Dear Dogs

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?