stray dog

Oh, I saw it. I recognized Connor’s sloppy handwriting from my water bowl. I’m glad he wasn’t too concerned about how much that 6 looks like a 0. It’s not like there’s a life on the line or anything. But even if I could operate a phone, I wouldn’t call. I know how to get home from here. I could get back if I wanted to. But so far this has been fabulous.

Let me explain why I ran away the other night when Connor opened the door for that pizza guy. First of all, Connor gave me no respect. He was always ordering me around and teaching me tricks and stuff. Shit man, I don’t want to do that. What do I care if I can fetch something? Do you know how frustrating that is? That tennis ball does not belong in that corner of the park. Stop throwing it over there.

Could I go on the couch? Nope. But Connor was right, that linoleum floor was much better for me. It’s not cold in the winter or anything. I clearly preferred that. Those cushions would have been way too soft. By all means, I’ll just take the dirty floor. Oh, no thanks, Connor. Don’t bother with an old towel or a blanket or anything.

It has been so terrible out here eating all the scraps I want. I really wish I could get just one more bowl of that dry, chalky dog food. You know, on the mornings when Connor actually remembered to feed me before rushing to work. He never even dropped anything worth eating. What was that last week? Lettuce? Wow. Excuse me while I go lick my barely existent lips.

Is there any way to make the air out here a little less fresh? I prefer spending ten or eleven hours a day alone inside a stuffy apartment with daily attacks by that asshole mailman. You see, Connor couldn’t risk leaving the windows open, because someone might come in and steal his futon or his non-flatscreen TV.

What even qualified Connor to have a dog? It took him, what, like five and a half years to get a BA in Comparative Literature? I’m surprised they didn’t just hand Mr. Responsible a pet when he got his diploma.

And do you have any idea how demoralizing it is getting bathed? I kinda thought it would be fun at first, like a shower and a massage at the same time. But it’s weird. There are places an owner’s hand shouldn’t go. Be gentle, man. Yeah, maybe I do smell, but you know what, I’m a dog. It’s kind of what we do. Barking, shedding, smelling bad, that’s our gig. And while we’re at it, I’m pretty sure that cologne Connor bought is actually perfume.

That lost dog sign is so embarrassing. What if my friends saw it? And no, I don’t “answer” to Zep. I might respond, flick an ear or something, but Connor makes it seem like I raise my hand and wait for instruction. And that picture he chose is awful. Is that from the Christmas card from a few years ago that he never even sent out? That shows my bad side, and the perspective is from high above which is totally condescending. Oh and a high contrast, black and white photo? Glad it doesn’t show off my beautiful, identifiable coat. Way to shell out the big bucks, buddy. And speaking of, no reward? I guess Connor’s not really “missing” me that much.

He also hung it directly underneath a flyer for a yard sale. How much time do people have at a stop sign? I was going to pee on that pole, but then I thought I saw a squirrel. Some investigative sniffing revealed that it was actually a leaf. I bit it nonetheless.

So yeah, I think I might just stay lost. I met a lot of other cool dogs out here. I just need to get rid of this collar. Then they’ll know I’m one of the gang.

Connor, I’d suggest that you get a plant to replace me, but what have plants done to deserve that?

Photo by/CC Chelsea Nesvig on Flickr

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