mission k9: FAILURE

Salutations Mister Harley Limpman Feudal Lord, esq. III:

I am tapping these tiny letters on these tiny buttons in a manner that is both exhausted and morose. Since you have not been able to break open my rib cage and remove my still beating heart in the past I see you have decided to take a different approach. This time you've decided to yank it out through the openings of my rib cage with your dirty little meat hooks. This, as you may imagine, is all too painful to even comment on.

I must say I am truly disappointed. Not only am I left without a k9 side kick....but you have stained my memory with your small words and red face. Every time my phone rings or the front door knocks I fear it is your voice, head detached and spitting absurdities. The last of your tantrums possessing you to lie on the floor, heels digging into the ground clutching papers demanding my early departure.

I do ask that next time you return my call please refrain from slamming your tender parts in the bathroom door before doing so. I do believe the level of agitation that stirs in your lower extremities makes for an unnecessarily escalated conversation.

The salty liquid falls all to freely these days. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot. I wear eye sheilds to escape possible inquires from the radar detectives. I will send you a bill for $3.42 as compensation for the eye moisturizer and sniff-it packs I was forced to purchase.

In closing, I look fondly upon the day I remove myself from your premises. Me and k9-to-be will spin in delight, laugh, frolic and dance one day. Until then I will report to my regularly scheduled activities and narrow my eyes at every other person on the planet who is able to house their very own creature.

You mean mean man man.

Tossing a Frisbee that keeps landing on the floor,
your disgruntled serf