Dear Alexandria,
While I have this brief reprieve where I’m able to communicate, here’s a list of suggestions for you:
Ask me to move nicely. Yelling “Git!” does not endear you to me. And give me a minute or two to move. I’m getting on in years. Don’t rush me.
I hate it when you touch my tail. I have always hated it. I will always hate it. And when you try to make me move faster by nudging my backside, you touch my tail with your knee. I know you know what you’re doing. That’s why I glare at you. What I’d really like to do is to bite your tail and see how you’d like it.
You eat, like, six times a day if you include snacks. What makes you think a scoop in the morning and a half scoop in the evening of some dry-ass dog food is enough for me? Why do you think I’m always rooting around in the garbage and licking the kitchen floor underneath the chair of the sloppy kid? And don’t give me that “You need to lose weight” crap. Have you looked in the mirror lately?
How about this: STOP telling me I have “doggie odor” and “doggie breath.” I’m a dog!
I know you secretly like the cat better. She’s always in your lap. That hiss thing she does when I get close? That feral growl she has when I want you to pet me? That’s all crap. When you’re out of the house, she’s all up in my face, rubbing on me. Why do you think I cough up as many hairballs as she does?
And what’s with the “no table scraps” rule? One time. I pooped on your carpet after you gave me a T-bone one time. One time, and now there’s this hard and fast rule. Well, OK maybe it was more like each and every time you gave me people food, but c’mon, man. Throw a dog a bone. Literally.
Your kids are too loud, too busy, and too sloppy. Plus, why would you give me kids to play with that don’t like dogs? I get maybe one thrown tennis ball a year from those moochers. And if the girl touches me accidentally, she’s gotta go scrub up for an hour because I “stink.” She wants one of those little yippie dogs that have to get groomed and that come with their own carrying purse. Whatever! Like that’s even a real dog. Any dog that doesn’t need its anal glands expressed is not worthy of the name. And the boy… I thought he’d be my pal but since I don’t have a joystick growing out of my ass, he isn’t interested. So yeah, I ate the shoe and the video game. Sue me.
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