Gussy Up Pup

You say I’m your best friend, but you sure don’t treat me like that. You always want to parade me in front of your other “friends,” but we both know that they aren’t as loyal as I am. I’m always there when you get home from work, wagging my tail in greeting. When you’re stressed, I’m there to sit with you while you pet me. So why do you have to dress me in these ridiculous costumes? Don’t say you don’t know what I mean. You and me both know you do. During the summer, you give me one of those silly umbrellas to wear on my head and all your friends said “oh, what a cute dog he is!” Shut up. I have fur all over my body! I can’t get a sunburn. Last winter, you made me wear a disgusting sweater that your mother knitted for me. She even made a matching one for you, too. It was embarrassing. Why can’t I go anywhere with you?

I looked at the calendar the other day and Halloween is coming up. I’m nervous. Last weekend, you took me to the mall (leaving me outside tied to a pole like the bad owner you are) and went in no less than three costume stores. The costume you have in mind for me must be the most vile, embarrassing costume in canine history. That’s the only reason I can think of that you couldn’t find one. In fact, I saw you shopping on your computer for hours after work yesterday.

I can’t take this anymore - I’m getting out of here. I am running away. It is time to pack my things. I can take a few ounces of dog food in the backpack you bought for me last year (it’s vomit green, ew). I will take my favorite bone that I inherited from my grandmother. My lucky chew toy will fit somewhere too. I’ll walk to the bus stop and ride to the train station, then catch the first train out of here. I just have to find where you keep your money. Not in the kitchen, although I did find some good food there. Not anywhere in the basement. I wish I was big enough to ride your bike so I wouldn’t have to take the train. I’ll check in your room. Nothing under your bed. Here’s your wallet, right on top of your dresser. Ok, I got the money, let’s hightail it out of here!

These guys at the train stations are jerks! They say they can’t sell a dog a train ticket. I even took the time to learn sign language and sign out where I wanted to go to them, but they just laughed at me. “Hahaha,” they say, “a talking dog can’t possibly exist! He’s just doing an interpretive dance! That is far more rational and believable.” Well, I’ll give my old buddy Ralph a call and see if he can help me out.

“Hey, Ralph!”

“So, I’m having a bit of a problem here. I need a place to stay because my owner isn’t treating me great.”

“So I can stay at your place? Great, thanks.”

“What’s that?”

“No, I’m not dressing up for Halloween.”

“You want me to go trick or treating with you in costume? Listen, Ralph, I’m not sure that I can be friends with a dog who dresses up for halloween. You know my feelings about clothes, Ralph.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Right. I’ll just find somewhere else to sleep.”

“Ok, bye.”

Damn, I sure hate Halloween.