Dear Mocha,
I have tried my best to get along with you. For years now you have purposely and most secretively antagonized me . . . then sat back and watched with your stupid "I'm just a dog" face that somehow makes me look like the crazy person.
Let's just get a few things straight, shall we?
When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not switch positions so that you are just as much in my way as you were before. I know you just do that to annoy me and I don't appreciate it one bit.
In case you were confused, the silver dishes on the floor are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Just because you're able to reach my food on the counter or table does not make it yours . . . EVER. The food held in Megan's hands is also not yours. She can talk now and you are soooooo busted! Oh yeah, and the diaper genie in Megan's room is not your cookie jar either you nasty dog.
Our staircase was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run. And you always somehow make it look like an accident . . . as I go flying one way with the laundry basket flying in the other. I know the truth Mocha and I have the bruises to prove it.
Here you are at the top of the stairs, just waiting for me to walk by.
Did you know sticking your nose in someone's crotch is not an acceptable way to say hello? It is quite rude, really. Where are your manners? And while we're on the topic of manners, when you feel the need to PUKE could you do it someplace besides MY OFFICE.
I'm also tired of you setting me up. You only shizzle in the house when John's not home. When I complain (as any reasonable person would after cleaning up 50 pounds of crap from the living room floor) he accuses me of not taking you out enough. I know you chuckle on the inside as you fondly recall my shivering a$$ outside with you in 27 degree weather. You're twisted, Mocha. Really twisted.
You really need to try harder to get along with me or I'm going to expose you for the canine sociopath that you really are.
Very sincerely,
Lisa
