This is not Flash, this is Lulu. And, it's time I speak up.

Dear Mom & Dad,

This is not Flash; this is Lulu. I've been silent on this blog, but while I have this brief reprieve where I’m able to communicate, here’s a list of suggestions for you:

Ask me to move nicely. Yelling “Git!” does not endear you to me. And give me a minute or two to move. Don’t rush me.

I hate it when you touch my tail. I have always hated it. I will always hate it. And when you try to make me move faster by nudging my backside, you touch my tail with your knee. I know you know what you’re doing. That’s why I glare at you. What I’d really like to do is to bite your tail and see how you’d like it.

You eat, like, six times a day if you include snacks. What makes you think a scoop in the morning and a scoop in the evening of some dry-ass dog food is enough for me? Why do you think I’m always rooting around in the garbage and licking the kitchen floor? And don’t give me that “You need to lose weight” crap. That applies to Flash, not me.

How about this: STOP telling me I have “doggie odor” and “doggie breath.” I’m a dog!

I know you secretly like Flash better. He’s always in your lap. That lip quiver thing he does when I get close? That feral growl he has when I want you to pet me? That’s all crap. When you’re out of the house, he’s all up in my face, rubbing on me.

And what’s with the “no table scraps” rule? One time. I vomited on your carpet after you gave me a T-bone, one time. One time, and now there’s this hard and fast rule. Well, OK maybe it was more like each and every time you gave me people food, but c’mon, man. Throw a dog a bone. Literally.

Thank you for changing my name from Amy to Lulu when you adopted me. I’d like to have a T-bone for every time I went running to some lady on the playground who was calling her daughter. I show up and get shooed away. Is that fair to me? No. But, how about calling me something besides Lulu? I am not a thousand years old and wearing granny panties like most Lulu's.

I am sorry for my silent but deadly gas. Now it’s your turn to apologize.

I could find my way out of a paper bag if I had to. I’m not actually that stupid. So how about you stop repeating this? Telling them that I’m the “greatest dog ever but she couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag” is like describing a blind date as having a nice personality. Nobody needs to know about my IQ. Where do you think your intelligence level was during your Jerk Boyfriend/Girlfriend #2 phase?

That new collar you got me? I can’t lick myself very well with it on. So either you start doing it for me or lose the collar.

That is all.

Love,
Miss Lulu