Dear Dog,
since you seem to have so much trouble processing the
English language no matter how loudly it
is spoken to you, I thought perhaps I could clarify a few things.
First, please allow me to assure you that you are not
starving. In fact, if the newspapers
bothered to publish a canine version of those irritating "body-mass indices" that my daughter
so delights in reading aloud to me, I'm sure we would discover that you've got far
more waddle in your walk than is strictly necessary. The way you visually track
every bite of food I take, with a
trembling expression of frantic pleading, is most annoying.
Speaking of
walks: We've been taking the same route around the same block for nine years.
For you to sob, whine, and tremble every time I get out your leash is just
crazy.
And would you please stop rolling in road kill? Dead
animals smell like ... well, like dead fish. There is a reason I give you a
bath every single time you roll in something - it is NOT a coincidence.
Here's a news flash: Our next-door neighbors LIVE
THERE. They have a right to be in their own yard! Stop barking at them through
our windows! Your crazed fury is especially irritating in view of the fact that
when you actually encounter them in
person you flop on your back and let them rub your tummy. As a guard dog,
you're about as intimidating as a gerbil.
The following are not digestible: Balloons. Crayons.
Socks. I can show you evidence out in the yard. Stop eating them; they are not
food!
I do not mind rolling down the window for you when we
are in the car. I don't even mind that the air rushing up your nostrils makes
you sneeze. What I do mind is that you always pull your head into the car to
share your sneeze with the back of my neck. Keep your head in or out, that's
all I ask.
Our front door is three inches of solid wood; you
cannot tunnel through it. Stop clawing! Don't we always let you out when you
need to go?
The bushes in the back yard cost a lot of money, but
there is nothing of value hidden under them. Stop digging for buried treasure!
The stuff in the trash can is not your food. Oh, and
your expression of shocked innocence when we accuse you of dining at the
garbage buffet is not nearly as persuasive as the forensic evidence left strewn
around the kitchen. Stop blaming the cat; she doesn't eat anything that costs
less than a dollar an ounce.
When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not
switch positions with each other so there are still two dogs in the way.
The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain
your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing
a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it
becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the
slightest.
The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a
racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is
not the object. Tripping me doesn't help, because I fall faster than you can
run.
I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. I
am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the couch to
ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs sleeping, they can actually curl up
in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep
perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I
also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the
other end to maximize space used is nothing but doggy sarcasm.
And another thing: I do not wake up at the same time
every day! On days we don't work, we're allowed to sleep past our normal waking
time. Stop licking my face because your internal clock says it is time for
breakfast. Don't dogs DO weekends?
My compact discs are not miniature Frisbees.
For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the
bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut,
it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under
the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I
entered. In addition, I have been using bathrooms for years, canine attendance
is not mandatory.
The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other
dogs butt. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for
you.
Look, you do make me crazy sometimes. But I suppose I
have to admit that even though you're lazy (you probably won't even bother to
read this letter!) and don't seem very bright, you do have your positive
attributes. You're the only one in the family who will get up and pace with me
in front of the window when it's past curfew and my teenage daughter is parked
in the driveway with her date. You're the only one who likes my cooking, and you
share my opinion that we don't need a cat. After nine years of living with you,
I suppose life just wouldn't be the same without you.
Wanna go for a walk?
(Author unknown)
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