A Letter to the Dog Who is Clearly NOT Mine

My Writing Assistants: Boy Siri and t... Me and John Cusack

A Letter to the Dog Who is Clearly NOT Mine

See! You’re Daddy’s dog.

Dear Sophie,

Let’s just be honest. You are not MY dog. So, stop following me around like we are BFF’s. We aren’t; OK? Don’t get me wrong; I don’t HATE you or anything. You’re a sweet dog; I just like the cats better.

The cats don’t chew the baseboards or the dining room chairs. Seriously, why do you do that? You have oodles of toys. You do not need to chew our house. You act like you just quit smoking or something. You constantly have to have something in your mouth.

The cats also do not eat poop, ever. You actually tried to bring a frozen turd into the house today. INTO MY HOUSE! What is wrong with you? That is gross, and unnecessary. We have tried EVERYTHING to get you to stop, including giving you extra treats. I feed you enough throughout the day to keep a small farm animal alive. Well, at 74 pounds, I guess you ARE a small farm animal.

I like you when you are calm.

My favorite thing about you, Sophie, and yes I have one, is that you are NOT allergic to peanut butter. YES! This allows me to stuff it in Kongs or those hollow bone things to get about 27 minutes of concentration time. You see, Sophie, I work from home, and in order to, oh say, work, I need to not have to let you in and out of the back door every 16 seconds. Really. Pick a side of the door and stay there a while.

You’re probably thinking, “Work? All you do is stare at that square thing. You should chew it. That would be work.” Actually, Sophie, if I don’t stare at the square thing, AKA work on the computer, you would not have as many nice toys to ignore while you are eating wood and poop. Man, I wish they would just come out with a Nylabone shaped like a turd. And without my square staring job, you could forget about the Blue Buffalo food and doggy daycare visits. I do love those daycare days. Sigh.

This is cat for “I hate you.”

When you are actually here with me ALL DAY LONG, you could do me a couple of favors to help me concentrate. First, stop barking at everything. The wind has been blowing for millions of years. Barking at it will not make it stop. If that worked, the people along the East Coast would put you on the beach during hurricane season. Also, other people live on this street. I’m not happy about it either. They, too, are dumb enough to have big dogs. Those dogs are sometimes in their own yards. Your barking at them is not going to make everyone move to a new neighborhood.

Another thing you could do for me is stop trying to be friends with Andre. He simply does not like you. He is NOT playing with you. If he had opposable thumbs, I am certain he would jump on the counter, grab a knife from the block, and attempt to stab you. Of course, you would probably think he was playing and would take off running with the knife and the cat stuck to your back like you were in some kind of big dog rodeo.

Sunny Spot Truce

Thanks for reading, Sophie. Now, if you could just keep chewing that gross dog bone you are busy destroying for the next few hours until daddy gets home, that would be dreamy. You are DADDY’S dog. The boy will be home soon to love on your for a couple of minutes, too. Monday is going to be a daycare day for you, girl. I think we both need it.

Hugs and Kongs, “Mom”