An Open Letter To My Humans

Let me tell you what is NOT cute.

It's not cute when I excitedly run toward you on the hardwood floors and, because of my extra-long, badass mutt dog nails, slide around uncontrollably. It's embarrassing. Yet you persist in laughing as though it was something I intended? What? You find my awkward fumblings somehow entertaining?

Got news for you. All houses are built by humans, for humans... with stuff like wood and tile. Maybe, just maybe, if you people would have a dirt floor, or grass, or just stick to carpeting - I wouldn't look like Scooby Doo running across the frozen lake to escape an old man wearing a monster costume!

Christ, people! Give me my dignity!

For the record, "cute" is when I get my toy duck (or quail, or whatever-the-hell it is) and bring it to you, squeezing it repeatedly so that it makes that quacking noise over and over, getting louder and louder as I approach the room you're in.

I came up with that shit. I didn't do it "by accident." And I defy you to experience it in person and NOT respond by petting me. You simply can't do it. Trust me.