My Manifesto

Dear Fluffy the ‘Family’ Dog:

I’m writing you this letter in hopes that we might work through the stalemate which has arisen from our recent problems. 

For the better part of the week, you have completely ignored me. While you’ve always been stand-off-ish towards me, it’s as if you’ve now cut me off completely. I know that you know that I’m here, because you tipped your hand when you ran over to the food bowl seconds after I put it on the ground. Otherwise, I’ve become persona non grata.That means ‘unwelcome person’ in Latin. Chances are, you don’t speak/read any foreign languages. But, I wouldn’t know whether that’s true or not since you refuse to let me get closer to you.

When I sit down on the couch, you move away. When I call you to come, you ignore me. When I try to snuggle or pet you, you bare your teeth. And when I tell you that you can’t have any of my food, you sink your teeth into my ankle instead. Do you realize just how sensitive an Achilles heel is?

I understand you may be more independent that other dogs. I was willing to grant you your space and enjoy whatever little scraps of love you ever chose to throw my way. (Unlike the rather sizable scraps I gently offer to you each and every day) But, alas, I can no longer let this pass after you so kindly left your giant (and impressively pungent) ‘calling card’ on my pillow earlier this week.

Oh, I’m sorry, make that TWICE this week.

I find this behavior very odd, because I know for a fact that you’ve been house-trained for five years (I trained you myself!). I might expect this sort of petty behavior from that useless cat, but not from you. Why have you chosen to single me out? I have certainly shown you no ill will.

In fact, out of everybody in the household, who does the most for you? Hint: It’s me! I’m the one who feeds you every meal. I’m the one who shreds up and mixes in chicken (which I cooked) to augment your boring dry food. I’m the one who constantly refreshes and tops of your water bowl. I’m the one who walks and cleans up after you multiple times a day. I’m the one who shields you from over-active children in hopes of avoiding another ‘incident’. I’m the one who plays the apologist after you sucker somebody in with your wagging tail, only to unleash Hell’s fury once they’ve bought into the “Oh, I’m so cute” routine.

What have I done to deserve your scorn? It is because I wanted to rename you ‘Schlaargen’? Okay, I understand you’re not pysched about answering to some random Swedish nonsense word I made up. I’m more than willing to put that one on the shelf for the time being and see if we can’t come up with something more appropriate. I’m open to any input you have on the topic. But, no, keeping the same name you’ve have for six years isn’t an option. We need to shake things up. Change is good.

You’re not pissed because of all the Michael Vick/dog fighting jokes, are you? Seriously, those were just jokes. I was kidding around. I don’t even know Michael Vick, and I’m certainly not going to drive to Atlanta or the backwoods of Virginia to drop you off. Plus, he probably wouldn’t even take you anyhow. Relax.

The same goes with the whole eBay thing. I’m not going to auction you off. You can’t even sell living things on there. Trust me, I’ve researched it. Not to say there aren’t plenty of other internet-related options. But, your value isn’t what it should be because of those devil horns that are still stuck to your head. You’d think that after 8 months, the glue would have weakened. My bad. Had I known you wouldn’t win the costume contest, I probably wouldn’t have made such a poor decision. Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll come off soon enough. But, in the meantime, I think keeping the purple Mohawk offsets the horns nicely.

Now, I’m willing to make some concessions to get the ball rolling towards building a better relationship.

1. When we’re in the car and you’re happily hanging your head out the window, I pledge not to slam on the brakes and laugh hysterically after you’ve been thrown under the glove compartment. I can understand that you may not find that as funny as I do.
2. Staying with the premise that you don’t appreciate my humor, no more ‘oil checks’.
3. I’ll put an end to the sleep deprivation experiments.
4. You should be allowed to roam free in the house, not trapped under a laundry basket turned upside-down.

In return, all I ask is that you stop biting me while I sleep. It’s quite one thing to be woken up in the middle of the night with extreme pain, but to have to spend another 15 minutes treating the bloody wound just aggravates the situation.

The ball is in your court.

Oh, and speaking of balls, I’m sorry about that too. We probably should have had a licensed vet do the operation.