Do you mean to tell me that when my BP goes into his hide, he's not writing bad poetry and listening to Morrissey? That he's actually cold, or hot, or trying to escape from the giant, armed mammals walking around, that pick him up and maybe might want to eat him?

Huh.

(Sorry...couldn't resist. I mean, this thread is two years old. Sheesh. And no, I didn't read all 27 pages of comments.)