There are many things that I wish to communicate to you, but because of your brain, vocal chords, and general species, you do not understand me. This is why I am going to tell you in a letter what you need to know.
First of all, you need to work on your hygiene. Your beautiful face is blocked out by the opaque green stink-lines coming from your mouth, much like you would see in a cartoon. You also have a distinct odor which makes itself apparent only when I pet you.
Another thing you should work on is your lack of boundaries. I understand that wagging your tail is a great way to express your constant enthusiasm for life, but do you think this could be done a few more feet away from my face? I also have reason to believe that I am always covered in dog hair because nine times out of ten, you’re in my personal space.
One more bone I have to pick (ha ha) is about the amount of time it takes you to smell something. I mean, how long could it possibly take to know what animals urinated on something and when? This makes our walks take twice as long and half as enjoyable for me. Sometimes, you even take so long to smell something that you forget what you’re doing and end up just standing there stubbornly.
Of course, there are things about you that I love. The way you look at me when I get home from school or after a long walk. The hilarious grunting noise you let out every time you lay down. The time you take to tentatively sniff a new bone I give you, as if I’m trying to poison you or something.
You are my best friend, biggest fan, and the most consistent part of my life. You need your flaws so that you can have your strengths. Although, come to think of it, I could do without the smell.