Lately, I’m receiving more negative emails than ever before. I don’t know what’s in the drinking water, but something has shifted.

I need guidance on how to respond to these angry emailers. So, I turn to my dog, Marigold. Marigold is the most non-judgemental soul I know. I read emails aloud to her, then base my responses on her reactions.

“You’re a [bleeping] coward,” one emailer writes. “By not taking a political stance you have, in effect, taken a stance… Innocents are dying because of you.”

Marigold licked herself.

“I’m done reading you,” another writes, “you talk too much about politics.”

I turned to Marigold for an answer. She was now licking her private parts.

“There is only one way to heaven, Sean…” wrote the angry emailer. “You waste your talent for Satan… If you don’t ask Jesus into your heart and make a public profession of faith, I’m sorry, but you are a fraud.”

I looked to Marigold once again. Marigold was now emitting smells, some powerful enough to knock a buzzard off a honey wagon.

Another emailer: “…I can’t stand your drivel… Every time I see one of your stories I delete it, but my dad keeps sending them to me… I’m about to block you for good.”

Marigold sighed. And as I stroked my dog’s head, I heard another soft noise discharged from her backside.

“WHY HAVEN’T YOU WRITTEN ABOUT CHARLIE KIRK? YOU ARE A LIAR AND A [BLEEPING] FAKE!!!!!!!!!”

Nine exclamation points.

Marigold put her head into my lap.

“I’m sorry, Sean, but I just expected more from you…”

Marigold was falling asleep. She was lightly snoring.

Another email: “You talk way too often about spiritual things you don’t understand… I thought you were supposed to be a humor writer…”

And the next emailer: “Sean… I keep wishing you’d tell less jokes and talk more about spiritual things…”

Marigold was now dreaming. At least that’s what it seemed like, because she was releasing light whimpers and her body was spasming like she was chasing an imaginary squirrel.

“I thought you were different, Sean…”

“You let me down…”

“You’re not who I thought you were…”

“You are seriously misguided.”

I read through another dozen emails before Marigold awoke. She peeled herself off the sofa, lazily, then let out a major stretch. She yawned bigly.

Then, Marigold began wagging her tail. Hers is a full-body wag. Marigold cannot merely wag a tail, she must wag her entire butt.

Marigold is blind, but she was staring at me, which meant she needed to relieve her bladder. We do this by going outside together where she can sniff each individual blade of grass before finally peeing in the same location she has peed upon for the last 4,108,296 consecutive mornings.

“Just give me one more minute,” I said to Marigold. Then, I read another email.

Marigold pawed me. It was urgent now.

“Almost finished,” I said. Then, I read another email.

Marigold began yelping.

Finally, I understood what my dog was trying to tell me. So I closed the laptop. And I got a life.