This image was lost some time after publication.

Pity the canine thespian, chasing her Tinseltown dreams. From the moment she excitedly pads off the bus from Anywhere, USA, she's at an immediate disadvantage to her biped peers; the system, quite frankly, is set up to effectively guarantee the success of people over animals: their lack of opposable thumbs, inability to stand upright for long periods of time, and California's stringent, discriminatory health codes make it impossible to compete with humans for the waitressing jobs that provide a steady income while waiting for a break. (And the time-honored casting couch method of career-fasttracking, the dirty little secret that's produced countless stars, is closed to her, as bestiality is frowned up in all but the most deviant of productions.) So this dog, desperate to improve her million-to-one odds of success to a number her less advanced brain can more readily comprehend, scrapes together enough of her savings to enroll in some classes at a prestigious training institute like Hollywood Paws, hoping that the combination of newly honed skills and the school's claimed industry connections will help smooth the path to stardom.

Things seems promising at first, but disappointments inevitably follow; a bit part on, say, an afternoon talk show hits the cutting room floor, an expected gig on Animal Precinct never materializes, and our shaggy-haired performer, trusting her talent, needs to blame someone. Lawsuits are filed, and doggy academies named—did they promise too much? She seriously considers turning tricks in the alley behind Chateau Marmutt, as an anonymous string of demeaning mountings by opportunistic, freshly groomed dachshunds seems a little more palatable when lawyers need to be paid. The dream has turned ugly, sure, but she's not getting back on that bus. Not now, not ever.