I’m Your Dog, Not Your Child

I get it. You want children but haven’t found the right person yet. It’s not you; it’s them. It’s always them.

But that doesn’t mean I can become your fur baby. Your little beauty boy. I’m a damn dog. You know, the one you ripped away from his parents when he was just a pup. Only eight weeks old!

I don’t want to be dressed up in little dog clothes. Do you know how embarrassing it is when we go for a walk and I see that cute little pug from down the street and I’m in a poncy puffer vest? I worked hard to build these muscles—let me show them off.

Speaking of muscles, I like to be fit and run around. What I don’t like is being crammed into a handbag and paraded as an accessory. The other dogs see this. They mock me. They think I’m too fat to walk. If you wanted a handbag dog, then you should have gotten a smaller breed.

I don’t need to go to the designer doggy care place. I don’t want a fresh hipster haircut. Shaggy is my look. And stop washing my ass! How am I supposed to pick up the local bitches when I smell like fancy shampoo. It’s a huge turn-off. And don’t get me started on the stupid “pawdicure.” My nails look ridiculous now.

You know, dogs survived a long time without phones. And we don’t have social media. So delete that Instagram account you made for me. I don’t need followers. I don’t like being photographed like I’m a Kardashian. Is that why you buy these ridiculous outfits for me? For Instagram likes?

I’m a male dog. You know that, right? Of course you do—you cut off my balls when I was still a baby. One hump of the couch and off they went. I was just young and experimenting. Anyway, as a male dog, I have a deep voice. My bark is loud and proud. So stop imitating me and using a little cute baby voice. That sounds nothing like me! It’s literally the worst impression you can do. If you insist on putting on a doggy voice, at least make it sound a little like me.

Child labor is illegal, right? So why is animal labor okay? Why do you treat me like a performing clown? Shake hands. Roll over. This ain’t a circus! Your friends come over and I become cheap entertainment. A dog treat for a trick. That’s below minimum wage. Dogs were getting that 100 years ago, and the pay hasn’t changed. Either cough up more treats or forget the America’s Got Talent shtick.

Oh sure, I like having my belly rubbed, but not so you can laugh when my legs move like I’m riding a bicycle. It’s a reaction I can’t control, and to be honest, it’s embarrassing. It stings when you laugh and makes me not want to get my belly rubbed.

I just want to be treated like a regular, average, everyday dog. A good boy. Not like your surrogate child.

If you wanted that, you should have just bought a cat. They love thinking they are human.

Idiots.