Thursday, October 22, 2009

An open letter to my dogs

Dear Dogs,
Let me start by saying I that everything I write is written with love. Really. So take it in that spirit when I ask you to knock this shit off. Please. Just knock it off. And Nikita, I see you with those big innocent eyes. Stop. We have some issues to work out.

First, the barking. You've always barked at other dogs. Fine. I get it. You're defending your territory from the possible encroachment of other dogs who just happen to be walking by. On leash. They can't sneak in. Trust me on this one. Anyhow, I'll forgive this transgression. It's the other barking. The incessant barking to be let out. See, you've punished us before when we didn't jump quickly enough by peeing in the house. You have us trained. We try to act quickly now, but I have to say it frustrates and annoys me when you rush outside just to stare at the chickens or to sniff around the yard. All of that noise and aggravation just because you want to sniff. Not cool, lady. Not cool. And then, just to keep us on our toes, if we usher you in too quickly we stand to face the pee again. It's like some kind of test, and we're failing. And as soon as we're in, the barking starts again. This will be the end of me. Can we agree we'll let you out when you bark, but you keep the unnecessary trips outside to a minimum? If you consent to this arrangement you'll likely get more time outside rather than less because we won't simply be letting you out one hundred times a night. Sound good?

But let's not forget the bread thievery. Yes, I'm talking to you Dashiell. I'm asking is that you limit your counter surfing. I get that you are tall enough to reach the counter without even stretching. It is one of the many benefits of being a Great Dane, fine. All I'm asking is that you quit stealing entire loaves of bread. Ok, I'm asking for the butter and cheese to be left unmolested as well, but let's start small. It is damn hard to pack lunches if there is no bread for sandwiches. I try to put the bread in the cabinet, but I am not perfect, occasionally I forget. And then you act. Quickly. Quietly. The only evidence you leave is the wrapper, licked clean, on the floor of my bedroom. Can't you stick to your dog food? We give you treats. We give you snacks. What the hell is so special about the bread? Nothing, that's what. So knock it off.

If you two can handle these request, I promise I'll stock the treat cabinet with all the dried bull penis a dog could ever want. What do you say? Do we have a deal?
Let's shake on it. Shake! Good dog!
I love you, my stinkies,

1 comment:

52 Faces said...

Aiyah! Ah, dogs.

That bull penis website was incredible.

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