My mama wrote this letter to me and said I wasn’t her dog, but that’s a lie. I know I’m her dog because she feeds me. You wouldn’t feed someone that you didn’t love because why would you share food with an enemy. Food is very important and it makes your belly feel nice and full. You wouldn’t just give it away. That makes no sense.
Also, when no one is here, mama says nice things to me. I don’t speak people, so I don’t know really what she is saying, but she says it in her mama love voice. You know, the soft one she uses when one of us, even the boy, is sick or scared of thunder. You don’t speak love to someone you hate.
She also hugs me when she wipes off my feet and whole body after I’ve been outside in the rain. You wouldn’t hug someone you don’t even like unless they were giving you food or something. I never give mama food. She eats stinkier stuff and drinks harsh water. I don’t know why the woman just can’t eat Blue Buffalo like the rest of us.
This is the main reason I know mama loves me. When I got attacked at the really crappy day care I used to go to, mama made sure that my ouchy was taken care of by a good doctor. She even comforted me when I was kind of scared at the doctor’s office. She took really good care of me when we got home, too.
Mama is just one of those people who tries to be all tough, kind of like a Doberman, and she thinks being mean is funny. Mean is not funny; it’s just mean. Mama hasn’t learned that yet. I will be patient with her and keep going in my crate when she makes her growly noises and her mean face. The woman will grow out of it at some point. Until then, as long as she keeps giving me Kongs, and food, and cookies, and toys, I’m good. The hugs are OK, too. She won’t let me kiss her, though.