An Open Letter

To Whom It May Concern, Especially If You Have Peanut Butter,

I may be in the market for a new situation. My current living arrangements are… acceptable. I suppose. I mean, I’m fed two square meals a day (even if I rarely eat more than one of them, even with cheese sprinkled on top) and I’m almost always lavished with more attention than I can handle (there comes a point when a girl just doesn’t want any more massages, you know?). My — let us politely call them “roommates” shall we? — are sweet individuals, and I know I could probably have it way worse. And yet, I find myself overcome with this inescapable sense of… ennui.

Le sigh.

I am no longer overjoyed when my — well, let’s just call her the female roommate, as the name she has chosen for her relationship to me is utterly embarrassing — takes me on our daily walks, and I’m not afraid to express my disappointment by, upon returning to the house, immediately scratching at the door to be let outside again. I even do it after our long, supposedly draining hikes we take several times a week through the park and along the creek. Scratching at the door, indeed, is my new favorite past time, and one I engage in with such frequency that one might initially suspect I am suffering from a UTI.

This is not the case.

Speaking of the hikes, you cannot imagine the indignities I’ve been forced to suffer of late. Last week, while on our hike, we passed a playset. Now, I am usually allowed free reign of said playset, and I take great delight in running up the steps and leaping down the slides. However, at the park on this particular day there was a pair of teenagers making out on the playset, and my — female roommate — was under the impression that their unorthodox occupation somehow should take precedence over my desire to actually, you know, play on the playset. can you believe it? They can kiss where ever they want. I, however, can not run around on ladders and slides anywhere else other than on a ladder or slide. Doesn’t that make sense to her? I swear, she’s so dumb sometimes.

Stupid teenagers. Out of my way!

It only got worse as we continued our hike and reached the next playset, where there were children playing. Now, here’s where I have the sad duty of informing you that my mommy female roommate is actually a speciesist. She decided that these children were somehow more worthy than I was of being on the playset. Apparently, I’m only allowed on unused playsets. It’s this disgusting bias that makes me unable to associate with her any longer, and I showed my distaste for her prejudiced views by refusing to obey her condescending commands for the rest of the hike.

I was not allowed to do this.

Which brings me to the next indignity. As many of you already know, I have started sleeping in bed with my, er, roommates. But they seem to think their feet take precedence of place over my entire body. And they are always telling me I can’t sleep on their precious pillows, You’d think they were made of gold or something. Plus, my roommates are warm, and, given the luxuriousness of my gorgeous winter coat, I really need a cooler spot to sleep. I would prefer if they moved away, and I express my displeasure through loud sighs and moans at every juncture in which I am forced to shift. I have even heard my — ahem, female roommate — wonder, aloud, how such a small creature can make such a big noise.

Sometimes, I’m even forced to leave the bed altogether and go find someplace of my own to sleep.

Fine, keep your stupid bed. I like it in here better anyway. Hmph.

Ah, my crate, At times, I find it a meditative spot, filled with solitude and chew toys, while at others, it is a humiliating experience. I have tried expressing this to my roommates. At times, when they pat the top of the crate and tell me to “kennel up” I settle myself down on the corner of the bed and attempt to communicate to them that I will just lie here, very quiet and very still, and there is really no need for all of this locking me up and leaving stuff they mysteriously insist upon.

But they don’t believe me. I don’t get it.

So I eat the occasional sock. Is that any cause for harsh imprisonment?

Just add it to the list of thing they won’t let me do. They won’t let me dig in the garden, they won’t let me root around inside the bathroom wastebasket, and they won’t let me eat nachos when they are having them. It’s more than a girl can handle. And really, haven’t I been good? Haven’t I sat when they told me to “sit”? Haven’t I stayed when they told me to “stay”? (Usually. Sometimes. If I felt like it?) Haven’t I worn their stupid costumes when I was so very obedient that I graduated with flying colors from puppy school?

Le sigh. The indignity.

And thus it is that I now realize I cannot suffer in silence any longer. I need to get out of here. To this end, I petition every stranger I meet on the street, every deliveryman who comes to the door, every friend of my roommates who visits the house. Take me with you, please! These two like to pet me and snuggle me and won’t let me eat socks. You’ll let me eat socks, I know you will! Pretty please!

Save me!

Sincerely,

Rio