Ruff, ruff, ruff ruff. Grrr. Woof, woof, woof. Grrrrrrrr. Arooooooh. Growl. Woof. Woof. Bark. Howl.
*For human translation of this post, click extended entry.
This is difficult to express, and I felt I might better find the proper words for my feelings by writing them down. I think we both know what this is about, so I won’t tip-toe around the matter any longer. This has gone on for too long already.
You have to stop shitting on my floors. Period.
It’s gross and it’s frustrating. You’ll be outside for an hour, then you bark to get back in. Almost as soon as you set your paws inside the house, you take a big healthy looking dump.
I know you think that because I’m a vegetarian and a pacifist that I’m basically a wimp. Well, think again, Mr. Cockapoo. You ain’t never caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine. *hip twist*
So, don’t doubt for a minute that I will eat your liver with farva beans and a nice bottle of chianti ala Hannibal Lector next time I have to step over a turd on my carpet.
Thank you for your kind consideration of this matter,