A Letter
For the most part, I really like my neighborhood. The trees smell good and the trash collection isn't so early that it wakes me up while it's still dark. And from time to time, I might even spot a lizard on the sidewalk. Must be nice to be me, right?
Well, it is.
Unfortunately, every rose has its thorn. Or in this instance, every seemingly lovely neighborhood has a crazy lady who yells at her dog all the time.
Now I'm no expert on dogs, but I do know a few things: 1. They have an extraordinarly high entrance rate to heaven. 2. They cannot write letters. And that is why I've done my dog neighbor the favor of writing a letter on its behalf.
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Dear Owner Lady,
I appreciate the free rent and regular meals that come with being your dog, but I think we have an issue here that needs to be addressed. The name-calling. Not the nasty, teasing sort, but just the constant calling of my name.
By my best estimation, our yard is about... 600 square feet. And it is enclosed by a fence. It is, therefore, highly unlikely that I have gone too far. Perhaps when you wish to find me, you could try calling my name just once or twice and if that does not produce the intended effect, you could step outside and do a visual sweep of the yard? If I don't come running after hearing my name twice, I'm probably deeply involved with a bug or a leaf and calling my name 35 more times will not yield better results.
Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely name and I love hearing it. Tabitha. Tabitha. Rolls right off the human tongue, doesn't it? And of course, it evokes images of pretty witches and small terriers. But it kind of loses something when you say it like this: "TABITHAAA. TABITHAAAAA!. TABITHA!" And so on and so on.
You see, I am a dog. And I am a wonderful companion, I know. But I am still a dog. And I cannot talk. It would be teriffic if when you beckoned me, I could respond calmly, "I'm right here in the yard. I'm smelling this grass, and I'll be there in just a minute." But, alas, that is not the case.
So how does this sound? If you call me and I do not immediately respond, you can go ahead and assume that I am safe in the yard, smelling the grass. I can't help but notice that we have neighbors about 15 feet away on either side. I know that you humans don't hear quite as well as I do, but I have to imagine that even they grow tired of the persistent hollering. Maybe they are working. Or maybe they are just trying to watch Lost on Netflix. Whatever the case, it's probably very distracting to them.
Your dog,
Tabitha
Well, it is.
Unfortunately, every rose has its thorn. Or in this instance, every seemingly lovely neighborhood has a crazy lady who yells at her dog all the time.
Now I'm no expert on dogs, but I do know a few things: 1. They have an extraordinarly high entrance rate to heaven. 2. They cannot write letters. And that is why I've done my dog neighbor the favor of writing a letter on its behalf.
---
Dear Owner Lady,
I appreciate the free rent and regular meals that come with being your dog, but I think we have an issue here that needs to be addressed. The name-calling. Not the nasty, teasing sort, but just the constant calling of my name.
By my best estimation, our yard is about... 600 square feet. And it is enclosed by a fence. It is, therefore, highly unlikely that I have gone too far. Perhaps when you wish to find me, you could try calling my name just once or twice and if that does not produce the intended effect, you could step outside and do a visual sweep of the yard? If I don't come running after hearing my name twice, I'm probably deeply involved with a bug or a leaf and calling my name 35 more times will not yield better results.
Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely name and I love hearing it. Tabitha. Tabitha. Rolls right off the human tongue, doesn't it? And of course, it evokes images of pretty witches and small terriers. But it kind of loses something when you say it like this: "TABITHAAA. TABITHAAAAA!. TABITHA!" And so on and so on.
You see, I am a dog. And I am a wonderful companion, I know. But I am still a dog. And I cannot talk. It would be teriffic if when you beckoned me, I could respond calmly, "I'm right here in the yard. I'm smelling this grass, and I'll be there in just a minute." But, alas, that is not the case.
So how does this sound? If you call me and I do not immediately respond, you can go ahead and assume that I am safe in the yard, smelling the grass. I can't help but notice that we have neighbors about 15 feet away on either side. I know that you humans don't hear quite as well as I do, but I have to imagine that even they grow tired of the persistent hollering. Maybe they are working. Or maybe they are just trying to watch Lost on Netflix. Whatever the case, it's probably very distracting to them.
Your dog,
Tabitha
Labels: human-canine relations
posted by lady at 1:31 PM
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