Call me Rusty.
I’m emailing you because, even if we haven’t met yet, I am the dog you are thinking about adopting.
Yeah, ruff, isn’t it? I know you decided that Lexie would be your last dog, and she still may be. And I know that you feel a sense of loyalty to her that no other dog can really just take over and apply to himself, like flea powder, or something.
Rowll, I’m not putting any pressure on you, you know. I am endearing and delightful and darling, but don’t let that influence you, although they all begin with “d” (or close) and that stands for “dog.”
And I have heard that you said that you would never have another dog unless one showed up at your door with a sign in its mouth saying, “I need a home.” Guess what?
Here I am on DogSpace. See the sign in my mouth?
The thing is: My current companion is great, but he has some other dogs that are really alpha over me, and so I can’t stay with him. So, here’s the deal: I show up, see? You don’t even have to come get me. I walk in the door, and you see me for the first time, and to see me is to fall in love with me, right?
That’s not so hard, now, is it? It’s happened for you with a lot of other dogs, hasn’t it? Namely seven, or so I’m told. Oh, I’ve done my homework, I have. I even know their names: Spot, Jeep, Blitzie, Ginger, Blitzie Too, Piper, and Lexie. And from what I’ve heard you loved them all. Now, what’s so hard about feeling that way about me? I promise, I will be adorable.
My needs are simple: plenty of food, a place to get rid of it, and a bed to sleep in at night. Preferably yours. Well, now, I’ve heard Lexie never slept in your bed, only under it, but Lexie, I hear, was a big girl, and I’m just a small boy, sort of, and don’t take up much room. To begin with. Not until early morning anyway, when the light outside gets a little scary.
Now, I’ve heard you are — well, how can I say this? — a golden-ager, but I like yellow, really, I do. Some of the nicest dogs I’ve ever known were yellow (like Lexie, I believe) and I wouldn’t hold it against you, honest.
I’m 10 years old, in dog years, which means I like to run around a bit, but I hear your back yard is fenced in, so that should be okay. And here’s something I don’t quite understand. I heard my companion say that I wasn’t fixed, and I don’t know what he was talking about, but I can tell you this — if you let me come and live with you, that will fix me up right away and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.
I’ll even make you some promises. I promise not to bark at the mailman or the milkman. (That one should be easy because someone told me that there are no mailmen or milkmen any more.) But even beyond that, I promise to only use my indoor voice when the Fed-Ex man comes to the door. Now that’s an offer you can’t refuse.
And I will protect you from all flying insects and mice and squirrels — cross my heart. (I am especially good on those little devils, flies — just suck them out of the air — you should see me — ! Well, okay, later.)
I’ve heard you don’t do walks, and I really wish you would reconsider that, but with the fenced-in yard, I guess I’m good. I’m not keen on thunder, so keep a blanket handy, to throw over me when it gets bad. And I do like entertainment, preferably a flat screen TV, and a comfy place to lie and enjoy it. Your lap is fine — just don’t wear scratchy clothes please.
Here’s a last thing to think about, Mom. (May I call you Mom, please? I have not even seen you and already you look like a mom. My mom!) Anyway, keep this in mind when you’re deciding. It should show you how much I really want to be your dog.
And I promise: I’ll keep my cell phone turned off, except when you’re away,
Is it a deal?
High fives, then.
(Or, in my case, fours.)
Maude McDaniel is a Cumberland freelance writer. Her column appears on alternate Sundays in the Times-News.
Maude McDaniel - Living
The modern dog is looking for a home
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