I’m Your Dog and I’m Worried About You
It’s me, Peaches. Hey, are you doing O.K.? I don’t mean to pry, but, starting a few weeks back, you’ve . . . been around more. As in, all the time. Which is totally cool, but it seems like something’s off, so I figured I’d check in.
I’m a good boy—talk to me.
All of a sudden, it’s like you’re a completely different person. You just sit there on the couch watching the fear box and dripping tears onto my fur. I thrash when you bathe me, so you know I don’t like getting wet!
Don’t get me wrong. I cherish your kibbles and I know that you wuv me. But you have to stop petting me every two seconds. I like snuggle time as much as the next pooch, but it’s starting to feel a little desperate. My snout is raw and I’m getting a callous on my tum-tum. For Christ’s sake, my tail is nearly wagged to the bone!
Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’ll try to use my inside bark.
I used to think that I missed you when you left for the day, but now I see how good I had it. I would bark at squirrels for hours! But now, the second I step foot in the bathroom to slurp toilet water, you’re right there with a rolled-up newspaper, giving me dirty looks.
Do you have any idea how demeaning it is to get snout-smacked by a guy with his sweatpants on backward?
Honestly, I think time apart could be good for us. It makes me a better nuzzler when you do come home. I can’t be adorable 24/7. I need some time to recharge, so that I can be at my cutest when nighttime rolls around. That’s how you get the good tail wags.
Whatever you did to make your boss tell you to stop coming in, you go and apologize. Because if I have to slow dance with you one more time on my hind legs, I’m going to hurl my fuzzy ass into traffic!
Fetching balls is fun and all, but don’t you have anything better to do? Read a book. Call your mother. Take up needlepoint. Anything! I can’t be your only source of entertainment. It’s too much pressure, and we both know stress makes me rip pillows.
But I don’t want to be in your “funny” Instagram videos, so stop trying to put me in a sundress and pretend we’re on a date. It’s humiliating, and I don’t even want to get into unpacking the psychosexual implications.
And why do you keep trying to ride me down your hallway? I’m not a horse, dipshit! Maybe you’d know that if you ever groomed me.
Look, I appreciate you walking me. Really, I do. But I can only pee so many times in a day. How do you not know this? You’re the one who fills up my bowl. But this isn’t about my bowel movements, is it? It’s about the bottomless well of need that has suddenly opened up inside you. Every time I hear the jangle of you grabbing my leash, I cringe.
You’ve got a good heart, and the last thing I want to do is run away. It’s warm here, and this is where my bone is. Plus, the house has never been cleaner. You’ve even started wiping down the doorknobs! But, unless you want me to gnaw on your favorite shoe, you need to get your shit together and stop being so clingy. I want to keep being man’s best friend, but you are not making it easy.