Arlo sniffed the fancy bottle that lay beside the muddy creek bed. It looked like one of those genie bottles he had heard tell of.
"Yay, wishes!", he thought, wagging his tail. He'd wish for a dog house made of bacon! Nah. He'd get sick, have to eat grass, and throw up. A diamond-studded collar? Nah. The guys at the fire hydrant would call him sissy. Unlimited butts to sniff? Nah. He wasn't a puppy anymore, he'd be worn out.
So what should he do? The solution was obvious. Arlo lifted his leg, peed on the bottle, and trotted away.