Friday Report: Dog has big rebuttal
June 13, 2011
Woof … uh, I mean hello. I’m a bit nervous, this is my first column ever, but I’ve got a bone to pick with the guy who usually writes this column.
My name is Freeta Goodhome. I’m a female basset hound, spreading comfortably into middle age. Most people adore me. I live on a Select-Comfort mattress just outside of Fraser, Colorado. My sleep number is 32. Soft, like that, the bed curls up around my ample butt, and I mostly slumber the day away, drifting around in a fluffy cloud.
I’ve got to admit, my life isn’t too bad, but there is one thing that chafes my behind and that’s the indignity I’m subjected to in this very column.
Almost every week I am the object of ridicule. It’s a disgrace. So, I’m here today asking for your help in putting a stop to it.
The kind and thoughtful editor of this paper offered me this space to present a fair and balanced look at the disturbing charges made by the customary author of this column.
Thanks to those of you who howled in protest the last time he made disparaging remarks about my personal hygiene. I stink? I think not! This lie flies in face of the fact that I roll daily in Essence of Polecat, dab on a few drops of Eau de Fox and put a ton of Moose in my hair. Do you think I get any respect for this attention to my grooming? No.
I hate that part where he complains that I’m always throwing up in the middle of the carpet. Okay, I’ve got to admit, he’s got me there. But, he usually causes it by slipping me too much broccoli off his dinner plate when he thinks no one is looking. I hate broccoli but I eat anything.
It makes me want to snarl when he calls me fat. How could he be so thoughtless? I come from a long breed of big-boned Bassets. He should talk, the only exercise he gets is when I tie a nylon strap around his wrist and drag him around the block like an unwilling boat anchor.
Here’s why it’s a lie; I have this dreamy roommate named Cuervo. He’s considerably older and as short as I am but he makes up for it in … well, let’s just say he’s a four-legged Anthony Weiner. I expect to outlast him by seven times a couple of years – and a girl’s got to plan ahead, that’s what I’m talking about. I really watch my hips and I’m dogged about sticking to the “Pit-bullimic Diet.” I want to be ready when that next hound dog strolls by.
So, it’s just a lie when a certain rude columnist calls me fat. In fact, I’ve been told that in some particular lights, I look downright svelte.
Then there’s the issue of trash. It’s an old cliche that one man’s garbage is another dog’s energy snack. I don’t understand how anyone could collect underutilized bones and refrigerator clean-outs in a bag and not expect repercussions from a hunger-crazed, weight-watching hound. What’re they thinking? That’s like blaming the wind ’cause it blows.
Stubborn? He’s got a lot of nerve to call me stubborn. I am not going to budge until he takes it back.
Thank you for your support in stopping Basset backbiting. Write to the editor of this paper insisting that only kind and flattering things be said about me in the future.
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