Dear Dad,
Thanks for leaving me with Grandma, but you’ve been gone a long time. Where are you? When are you coming back? I wonder if I should escape and try to make it home. Sigh! I don’t think I could. I can’t exactly fit under the gate.
I don’t mind staying with Grandma, but some things could be better. I wish you’d tell her it would be nice if she let me sleep upstairs with her. Keeping me downstairs is bewildering. I could keep her company on the long, lonely nights if she let me sleep next to her bed. She wouldn’t even need to keep her eyes open since she could smell my eau de Dogue and hear my melodious snore. She doesn’t know what she’s missing, so would you please tell her to let down her guard – literally, the one that barricades the landing – and chill. I’ll do the rest. For your information, I did try to let her know that’s what I wanted; it might have been too subtle. I fitted myself, with some effort, along one of the steps, and attempted to sleep there. Fortunately, she snuck a look from top of the stairs to see if I was settled, noticed my awkward position and came down to put me back on my bed, but she didn’t invite me to go up with her. She’s a harder nut to crack than I thought. Still, I was grateful she got me off the step. Scrunched up as I was, I would’ve had a crook back by morning if I’d stayed there. You know, most of the time I don’t notice I’m such a big dog. I really feel quite small inside, which is why I get surprised when humans get flustered as I gallop to greet their furry companions or when I find myself blocking a passageway. Anyhoo…
Talking about my statuesque figure brings me to another point. Do you think you could persuade Grandma to buy a bigger car? One with a proper, big boot like ours? It’s nice for her that I can be so close when she’s driving, and I know she likes to have me breathing down her neck and looking over her shoulder, but being on the back seats isn’t my ideal. I can only lie along them; not move my rear around however I want. There is the advantage of the open window – when she thinks to put it down – and I do like poking my muzzle out and letting my floppy jowls flap in the breeze. But still, it’s undignified and when we’re stopped at the lights, dogs in other cars look at me funny. Really, if she continues to want to take me on long trips, she does need an appropriately dog-sized vehicle.
Speaking of stopping, like, outside of cars, does she ever? I follow her around the house trying to be a good companion, but when she finally sits and I’m all settled and starting to snore, she’ll jump up again and go someplace else. I force myself to snap out of my slumber to keep an eye on her, and sometimes I go to the trouble of pushing myself up off the floor to check on her, but then she’ll turn around and go back to where she started. I can’t understand it and I wonder why I bother. She can even repeat the same thing again five minutes later. It’s exhausting, I tell you. And she looks at me as though I’m simple.
Anyhow, I forgot to tell you about the scary storm the other night. I’m not exaggerating, it was like the sky dogs were in a battle and each time they growled and lunged at one another, lashings of spittle would spear the earth in gusty blasts and their gnashing teeth made blinding explosions. It was terrifying. And to prove that Grandma is a bit odd, I’ll tell you what she did when the noise and flashing and spit eased off a bit before bed. She opened the door and went outside! Then she called me! I had to pee, so I went but I didn’t dilly dally. I ran straight back inside. Next thing, Grandma’s strolling up the street picking up all the bins that had fallen over, even though she was getting wet, and the sky was still stroboscopic. The storm must have fried her brain! Seriously, I was close to crapping myself. And even with all that, she still left me downstairs. Don’t you think that’s mean? Even if I did get double treats.
The next day, on the drive to the river house, we stopped twice for Grandma to stretch her legs. She made me get out of the car both times and walk, which wasn’t too bad, really, especially because I persuaded her to give me treats to get back in. We had another walk before bed, but I think I must have been too distracted by the luscious aromas of roo poo and forgot to poo myself, because during the night, as I remembered the scary storm, I finally did crap myself. I didn’t mean to, of course, but it was a good-sized dump and had to come out. Grandma was asleep with the door closed so I chose a spot I didn’t think she’d find for a while, but surprisingly, she found it as soon as she got up. She must have felt guilty about the previous night because she just gave me breakfast without comment and when I came back inside, the crap was gone. She had already forgotten about it. Which is good, but you know, she is a bit vague sometimes. Anyway, Dad, sorry about the dump. But if Grandma hadn’t kept me out of her bedroom, I could have warned her it was coming.
Which brings me to where I’m sleeping. She put my bed in the lounge room, which in my opinion is too far away for comfort. I did the sad eyes, and she then moved it to the corridor, but then I decided I wanted to sleep in the guest room. I am a guest, after all, aren’t I? She didn’t kick me out – a moment of sanity – but she did move my bed back to the lounge room. Honestly, I don’t get why she just doesn’t let me sleep next to her. It’s frustrating that she deprives herself like that, at her age.
So, the only thing left to tell you is how fit I’m getting. Grandma walks me three times a day: a small walk, a big walk and a wee walk. I go swimming and play with friends, Jack, Ronnie and Susie. They can be a bit temperamental, especially when I’m feeling bouncy, but they’re okay. They don’t scare me with their snarly faces and usually, we just get on with it and walk or fetch sticks. When Grandma lets me off the lead, I like to chase birds, especially ducks. Grandma calls my name, loudly, and I know she’s cheering me on, so I run faster. Sometimes she pulls snarly faces too.
Finally, I think you should let Grandma know I don’t speak her language. Sometimes she talks to me, and I have no idea what she’s saying. I just give her my best blank expression, so she gets the hint, but then she laughs. She is a bit simple. Sweet, though.
So that’s it from me. I hope you feel better now you know how I am. Hurry up home.
Big Chief. xx
Carla Simmons Writer 