Oh, Greg, don’t do this to me! Please! D...

Oh, Greg, don’t do this to me! Please! Don’t send me away! Keep me here with you! Please! I’ll change, Greg, I’ll change my ways. I’ll stop chewing shoes. I’ll bring Kate the New York Times every morning -- well I won’t do that, that’s too corny -- but I’ll do something else! Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Jesus, you’re something, Greg. You really are. You bring me home, you get me all dependent on you, you spay me… You had me spayed, Greg! You destroyed my womanhood. And then, when I get over that, when I still decide that the sun rises and sets only in your direction, then suddenly you’re packing me off to some boring nuclear family in Westchester county. Christ, Greg! Don’t you feel guilty about this? I mean, shit. You have a moral obligation here! What would the Humane Society say about this? How would they react at the A.S.P.C.A? Bullshit! That’s just bullshit, Greg! Read The Odyssey some time. That guy was gone for twenty years, and when he finally got home, the first person to recognize him -- before his nurse, before his son, before his own wife, goddamit -- was his dog! That dog was lying outside the palace for all those years, waiting for him, Greg. Lying on a dung heap just waiting for his master. And when his master finally showed, what did the dog do? He raised his head, wagged his tail, and died.

Gurney, A.R. Sylvia. Dramatists Play Service, New York, NY. 1996. pp. 67-68.