I Know You Didn’t Throw That Ball

Dear Ted,

I’d like to take a moment to address a situation that occurred at approximately 5:34 PM yesterday evening. It was just one in a line of many such occurrences, and frankly, it has become not only distasteful but downright rude.

Do you honestly believe yourself to be such a masterful disguiser of the truth that I won’t notice when you over-exaggerate a tossing motion and feign release of the tennis ball? How dare you insult my intelligence so extremely! You, sir, are a smelly butt. And not the good kind, either.

Ted, this is the part that really gets me—I’m supposed to be your best friend. If I had fingers, I’d cross them to show how tight I thought we were, and that’s really hard for dogs and humans to get. I thought we were Stewie and Brian, but now I’m realizing you weren’t the bald genius, you were the precocious douchebag. I was always there offering comfort when you came home from a hard day at work to your wife’s piercing shrieks about colors being mixed with whites and toothpaste residue left in the sink, and I was there to hum…hug your leg when your daughter sprayed your Rogaine instead of whipped cream on the company picnic pie. So what if I used my nose to point to the Rogaine instead of the whipped cream when she asked me in the kitchen? It’s not my fault you raised an idiot who can’t read and talks to dogs. By the way, make sure she takes me on walks more often, she’s very weak and it’s easy to pull the leash out of her hands so I can go play doggie style with the poodle down the street.

Regardless, I’d like you to consider this my resignation. I refuse to partake in your shenanigans any longer, as you are almost always laughing at me, not with me as you would have me believe. I’m a living organism, and I will not be subject to the ridicule you’ve put me through any longer. There will be no more carrying of balls and sticks in my mouth, and I won’t be playing fetch with you either. I’m four, and that makes me like, thirty-two in dog years, so it’s long past time I strike out on my own. But first, I’m going to stand at the door barking and scratching until you let me out. It took me a really long time to write this letter and I have to pee now. Don’t forget to put my leash on though, or I’ll surely go chase that skunk that lives in the drainage pipe at the edge of the lawn.

Sincerely, Maximilian

Originally published October 2013

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