Dear Indie Anna:
There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just go ahead and put it out there: I don't like you.
Please let this blog post serve notice to you that I'm seeking a dissolution of the dog-owner relationship.
You've seen this coming. I could say, "It's not you...it's me". But that would be a lie. Because it is you.
You see, for the past five years, I've put up with you running away, barking incessantly at the neighbors, eating my socks and, quite literally, biting the hand that feeds.
But enough is enough.
Granted, you were an adorable six-pound rottweiler puppy who sat calmly in our laps at the pet shop - eager to please and longing for affection.
Then we brought you home.
If you remember (which you don't because you're a stupid dog), the minute we invited you into our house, you immediately began to take advantage of our seemingly infinite patience. Between savagely ripping apart our couch cushions and chewing holes in our drywall, you barely found time to our terrorize guests and eat out of the trash can.
I mean, seriously. How do you chew a hole through drywall!?! As always, you figured out a way.
But we persevered. We hoped you would grow out of the puppy stage.
We've been giving you a pass because you're relatively cute and we don't exercise you as much as we probably should. But you've pooped on my carpet for the last time, sister.
No more freebies. The next time you choose to use my sneakers as a chew toy will be the last decision of your canine life. And that whole drinking out of the toilet routine? It's gross. And unsanitary. You're better than that.
We've brought in training specialists into our home. We've taken you to classes. In an effort to keep you healthy and behaved, we've tried spaying, drugs, doggy therapy, walks, specialized toys, electric fences, and spent thousands of dollars at the vet. We even bought another dog so you could have companionship when we weren't at home. You've spent the last several months trying to eat him. You would think it was the Vick household the way you fight.
Your bark isn't worse then your bite. In fact, your bite is much worse. I know this because you've bitten me. And you've barked at me. So I feel adequately qualified to make that determination.
You snarl and growl at me when you have a toy, a bone, or your food dish. Please believe me when I say that I have no interest in those things. I'm just passing through. So can I please make it through the living room without fear of having my nuts chewed off? It's too much to ask, you say? Okay, but I won't put up with this forever.
The final straw was last evening. No sooner had I set my Chinese take-out on the counter, when you hopped up, stole it, devoured it in seconds and whined at me for more. And then you have the gall to look hurt when I yell at you? ...please.
So please take note: I've met someone else. He's a shepherd mix named Jake and he's cute and smart and cuddly. But most of all: he behaves.
Basically he's everything you're not.
So be thankful that you won't be taken out behind the utility barn like Ol' Yeller. The only thing that's stopping me is your mommy. And I get the feeling that her patience is wearing thin.
Until then, sleep with one eye open.
Sincerely,
Your doggy daddy.
There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just go ahead and put it out there: I don't like you.
Please let this blog post serve notice to you that I'm seeking a dissolution of the dog-owner relationship.
You've seen this coming. I could say, "It's not you...it's me". But that would be a lie. Because it is you.
You see, for the past five years, I've put up with you running away, barking incessantly at the neighbors, eating my socks and, quite literally, biting the hand that feeds.
But enough is enough.
Granted, you were an adorable six-pound rottweiler puppy who sat calmly in our laps at the pet shop - eager to please and longing for affection.
Then we brought you home.
If you remember (which you don't because you're a stupid dog), the minute we invited you into our house, you immediately began to take advantage of our seemingly infinite patience. Between savagely ripping apart our couch cushions and chewing holes in our drywall, you barely found time to our terrorize guests and eat out of the trash can.
I mean, seriously. How do you chew a hole through drywall!?! As always, you figured out a way.
But we persevered. We hoped you would grow out of the puppy stage.
We've been giving you a pass because you're relatively cute and we don't exercise you as much as we probably should. But you've pooped on my carpet for the last time, sister.
No more freebies. The next time you choose to use my sneakers as a chew toy will be the last decision of your canine life. And that whole drinking out of the toilet routine? It's gross. And unsanitary. You're better than that.
We've brought in training specialists into our home. We've taken you to classes. In an effort to keep you healthy and behaved, we've tried spaying, drugs, doggy therapy, walks, specialized toys, electric fences, and spent thousands of dollars at the vet. We even bought another dog so you could have companionship when we weren't at home. You've spent the last several months trying to eat him. You would think it was the Vick household the way you fight.
Your bark isn't worse then your bite. In fact, your bite is much worse. I know this because you've bitten me. And you've barked at me. So I feel adequately qualified to make that determination.
You snarl and growl at me when you have a toy, a bone, or your food dish. Please believe me when I say that I have no interest in those things. I'm just passing through. So can I please make it through the living room without fear of having my nuts chewed off? It's too much to ask, you say? Okay, but I won't put up with this forever.
The final straw was last evening. No sooner had I set my Chinese take-out on the counter, when you hopped up, stole it, devoured it in seconds and whined at me for more. And then you have the gall to look hurt when I yell at you? ...please.
So please take note: I've met someone else. He's a shepherd mix named Jake and he's cute and smart and cuddly. But most of all: he behaves.
Basically he's everything you're not.
So be thankful that you won't be taken out behind the utility barn like Ol' Yeller. The only thing that's stopping me is your mommy. And I get the feeling that her patience is wearing thin.
Until then, sleep with one eye open.
Sincerely,
Your doggy daddy.
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