While I was on vacation last week, my dog wrote my column that runs in The Source Weekly. The lesson here is to never give your dog artistic license or access to a keyboard. Here’s what got published in my absence…
Right, Jean Ciampi is on vacation and I am incarcerated. She’s seeing the world, meeting new people, and going to fantastic places. And I have been relegated to the kennel. Dog jail. The big house. The slammer. I feel like I should join a dog gang and get a tattoo. I’m on the inside now, and it’s a dog-eat-dog world here. Okay, eating dog would be kind of cannibalistic, which is gross even for dogs that are willing to graze in the litter box. So forget that last part. Let’s just say it’s rough here.
I’m a good dog, for all it’s gotten me, which obviously wasn’t a dog-sitter. I do the right things, like bark at cats and sleep in the sun. I’ve never eaten a shoe, disrespected the furniture or compromised the carpet. Okay, there was one time I lost control of bodily functions after the neighbor fed me half a pan of lasagna, but that was hardly my fault. And no one felt worse about that than I did. Really. I mean that.
For some reason, though, I have been sent to the kennel while they all go out of town. Do they not realize that I have no concept of future time? For all I know, they’ve left me forever. They’re never coming back, and I’m facing a lifetime now of all-night bark-fests from the beagle next door whether I like it or not. It’s not as if they left a copy of the itinerary taped up inside my cell here.
They didn’t exactly read me my Miranda Rights or give me my one phone call when I got here, either. They didn’t even offer me a lawyer assigned by the courts should I not be able to afford one myself, which I can’t because I’m a dog. I got a bath and the once-over by the vet, then into solitary. Therefore, my only recourse is to make a cry for justice here with this column! FREEEEEDOM! For dogs everywhere!
So, yeah, have fun on your trip, family. Don’t worry about me here, locked up and alone. I’m just the dog, you’re supposed best friend. Nope, don’t feel guilty. Just remind me to bite you when you get back. Love, Buster.