Can We Talk?

by Justin Peterson 1st Annual Cyber-Pet Writers Contest Winner, 2nd Place
Copyright© 1997

These are the 90's and all our relationships are being re- defined. Television and the internet are bringing freedom and education to areas we never anticipated before. I don't think it's too hard to imagine that some day you'll come home and there will be the following note from your dog.

Dear Donna:

I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now but it never seems to be a good time. There are some things we need to discuss and I thought this letter would be a good ice breaker. I hope you won't take any of this the wrong way because overall you're doing a great job but hey, you're only human. So let's start at the beginning.

I have to tell you I was pleasantly surprised to end up here. I remembered you because you smelled like pizza. I liked that. I was sure I'd end up with Garlic Boy or the King of Cats so it was great that you picked me. It sure is a good thing people can't pick up on smells the way we do or you'd never go out in public. Take my advice save all that money you waste on perfume and roll in some fish. Hides a lot of sins and doesn't cost much.

Let's talk a little bit about us. I think we've all come to realize that language is very important. For example, you can't be my mother. I already have a mother. A purebred springer spaniel named Betsy. So if you wouldn't mind, don't call me mama's little girl or ask me to come to mama. It just makes me homesick and trust me if you could see what your face looks like when you talk baby talk you'd get over it real quick. As for this "You're my master" business, Hello. It's the 90's. Not only is slavery illegal, it's in bad taste and considering that I've seen you try to program the clock on your VCR I think this business of you being my master is pretty comical. So how do we define this relationship. Here's some terms I'm comfortable with. Feel free to add any you'd like to the list. Sister, sis, pal, pup, bud (a bit masculine) pretty girl( a bit feminine) you little cutey, girl, partner and so on. If introductions are in order always use my name. It's so dismissive to just be referred to as your dog.

While we're on the topic of being a possession, how about giving me some more free time. Seems the only time I get out on my own anymore is if someone leaves the door open. It's not like I go far. I mean how would you like it if every time you stayed out all night I put up pictures of you around the neighbourhood. At the least I'm sure your parents would have a few questions. Lighten up a little. Haven't you ever seen that bumper sticker..."If you love something set it free etc. etc." I'll come back. You know where to find me. I always end up visiting with that nice man with the truck who has all the other cats and dogs downtown. Is that some kind of animal taxi service? Anyways you must like him because you always give him a big tip when you come and get me so what's the big deal?

Of course I wouldn't need to do things on my own if we did things together. You never take me anywhere anymore and let's face it honey, your dance card's not exactly full since Mr. Cellular Phone stopped coming around. I don't mean to be cruel but one short walk a day isn't getting it done for either one of us. So before Richard Simmons pays a surprise visit how about we pick up the pace a bit.

I think part of what's going on between us is a natural evolution in our relationship. I'm not the same cute little bundle of fur you brought home from the breeders. I've changed. I'm becoming independent, and my needs are different. In some ways you may not have kept up. It may seem a bit threatening at first but trust me, in the long run, we'll end up with something worthwhile. Let's face it, we went through that puppy love stage and it was great. Everything was so easy and natural. I'd spend hours chasing my tail or spinning around in a circle. You were always ready to throw the ball or take me out. We did everything together. I guess it was easy then. We hoped it would last forever. I think we can get that magic back if we want to. Sure it'll be work but it's work we can do together. So I'm not your cute little lap dog. Who knew I'd get so big. Look on the bright side. My size makes me a good protector, and you already know I'm a great watch dog.

There's nothing wrong with growing as long as you don't grow apart. I talk to the other dogs at the park. It's so sad. Their people barely have the time of day for them anymore. Sadie says the father in her family keeps referring to her as "the stupid dog" and Rex says he thinks his people have been seeing a cat. I told them to try and talk it out but they feel it's too late for that. One year old and their role as the family pet is already over. Well that's not going to happen with us.

Hey, I can do things I never could before. You want tricks I can do tricks. Real tricks. Any moron can shake a paw and you can teach a rock to stay or play dead, so how about challenging me. I want to be on Letterman. Let's work on it. You could use a trip to New York. You pick the trick, and I'll learn it. Except that biscuit on the nose deal. You know, the one where you say don't eat it, don't eat it and then on command I flip it up in the air and swallow it in one motion. It's just too demeaning, even if it is a crowd pleaser. Trust me Donna, if that Heinz 57 can shoot a basketball through a hoop then I can do brain surgery.

Speaking of mutts let's talk about some of your recent dates. Scary doesn't even begin to describe things. Here's a good tip. If they look at me and say "C'mere boy" you're probably not in for a big evening. These guys look like they're one layer below disgruntled postal employees on the food chain if you know what I mean. It's none of my business who you see as long as you don't leave me alone with them but if I can help as in "The Guest That Wouldn't Leave" just let me know. We could have some kind of code where you say "Don't mind the dog-she rarely bites" and I take that as a cue to get up close and personal with buddy boy.

It can work the other way too. Let's hang at the beach. Someone catches your eye, I'm all over him like a tail wagging Madonna fan and you're breaking the ice with "She usually doesn't like strangers" or "Dogs are such good judges of character" Let's have some fun. I'll leave it with you. Just so you know, help is available.

On to more pleasant things. Let's talk about food. You're doing a great job. It is so great that you never know how much to cook when company's coming. As far as I'm concerned there's no such thing as too much, especially when it ends up in my bowl, which by the way is getting very worn around the edges. No complaint here mind you. I have friends who have to eat off the plates of their people after they're done with them if you can believe that.

Portions are excellent, you always leave plenty out in the morning and that's great. Again this is not intended as a criticism but for a while now it seems that at least once a week supper is delayed because you have to work late. My only point here is, when your job gets in the way of looking after me, maybe our priorities are getting a little out of whack. 'Nuff said.

Here's a few closing points. In case you haven't noticed I don't eat liver. I don't care how long it sits in my bowl or if it's good for me, I'm not going there with you. Truth is I think the liver treats should have a skull and cross bones on them with the warning "May contain liver." And don't think you can fool me. I read the labels. While we're on the subject of vile substances let's talk about dry food. Think about it. When was the last time you saw a dog grazing in the field? Never, right? We don't eat oats. Or ash. Excuse me? How would you like it if I dumped an ashtray in your casserole-hang on a minute I have to scratch mysel-l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l-f okay where was I? Right. No ash. End of story. And quit contaminating my water supply with those blue hockey pucks. Grim.

On to the random notes section. The converter needs batteries. I'm stuck here all day and there's nothing to watch. A stronger flea collar might be nice. It's very embarrassing being out in public and having to scratch yourself. Maybe next time buy a name brand. Remember what they say:avoid bargains in brain surgery and flea collars. (Well if they don't say that they should)

Bathing. Well you know the drill. If I take 'em you're gonna wear 'em. It's just the way things work. There's just nothing better than that turbo shake once I'm out of the water. Might be nice to have some bubbles once in a while. I'm maturing but I still like a bit of fun.

I know I've been very outspoken about the areas you need to work on so in all fairness I guess I should talk about what changes I'm prepared to make.

For starters, I know in the past if you did something that bothered me I'd rip the garbage open or other little surprises when I was really upset. That will stop. I admit it was childish but hey, I was just a pup.

I'm also prepared to let you sleep in once in a while, especially on those mornings after the night before. I guess I was jealous of all the fun you were having and feeling a bit left out. I understand now that you can have fun without me and I don't feel as threatened.

I'll try to stop shedding -no promises but I can commit to staying off the furniture during full moult.

That's about it. Overall I think you're doing a great job. If I didn't, believe me, I would have told you. I trust you enough to tell you the truth. It doesn't get much better than that.

I suppose at some point we're going to have to talk about dating. Mine, not yours'. That'll keep though. I know I'm too young right now. I've seen the tragedy of puppies having puppies. But soon...... Oh well, we'll talk again. Take care. And keep up the good work. You're a very special person.

Love, Brandy