A Lost Dog Returns Home


I am home! I am finally home! I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be off those mean streets. Thank God someone saw that poster because I could not stand another day eating sidewalk garbage. I promise I’ll stop complaining about good ole Purina.

Seriously though, Cheryl and Mike, you are the best owners in the world and I will never leave you again. Hugs!

Hey, is that it? The poster? Can I see it? Let me see it! C’mon.

Awww. It’s that picture I like! The one from the beach! And wow! Look at this reward. Why were you worried? You two went all out with this thing.

Hey, give it back, Mike. I want to read it, silly.


Ha ha. Real original start, guys.

“Muffins, a treasured member of our family, disappeared last Saturday evening . . .”

I am treasured? That’s so nice!

“Muffins is eight years old and is very friendly . . .”

You gave my real age? I am so embarrassed. I am kidding, I am kidding. It’s totally fine. I am going to keep going, okay?

“Muffins may be slightly confused and irritated, so please approach with caution . . .”

Huh. Not to critique here, because I am really thankful for all your work, but maybe try to use more positive language? This makes me sound a bit unhinged. Let’s just think about our wording next time, is all I am saying.

No, I am not mad, Cheryl. I guess I am a little emotional. Come on, give me another hug. Whoa, don’t grab the poster. I am not quite done reading it.

“Muffins is a mutt with a white-and-brown coat . . .”

Now this line is interesting. Is that how you see me? As a mutt? Because you know I am half-chocolate Lab and half-collie. That’s how I identify. I actually find the term mutt to be dated and, frankly, somewhat offensive.

What do you mean you knew I’d get “like this” if I read the poster? No, I don’t think we should just drop it. In fact, I am going to keep reading.

“Muffins struggles with his weight and is a little chunky in the middle . . .”

Wow. Just wow. I am beginning to understand why you did not want me to see this thing.

Oh, you just wanted to give an honest description? So you honestly think I am fat, Cheryl? No? Then what the hell did you mean?

I don’t think I am overreacting at all. I am totally calm. Actually I am finding this poster to be very informative. What other juicy tidbits about me are in here?

“Muffins is fully neutered and cannot have sexual relations . . .”

Oh fuck off. Is that relevant? Are people expected to look for the dog with no balls who can’t screw? And what the hell is fully neutered? Could I have been partially neutered? What is wrong with you two? This is just humiliating.

And what is this next part?

“Muffins will occasionally eat his own vomit . . .”

One time! I ate my own vomit one time and it makes my missing-dog poster? Do you understand what a missing-dog poster is? It is meant to be basic descriptive information. Not counting down Fido’s top-ten dumbest moments.

If you went missing, would you like your poster to say, “Cheryl will occasionally sext ex-boyfriends when she’s drunk”? Or “Mike will occasionally get diarrhea after eating Indian food”?

Christ, it is not even done.

“Muffins does not take constructive criticism well and can be overly sensitive at times . . .”

I knew it. I knew you’d sneak this in there. Well, I am sorry for having feelings. It’s not like you guys are the easiest to live with, either.

Do you know what Dr. Haversham says about you two? She says you don’t communicate, you criticize. Who’s Dr. Haversham? She’s just the canine therapist I’ve been seeing for the past few months. Thank God I kept that a secret or it probably would have ended up on every telephone pole in the city: “Muffins is currently in therapy to help manage his depression and social anxiety.”

So, are we done here? Are there any more little gems? Something about when I peed myself at obedience school graduation? Or perhaps my “controversial” beliefs about who was really behind 9-11?

“Muffins is deathly afraid of cats . . .”

Oh God. You went there. You actually went there.

Do not touch me, Cheryl. Do. Not. Fucking. Touch. Me. This is libel. I am sorry but that’s the only word for it. I am honestly considering suing you for libel at this point.

You know what, forget it. I am leaving. I’d rather eat sidewalk garbage than stay here. Maybe I can find some new owners who appreciate a chunky-middled, cat-fearing, ball-less mutt like me. Or maybe not. But whatever happens this time, please do me a favour: spare me the fucking missing poster.

Comments are closed.