Dewey thinks he can talk to dogs. And he smells, slightly. He'll eat whatever he can find lying around. And he's best friends with the monster under his bed. Never tell him anything.

He's really good at breaking things. No matter how much you tell him, there's got to be some kind of voice in his head telling him "Destroy!".

He's the weakest link in the chain. If we've done something wrong he always ends up telling Mom. I don't know what she does to him. Maybe she threatens to wash him.