I just can’t read you anymore. At first you were cool, but now you’re a @!#$% dork. There have been tons of national events in the news… And you just ignore them… You’re all busy writing about your stupid dog and @#$%.
Sometimes I just want to say, “Nobody cares about your dumb dog!”
I dare you to write me back,
AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR SEAN OF THE SOUTH
DEAR AIN’T NOBODY:
I don’t do well with dares. In the fourth grade, I was double-dog dared to stand on a ladder and pee over the hood of my friend’s daddy’s Oldsmobile.
I didn’t have enough back-pressure in my nine-year-old bladder to clear the hood. My friend’s daddy nearly had a heart attack.
My mama made me peel potatoes until I was thirty.
Anyway, I just read your letter aloud to Ellie Mae. I wish you could’ve seen her face. She’s crushed. She wears her feelings on her collar, you know.
Today, Ellie Mae woke earlier than normal. Most often, she rises at the crack of noon. This morning, she woke at 5 A.M. because of a persistent ear infection.
I’ve taken her to the vet six times in the last five months. I took her yesterday.
You’ll be thrilled to know the vet says her ears are getting better. He also says that her problem is just part of having long, floppy, magnificent, voluptuous, comely, silken, ears.
Then, he rubbed her belly and said, “I think Ellie is one of my favorite patients.”
A remark like that deserves celebration. I took Ellie to Pet Smart as a reward. She sniffed a few employee hindparts, then made friends with a Corgie named Jim.
I bought her a toy duck and a rawhide to the tune of thirty-two bucks. I know that’s pricey, but recall, if you will, what the vet said.
Anyway, I have been throwing toy ducks for Ellie Mae since the invention of hate-email. She darts into the Choctawhatchee Bay and swims after them until she reaches the coast of Indonesia.
You’ve never seen anything like it.
So. Where was I? Ah, yes. After we left Pet Smart, I met a friend for lunch. We ate take-out Mexican in his office. Ellie laid in the corner, eating a rawhide.
“Can you believe,” I pointed out to my friend. “That Ellie’s vet called her his FAVORITE dog?”
My pal swallowed his food and said, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to write down whatever I say in your blog?”
Ellie and I rode home, listening to Willie Nelson on the radio. I believe she likes Willie Nelson. This, I can tell by the way she…
Wait. I almost forgot.
You didn’t want to know about my “stupid” dog. You wanted to read about current events, statues, riots, or misguided folks on the evening news.
Maybe you wanted me to rant over something controversial. Maybe you wanted me to be angry. Maybe you wanted cussing.
Well, whatever it was that you wanted, you certainly didn’t want to read trivial things about an allegedly “stupid” Black and Tan hound I love so much.
I’m sorry, friend. But if you’ve read this far…
You just did.