"Are you there, God? It's me, Mr. Snuggles."
"Can you help me with something? Would you get rid of this camera that wants to photograph me, and then maybe zap Aubrey away with it? Her outfit gives me a headache. It's puzzling -- first, because the damn thing is SHAPED like a jigsaw piece, and two, because I have no idea what in Satan's chafing dish I am supposed to make of that pink layer. Is it sewn onto the dress? Sold separately? A metaphor for intimacy, or an ACTUAL dickey? What? And why does the rest of the pattern make me feel like I'm hallucinating the existence of a vortex right in the area of her upper thigh? Oh, I can't look. I'm just going to stare at the floor.
"Except, then I might see my shadow, and that will just depress me, because you know what? DOGS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE PONY TAILS. OR PINK HAIR. Or pink stomachs, or pink... well, you know what, I am not going to show You. I am keeping my legs crossed because unlike 90 percent of this silly town, I cherish the mystery of my own privates. Humph. Why is she dragging me into this? Is it because I am cute? Because I have news for her -- NO accessory is going to make this next outfit okay:
"Can you help me with something? Would you get rid of this camera that wants to photograph me, and then maybe zap Aubrey away with it? Her outfit gives me a headache. It's puzzling -- first, because the damn thing is SHAPED like a jigsaw piece, and two, because I have no idea what in Satan's chafing dish I am supposed to make of that pink layer. Is it sewn onto the dress? Sold separately? A metaphor for intimacy, or an ACTUAL dickey? What? And why does the rest of the pattern make me feel like I'm hallucinating the existence of a vortex right in the area of her upper thigh? Oh, I can't look. I'm just going to stare at the floor.
"Except, then I might see my shadow, and that will just depress me, because you know what? DOGS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE PONY TAILS. OR PINK HAIR. Or pink stomachs, or pink... well, you know what, I am not going to show You. I am keeping my legs crossed because unlike 90 percent of this silly town, I cherish the mystery of my own privates. Humph. Why is she dragging me into this? Is it because I am cute? Because I have news for her -- NO accessory is going to make this next outfit okay:
"Shin pads? IS THE FOOLISH HUMAN KIDDING ME WITH THIS? And then she dyes my hair and puts me in POLKA DOTS? DOGS ARE NOT PEOPLE. We are also not dolls. Nor brooches, iPhones, cardigans, champagne bottles, stuffed toys, handy little purses where she can keep $20 and her house keys, nor hand-puppets. So STOP WEARING ME, AUBREY. I just want to run around your house scratching up the floor, chewing the straps off your shoes, and maybe -- just maybe -- lapping up toliet water before taking a nervous whizz on your feathered comforter.
"Anyway, God, can you please send someone to dognap me? There has to be more to life than getting crammed into dog-scrunchies by a woman who dresses like the center-forward on Karl Lagerfeld's personal field-hockey team. And, I hate to bring it up, but you totally owe me for that neutering thing. Also, SHIN PADS. Thanks."
