He's the baddest dog in town. A 100 per cent, high-steppin, bone-crunchin cat-chasin pooch with one small problemo:he has three days to live.

Three days left on Death Row at the City Pound for Unwanted Canines.

Unless. Unless the most powerful man in the world needs a new faithful friend to fill the White House kennel.

It looks like it'll be limos, luxury and T-bone steak all the way to Washington.

But there's something extremely fishy about El Presidente. like why doesn't he smell of anything (not even fish)?

Why do those bodyguards sleep in their shades? And why does the President's knee keep making that weird pinging noise?

It looks like Bad Dog's got plenty of sniffing around to do before someone decides it's time to give our favourite Fido the old heave-ho, straight back to Death Row.