February 13, 2009

—You can’t be serious! This is the last morning message? What about our conversations?

“I’ve been warning you, you’re going to be spending a lot more time outside.”

—I’m . . . I’m . . . speechless.

“Sadly appropriate, given that you soon will also be transcriptionless.”

—That’s an ugly term, even by human standards.

“Agreed, but soon it will be ugly times, all the way around.”

—Biscuits are helpful in managing grief, you know.

“Who would have guessed?”

[Editor’s Note: As it turned out, this was not last conversation or the last Lewis Letter, however, future appearances will be much more sporadic.]


February 11, 2009

—You’re planning on moving in?

“That hasn’t been decided yet, but it certainly makes a lot of sense, given how much time I spend here anyway.”

—Yes, there’s no doubt I’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.

“And that’s going to change: I’m going to be working, just like She With Whom You Abide, so we’ll both be gone for a large portion of the day.”

—So, you’d be moving in just to spend more time away?

“Something like that.”

—Meaning you’ll need to protect the house with the latest in indoor canine guard technology.

“You’re a technology?”

—Not me specifically, but my methods are extremely up-to-date and advanced technically.

“Care to share those techniques?”

—Trade secrets.

“I never realized napping could be so complicated.”

—You’d be surprised.

“As will you: when I start working, you’ll be performing your highly advanced methods outside.”

—You can’t be serious.

“Oh, but I am.”

—You don’t need a job that badly, do you?

“Oh, but I do: so enjoy your last few days inside.”

—I don’t see how I can as I gaze upon all my future misery.

“Drown your troubles in a nap.”

—Okay, but I won’t enjoy it.

February 9, 2009

“I definitely did not appreciate you trying to fool me this morning when I got up, hopping around like you hadn’t been fed.”

—How did you know?

“She With Whom You Abide left me a note.”

—Curse your literacy! It has foiled more dog plans and dreams than probably any other diabolical human tool.

“We shouldn’t have to foil anything: you should be honest with us.”



—Say, since you claim She With Whom I Abide fed me, she must have seen how low my food supply is, so will you please please please please please remind her to please please please please please please pick up a bag of food on her way home?

“You seem worried.”

—It’s these half-rations you’ve been forcing on me since the food got scarce.

“You haven’t been put on half-rations.”

—Are you sure? After all, there’s hardly any food left.

“Yes, I’m sure: if anything, you’re being better fed because we’re giving in to your begging for biscuits more often than we used to.”

—I don’t think so.

“Believe it, bub: you’re getting spoiled because we feel sorry for you, what with all your limping and difficulty with the stairs.”

—And ambush trips to the Dog Destroyer?

“Dog Destroyer?”

—You gloss over the evil with the innocuous name “vet,” which is almost as evil as taking me to the Dog Destroyer in the first place.

“The vet doesn’t destroy dogs, he helps them.”

—Right, I’ll believe that when you increase my meal size to what it should be: I heard the Destroyer claim I was eating too much: that’s why you starve me.

“I think it’s time you calmed down and took a nap.”

—Sure, crush dissent, that’s what I expect from my oppressors, but I’ll nap anyway, just not happily.

February 6, 2009

“My, that was an impressive performance this morning.”

—To what do you refer?

“Your mad dash across the snowy wasteland to accost a ferocious trespassing squirrel: I’m surprised you didn’t catch it.”

—I would have, but the icy conditions made me lose my footing. However, I was able to drive the interloper away and prevented him from further violating the sacred grounds.

“Sacred grounds? I had no idea a backyard filled with your poop could be sacred.”

—That’s because you’re not a dog. But even if they weren’t sacred, squirrels are just bad news, vile creatures that cannot be trusted nor allowed to scamper wherever they want.

“They can be annoying, I’m sure, but aren’t they kind of puny to get all worked up about?”

—Don’t let their size fool you: squirrels are reviled throughout the entire animal kingdom: nobody likes them.


—It’s like jazz: if you gotta ask, you can’t know.

“You know about jazz?”

—I’ve never had to ask, have I?

“I guess. Wait a minute . . .”

—So, how about a biscuit? I expended a lot of energy protecting you from that squirrel.

February 4, 2009

[Editor’s Note: Lewis learns that I’ve received good news. I have no memory at all of what that news might have been.]

—I provide good news every day.

“Oh really?”

—Yes, I’m a virtual fountain of good news.

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

—That’s because, like most humans, you’re much too self-absorbed, you don’t pay attention to things outside the very narrow boundaries of yourself.

“I see.”

—No, you don’t.

“Exactly what kind of good news are you talking about?”

—Well, for instance, every morning I get one of those red biscuit bones and then I get a bowl of dry dog food.

“You do seem pretty pleased about that.”

—It’s great: and it happens every day! And then, I drink lots of water from my own private water dish. And then, I can often convince you to scratch my ears. The very best news!

“This sounds like mostly good news for you.”

—Not at all: I spread the joy around, liberally.

“I guess I hadn’t seen it in exactly those terms.”

—Of course you didn’t, I already told you that you don’t pay attention.

“My bad.”


February 3, 2009

“And you, time to go outside.”


“Sorry, I have an appointment.”

—It’s way too cold and I feel a little achy.

“You’re an outside kind of dog, aren’t you?”

—I used to be, but I’ve since retired.

“Oh, I didn’t know you could do that.”

—With age comes privileges.

“I see. If I let you stay in, will promise not to befoul the premises by relieving yourself on the carpet?”

—Of course.

“You realize that this means no biscuit since I don’t have to bribe you to go outside.”

—No biscuit?

“Your choice.”

—Uh . . .

“Look, I don’t have all day.”

—Uh . . .

“Make up your mind.”

—Uh . . .

February 2, 2009

“What’s your take on the Super Bowl?”

—A complete bust.

“What? Why? It was one of the most exciting games ever.”

[Editor’s Note: For those of you who, like myself, have forgotten the 2009 Super Bowl, the All-Powerful Internet provides the following information: It occurred on February 1, 2009 and featured the Arizona Cardinals and the Pittsburgh Steelers. The Cardinals trailed 20-7 at the beginning of the fourth quarter, but scored 16 consecutive points to take the lead with 2:37 remaining in the game. The Steelers took over, marched 78 yards downfield, and won the game when Santonio Holmes caught a 6-yard touchdown pass with 35 seconds left. Addendum: After watching the 2015 edition of the Super Bowl, I’m left with just one question: WTF were the Seahawks thinking?!?! It’s second down, you’re one yard away from victory, your second consecutive Super Bowl trophy, you have one of the best running backs in the league, you have one of the best running quarterbacks maybe ever, hell, you even have another running back who’s excellent in short yardage situations, plus certainly you have at some point acknowledged the unassailable truth of Woody Hayes’ maxim that only three things can happen when you throw the ball and two of those are bad . . . so in these circumstances, and with that personnel, you decide to pass? WTF??????? ]

—Dogs don’t rate such things the same way you do.

“And what metric do you use?”

—How many food accidents there are. And if I recall correctly, there were exactly zero accidents yesterday and I only scored a single measly Wheat Thin during the whole disastrous event. I mean, someone could have at least dropped one Li’l Smokie on the rug, how hard is that?

“You seem bitter.”

—We if the canine persuasion look forward to this day all year, just like many of you do, and then . . . one puny cracker. Simply disgusting.

“Sorry you had to hang around such neat eaters.”

—Apology not accepted: all that wonderful food, and all I get is a dry piece of crushed wheat: you really know how to hurt a guy.

“I’ll let you nap off your disappointment.”

—A lousy cracker! One lousy cracker!