A Letter From My Dog About His Christmas Sweater

Evie M.

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The translation is essentially: Dear Mom, what the hell? It’s not even December.

Dear Mom,

There’s something I have to tell you. You may not like it much, but I feel there isn’t a better time than now for this discussion. Listen, I know you love me, but this has been bothering me for a while.

It’s the sweaters, Mom, the GD sweaters.

When you told me you arrived on a plane to take me far from California, you warned me there would be snow in North Dakota. You prepared me, but I was still blindsided by the outfit.

You stuffed me inside this woolen monstrosity the moment we landed at the airport. Once we stepped out the doors and raced for the car idling at the entrance, I saw why.

Where I came from, every night I curled up by myself on the frozen ground, hungry and alone. It may be colder here in North Dakota, but I preferred it, still. At least I had someone to protect me. Because of this, I kept my muzzle shut and continued to wear the coat for the remainder of the season. I hoped it would get lost in the shuffle after decorations were packed up.

What is the saying you humans have?

Be careful what you wish for?

Because you’re a disorganized mess, you ended up losing the accursed thing. I thought it was my lucky day, until you brought out the new one.

The jingle bell adorned antlers are a bit much, Mom.

I only struggled for a moment before I just gave up. I even posed. You seemed so happy. I know you’ve been hurting lately. The last few weeks have been stressful for us both.

I saw the rooms emptied slowly as you prepared to move on. It reminded me of where I came from. I feared I would be alone again, that you decided to leave me, too.

The day we moved into our new apartment, I watched as you took the last of our room out our old door. You told me you would be back for me. Hours seemed to pass before you kept your word.

I allowed you to place me in that damned sweater as we left through the entrance and out into the chill November air.

I curled up on your lap and fell asleep as we drove away from your home for the last time. Once we arrived, we spent the night in each others arms.

“I thought I’d be sad,” you told me, “but I have you, Barney.”

This morning, you took me for a walk, just the two of us. When it came time to put on the sweater, I decided I’d try and be positive, unlike the day before. I’m still a little miffed my plan didn’t work. I was unaware a pee stained garment could be cleaned in a machine.

Instead, I wore it with pride, and even caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window as we passed, bells ringing. I saw you, too, watching me as I pranced.

I forgot you could smile like that.

You know, Mom, now that I think about it, I’ll keep the sweater.

I didn’t look as bad as I thought.

Your son,

Barnabus

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