Bite Me

Dearest Doggie o' Mine,

I know my friends made fun of you and your timid approach to the surf of the Atlantic Ocean this summer. You, I know, are accustomed only to the gentle lapping of the Long Island Sound upon your tender paws. Swells and spicy tides were new territory to you. You're just past the puppy stage, buddy; you'll gain confidence with more experience.

I know they questioned your pedigree when you refused to no-holds-barred dive into the pool at every opportunity. They don't know that this is a good thing. They've never experienced diving down to retrieve a child's toy or lost hair tie only to have a 75-pound cannonball of flailing claws on their unsuspecting backs. (I speak, of course, of your predecessor -- a similarly suburb-sedated lad I loved dearly but did loathe in this one respect.)

In addition, yes, you have no balls. Nevertheless, you are so much more than your physical shortcomings, my fuzzy friend.

So, you must agree that this recent transgression smacks a tad bit of overcompensation on your part, no?

Don't worry, my faithful furball. You're still all wild animal to me.

Love,

The One Who Walks on His Hind Legs and Picks Up Your Leftovers

P.S. If you want a little extra kibble in your bowl, go to Humor-Blogs.com and put your big paws on a smiley face for me.