Gated.

Jake in pastels by Teoman Onursan 

It is hot today, I am not looking my best. I prefer to see myself in print in pastels. All a hot dog wants to do is lie quietly on the tiles under the fan and wait until the thermometer drops below blood temperature.  But I am not having a quiet day; the earth has been reverberating under me again and setting all the pictures and mirrors askew and the boss has called in the cavalry - the air is full of the teeth-grinding whizz of a saw, the hiss of a welding machine and the clang of metal meeting metal. She thinks she has put an end to my career as an escapologist.

I have an idea: I hear I am getting some canine company soon - with 8 legs, some nifty acrobatic shoulder stands might be the answer.  It's so hot though, I might just agree to stay at home - the last trip to Bodrum, stuck in traffic jams and walking on boiling hot pavements wasn't much fun. I won't let on though - I saw her hand over a big wad of cash for this iron work, I should at least let her think it's money well spent.