Like clockwork

Some things are as predictable as the seasons. I can tell it's autumn again, because City Councillor "Dog" Thompson, after mostly, ummm, lying doggo all summer, is once again fulminating about the apocalyptic looming infestation of untrammeled coyote hordes in Ottawa's far burbs. Yoohoo! Dog! Us coyotes all live downtown! The restaurants here are less likely to be crummy nationwide chains, and after tony bistros stack their chairs for the night, the cats of Parliament Hill make fine midnight snacks, ummm, excellent conversationalists...

Yet I have to say that I am beginning to become concerned about ol' Dog's persistence. It's like I'm playin' a roadrunner to his, ummm, badly-drawn Wile E, or something. Also worrisome is the fact that he now seems to be trying to bring a provincial cabinet minister onside. You know the jig is up when somebody initiates an investigative committee in the provincial ledge. They could deliver a non-partisan, all-parties proposal to scrutinize me with a legislative task force, in a matter of mere decades.

I am also worried by the increasing proximity of certain winsome wayward wallabies this week. It seems that Wendell, since his big jailbreak, has hopped it all the way from Kemptville to the fringes of Ottawa. How are ya gonna keep him down on the farm, after he's tasted the City That Fun Forgot's wild nightlife? And there have been ominous suggestions from Wendell's erstwhile screws and the Australian wallaby cognoscenti that if cute little Wendell bites it, it'll probably be a coyote that bit him.

People, I swear! It's a setup! I'm bein' framed! Now, excuse me. I have other fish to fry. And where did I misplace that bottle of Tangy Memories of Billabong Sauce...?