November, 2016

Dear Hoomans,

It is with much sorrow that I tell you I was forced to grow up this year. “Why?” You may ask? Well, it all started this Spring. Quick, start a fire and get all cozy while I tell you this nightmare that I’ve been living through this year…

I was just brought home after a nice 5 day vacation at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, and then WHAM! Moms arrive home, just in time to interrupt my 3-hour nap, and plop this ‘bundle of joy’ (as they call him) right in front of me. Now I’m a fairly positive dog, and so I sniffed him, gave him a few licks, and thanked him for the stuffed red bone he brought me thinking he would only be with us for a few hours…BUT HE’S STILL HERE. Moms say I have to take care of him, guard him, lick his face and hands when there is food on them, check on him at night to make sure he’s still breathing (even though he sounds like a baby goat when he’s sleeping at night, so obviously he’s still alive…duh), and apparently I’m suppose to do all of this without barking and sharing my opinion. My Moms are such inconsiderate assholes at times.

Anywho, life has changed for me now that I’m all grown up, and so my perspective on the world is different. I no longer see passersby as fellow walkers on the sidewalk. Nope. They are potential kidnappers. And liquid that splats on the floor after flying from my baby brother’s mouth often tastes like curdled vomit, but I lick it up anyway just because I don’t want my Moms to slip on it while walking. And for some odd reason, after this election hell came to an end, I now hate the color orange, I chase anyone away who is wearing orange or red, and we always have ‘Go’ bags packed with our passports. Are we at war and I wasn’t told? Am I going to be drafted? A lot of great and wise dogs have fought in the wars and when they returned (if they returned) they were never the same. This worries me…I might need therapy and a Xanax.

So, I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that life has changed for me, and even though I don’t like this ‘older brother’ crap so much, I’ve taken to it with gusto. He’s a cute kid, and he’s learned to slap/pet me  on the head. It’s…nice. And whenever he’s sleeping I do my best to bark at my Moms and tell them everything they are doing wrong, and to remind them that they owe me multiple bones for this shit. For some odd reason they get really upset with me for this, but it does make them move quickly to get me a bone…and sometimes the bark collar.

Happy holidays to you hoomans, and please keep me in mind this holiday season. Feel free to send me treats, bones, a BarkBox, stuffed animals…anything to help me remember what it was like to be an only child. And if I can figure out how to work the tape dispenser and get the mailman to pick Sawyer up without being too scared of me, I’ll ship you my baby brother.

     Happy Holidays!!

    Lincoln

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Love, Sawyer