A letter from the dog

A letter from the dog

Dear food fetcher,

I see you brought home another little version of yourself. These things you and the other food fetcher call “babies.” I hope this is your last. While I love their sticky fingers and the crumbs they leave all over the place, I could do without the constant eye poking and ear pulling. Oh, and if you haven’t noticed, your polite reminder of “Hendrix is not a trampoline” is going unnoticed.

I’m not sure why you are so amazed when one of these little babies smiles or claps. Did you see the size of the hole I dug in the garden? Now that’s epic.

We also need to address your hobby of stockpiling poop. It started with you stealing my poop on our walks, and now your wrapping up the babies’ in those parcels and storing them in the bin under the sink. P.S., you don’t need to tell me to stay out of that bin either; I’m not interested in your poop collection.

And while we’re on the topic, I have to say, it’s a little discomforting to see you hovering over me with your little plastic bag, and a tad hypocritical that you close the door on me when you sit on my big, white, water dish.

But I digress. Back to these babies. I’ve noticed your attention for me has slipped since the newest one arrived. Not to worry though, I’ve come up with a solution. You know that hour you spend at the end of the day with the other food fetcher? When the babies are asleep? I would be willing to make myself available for a quick walk. I know! It all works out right? You’re welcome. You can thank me with treats.

Love, the one you call Hendrix (whatever that is).

P.S just a friendly reminder that my dinner time is 4 p.m. not 4:15 p.m. Thanks!

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