Sources: Anonymous

Dear Bruce and Rita,

I really need to tell you about something that just keeps happening to me over and over, even as recently as last evening. I hope this letter arrives very soon, because if you are going to help me, it is very important that you know all the details.

So we were going out for a run, and as usual, my Daddy was lagging behind on the climb up the steep hill. I know he thinks he goes pretty fast, and sometimes Kenja and I will linger to investigate some of the fresh new smells that I know my Dad can’t smell at all (he is really so pitifully helpless in most ways—but he tries hard). We often do that so that he won’t have to feel so bad about being left behind. You should just see him when we run out ahead—especially when we run up over the top of the hill and keep going so that he can’t see us. He’ll be charging up to the top—completely bent out of shape—calling out our names and ordering us to “Come Along!”   

It’s so ridiculous. Kenja—talk about a dork—will always go back right away. But I usually don’t. I know that I really don’t have to—at least not most of the time. And it is always so hilarious. He’s sooo much fun to fool; so easy in fact that I’m often embarrassed for him. You should see him. He tries to look around in all directions at once and as a result (it’s so obvious!) can’t really notice much of anything in any direction, which is just ridiculous when you think about it. And so as you might imagine, getting right next to him while he is clueless is usually a no-brainer.

So, there I’ll be, practically right on top of him, and he’ll be calling out for the Little Bastard (his favorite name for me—and I love it too!). And after he’s gotten all excited and made a big fool of himself turning all about, I’ll just come up behind him and let him know what a good dog I am for having been there the entire time. It’s so sad sometimes, it’s pathetic.

That’s when I sometimes feel really bad for him. Of course he then begins telling me he’s sorry and what a good dog I really am. But that’s when I know I’ve got him. At that point he’ll be so humiliated, he’ll change his tactics. The next time, instead of calling me the instant I am out of view, he’ll hesitate. And of course, that’s exactly when I know I can run off any time I choose. He’s so silly, I’m often at a complete loss for words. I’m afraid I sometimes wonder a bit about his IQ level.

I mean, can you just imagine! He just doesn’t get that most of the time I won’t really be doing anything wrong anyway. He has so much to learn. He seems at times completely incapable of understanding that he’s the man, and I’m the dog. I have every right to be running point—snooping and investigating as I please. And when he becomes upset, I’ll often pretend that I have no idea he is anywhere around. As I’m sure you can appreciate, that just seems to set him off even worse. It’s like he thinks I have to always be paying attention to him, or something.

And this is precisely what I mean! He’s absolutely paranoid about my running off. And one thing is for sure, he’ll always come to find me. And when he sees me, he’ll start in scolding me, and telling me I’m a bad dog. That’s not a very nice thing to hear when you’ve just made an exciting discovery and need quality time to appreciate it. But, here he’ll be; blustering around and acting like he’s the world’s champion tracker or something. If he had a decent nose, he wouldn’t have all these worries.

Anyway, when he does find me, he is unbelievable! He has this extremely vexing ploy that I absolutely hate. With more than a hint of smugness, he refers to this technique as “walking him down!” I know that you guys would never do anything like that to me which is why I need you to come over more often. That way, you can take me out so I can do all the exploring and hunting I want. So please just listen to this.

As I was saying, he always seems to find me at the worst times, just when I am about to settle in on a nice snack, or when I burrowing deep into the snow or even the ground in pursuit of an elusive prey that only I can detect. And worse, I’ve noticed that he has now become so sneaky that occasionally I’ll fail to realize that he has spotted me. And then the second he sees me you already know what happens. He’ll start in telling me I’m a BAD DOG, over and over. And I’m not!  And then it begins; he’ll start moving in, all the while accosting me with this “BAAAD DOG!” approach.

As you can imagine, that’s not a very pleasant thing to have ringing throughout the mountainsides. But he does it anyway, and just keeps coming. That’s his trick. As soon as he knows where I am, he’ll never tell me to come to him because he knows I have already heard him. So he just keeps telling me I’m a BAD DOG! At that point, it’s very difficult to know what to do. Any direction I move, it’s the same thing! 

He’ll even try to deceive me with a showing of calm—which is quite humorous actually, since he’s so obviously upset. So even if I begin to move towards him at my own very reasonable pace, he never stops and waits for me to get there. He just keeps coming. If I go a different direction, he just cuts me off and calls me a BAD DOG! And still he keeps coming. Once he’s found me, he never hurries; he’ll never run at me, or chases me. As I said, he won’t even call me. He just keeps closing in, no matter how long it takes. And then I finally have to stop and let him grab that stupid thing he makes me wear around my neck. He’ll bring out that medieval tool he refers to as a “leash.” And then it’s over. No more adventures today.

He is simply incapable, it seems, of realizing that after I have craftily located some wily creature—like deer, or turkeys, or even a skunk (he hates those the worst)— that I really need to be in full hunting mode. It is these very same animals which really do need to be chased and cornered if they are to be properly investigated and managed. And this is exactly what I’m there for. I’m sure you can appreciate my exasperation here, yet I fear my dad will never understand.

This is such nonsense. You pretend like you are so special and know so much. But I know that German Shepherds are the smartest dogs; I’ve heard that said many, many, times. And I’m a German Shepherd—pure bred! Bruce and Rita, you know that don’t you? And he’s just one of these overrated northern breeds whose instincts are controlled by their “sense of the wild”—whatever that is supposed to mean. I’m sick of hearing it.

Anyway, Dad knows a lot more than you think he does, Rocky. For example, he very clearly understands that I almost always know where you are. If he loses sight of you, he simply watches me for cues; I just cock my head in the appropriate direction, and he locates you almost immediately. And then he praises me, not you, for being the good, good, dog that I am. Believe me. He will always find you. The day he doesn’t find you is the day you die.

And who are you trying to fool with this stupid letter? Bruce and Rita already know what a little bastard you are anyway.

Kenja, you “poor, poor, dog”—as our daddy is always saying. Did you know that you are supposed to be our “watch-dog”? But all you do is start barking insanely whenever your tiny little brain misfires. It’s so ridiculous how you tear throughout the house from one set of glass doors to another, nearly frothing at the mouth, gaping out at absolutely nothing. Nothing! Sometimes you scare us all to death! Do you have any idea how annoying that is? Poor, poor, pitiful dog.

And now you have made me forget where I keep my paw-stamp.

But please, Bruce and Rita, I really need you to come over as soon as you can. Bring Cowboy, and we can even let the poor dog (she really is) come along also. Just so long as I can run and run and snoop. We’ll find so many wonderful things!

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