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An Open Letter To My Dog
Dear Rudy,
I’ve only had you 6 months. You’re only 9 months old. I really didn’t know. I’ve been very busy lately, what with your two, count them, two daily trips to the local dog park, trying to eke out a living, maintain a household and, oh yeah, deal with the mean girls that live here (or mean old ladies, whatever, you can take the bitch outta the middle school, but you can’t take the middle school outta the bitch, right).
You know Mommy loves you more than anything. Mommy and Daddy’s whole world revolves around you and your needs. We guzzle our coffee and scarf down our breakfasts to get you out to play with your pals on time.
I let you climb on my lap even though at 85 pounds, you’re more dog than I am lap. Do the math, Puppers, I’m 111 pounds, there’s not a lot of lap there. But I don’t mind. So my legs fall asleep? As long as you’re comfy, right?
However, it’s recently come to my attention that today is International Dog Day (“International,” no less). I found out on Facebook, the same way I find out about other special days, National Taco Day, National Naked Gardening Day, and my 7th cousin 14 times removed’s birthday.
