The first time it was cute. I had unknowingly sauntered behind you while your weekly staff meeting was happening. You scooped me up in front of your big glowing rectangle and I could hear voices coming from it making my favorite, “Awwww, who’s a good dog?” sounds. I’ll admit, I loved the attention. Not only were you not leaving every day for eight hours, but you were also giving me extra attention? I LIVE FOR THIS STUFF.
But then you would call me to come over every time you had a meeting, which frankly, is too many times. It really seems like some of your meetings could be emails. And what’s with the other dogs in the glowing rectangle?! Who ARE THOSE DOGS?! Are you trying to make me jealous?
When I finally refused to make an appearance in your meetings, you would bring your glowing rectangle to wherever I was trying to get some peace and quiet and point it at me. So whether I’m taking a nap, grooming myself, or getting my daily ottoman hump in, there you are with your glowing rectangle and all your co-workers saying things like, “She’s just the cutest.” or “Wow, she really dominates that footstool!”. Is there no privacy?! I have a life I’m trying to live here that includes many important tasks. Who else is going to sniff longingly at the dead food under the fridge, bark at each human that walks by the window, and chase the piece of fluff that seems to always be right behind me?
I value our friendship, I really do, but I am not here for your entertainment! If you wanted some sort of dancing monkey, you should have adopted one of them! And what if the situation were reversed? I don’t drag you around the dog park and make you do that adorable sound you make when you eat a person biscuit, or call the other dogs in the neighborhood to come look at you while you’re having a weird dream! It’s invasive, and it’s got to stop.
The point is: I thought our relationship was more than you being able to show your friends how cute I am. Of course I’m cute. I’m a fucking dog.
But you don’t even like your co-workers. You’ve told me multiple times that Gary’s a total creep, Shelley loves cats (shudder), and Cathy’s a real bitch, which I have taken zero offense to, in spite of being an actual real bitch myself.
So please, for the love of milkbones, wet food, and whatever that incredibly delicious rotting animal scent is that you won’t let me roll in when we go on walks, stop forcing me onto your zoom calls.
Wet licks and belly rubs,
Muffy the Muffster
AKA: The Goodest Dog
AKA: Who’s a Good Dog