A personal letter to my dog, Shayna

Dear Shayna,
I have come to the conclusion that you have selective hearing, so I’m going to see if your reading would bring better results.
When I say move, in either a mild or forceful voice, it means putting your whole body someplace else, not rolling your eyes and flipping your tail.
Stairways are designed for single-person use. It is not necessary that you pass me to get to the top or bottom first. In fact, most of the time your trip is totally unnecessary.
I’d like to remind you, Shayna that you have numerous things to play with, and you should chose one in some other room when you see me headed for the bathroom.
Again, it is not necessary that you beat me there or that you are there at all. I’m not going to wash you, your facilities are out-of-doors and, if you remember, you’re scared of my electric toothbrush. I know you like my shaving cream, but when I offer it to you, your tongue is so big I have to re-lather.
Besides, though you limit your observing me coming out of the shower to quick glimpses, it’s still embarrassing. Too, there’s something about that glimpse that intimates either a smirk, vile grin, sorrow, sympathy, boredom, chuckle, comparison and/or rejection.
Shayna, when I start my back healing exercise routine on my hands and knees, don’t take me as a bridge that has to be passed under.
And, when I draw my knees up to stretch my back, you should refrain from sniffing you-know-where. It hasn’t changed since yesterday’s workout. Please limit that cold nose smelling to at least annual.
You’ve got to realize that all my trips to the kitchen are not to give you treats. The pecan pie is mine. Oh, you may get a little crust. Steak, chops, bacon, lamb, pizza, kielbasa, cookies, chili and even baked beans are man-food.
You get milk bone and Natural Choice stuff. Oh, you may get some grizzle I couldn’t chew, some fat or some dropped stuff. Though your nose is higher than my dining table, it does not have to be present three meals a day.
Shayna, I rechecked the title on my mini van. It really is mine. You may believe you can convince passers-by that it’s yours by sitting upright in the driver’s seat, but you’re fooling no one.
You and I know the only reason you’re in that seat is because it has a warmer, besides me, and is inviting in my absence.
As per your suggestion, I’m considering posting some rules for visitors. Like:
Please bring another dog with you. It doesn’t matter what gender, Shayna’s neutral.
I (Shayna) live here, you don’t. So, if you don’t want hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture or floor. That’s why they call it ‘fur-niture.?
I’ll sit when I please, so save your commands and coaxing.
Same for shaking hands, coming when called and staying down.
I’ll lick where and when I want to. I don’t blush. I make the usual animal smells, no better or worse than yours. I particularly like black clothes to shed on.
My toys are not to be admired. I chew them toward one common goal, elimination.
According to a coffee-table dog book, I’m trainable. That book was not written by a dog, so it can’t be believed.
JAS