"You'll be eating your dinner in the pokey. The dog pound, the big house, the slammer, the penthe Needles. In other words, behind iron bars."
She was really quite a jailbird. Her life, for the past year, had consisted of much more spent inside a jail cell than she would have liked.
Of course, no human actually referred to the place as "jail." She knew the dogcatchers called it "the pound," but they could call it whatever they pleased. In her opinion, any place where you're held captive against your will fully qualified as "jail."
I was the saddest dog you could ever see,
Sad because no one wanted me.
The pet store window was my jail.
The sign behind me said, "For Sale".
— The Digging-est Dog