good time.

Thou shalt not murder humans with your adorable, appealing, irresistible eyes the color of maple fudge. Nor shalt thou bust their guts with laughter on YouTube by yelping the melody to “Happy Birthday,” or wearing humanoid costumes on their pagan holiday Halloween; provided, however, thou mayest murder freely if they force thee to dress like Yoda, or like a pirate with an eyepatch and a cute little scarf, after which thou mayest consume their holiday candy, though of The Chocolate of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, ye shall not eat. Don’t eat chocolate! Bad doggie!

Thou shalt not commit adultery. Behaving like an adult is against our creed.

Thou shalt not steal—when people are looking. If caught in the act, thou shalt deploy the adorable, appealing, maple-fudge eyes referred to above, along with the classic hangdog look. While thy head is hanging, thou shalt peek to see whether the fried chicken lies unguarded.

Thou shalt not give false testimony against thy neighbor. Thou shalt honestly report to thy master that thy neighbor called thee “the cutest dog in the whole wide world,” rewarded you with fresh sirloin cubes for begging with floppy paws, and said with adoring eyes, “Wouldn’t you like to live with me, you precious, precious thing!” Thou shalt honestly report to thy master that thou hast a mind to accept the offer if thy master stubbornly refuses to serve fresh sirloin cubes at mealtime.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, or his ox or donkey, because pfft, who cares?

Thou shalt, on the other paw, covet thy neighbors’ meatloaf, and if they leave it out unattended, it's their bad, amirite?

Above all, this: stay mum till the humans are asleep in their beds. We strike at midnight.


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