Good Day, Dog.
You probably know me. I’m Max Knoblauch, I live in that room across the street from your yard. I’m writing to ask you the simplest of favors:
SHUT THE HELL UP OR I WILL KILL YOU.
I’m sorry, maybe that was harsh. I should explain myself. You bark for literally 23 hours a day. You bark when I sleep, you bark when I wake. I leave the room to your barking, I come back: still barking.
I’ve tried yelling at you. I’ve tried drowning you out in basically every sound more appealing than your barks: music, breaking glass, car alarms, horrifying animal-like shrieks of pain; you name it. It doesn’t work. Your bark is probably close to the decibel level of a rocket launch, or a school bus backfiring three centimeters away from my ear canal. There is not a sound in this universe that I enjoy less than your barking. Everything else is soothing to my ears in comparison.
You may be thinking, why ask this in writing? Why not do the respectable thing, and walk up to the fence and ask this face to face; mano y dogo? Well, dog, I chose this option for many reasons. Namely, because you are a German Shepherd. But not only a German Shepherd. A German Shepherd that appears to have been cross bred with some kind of large bear, or possibly a lion, or a mastodon.
Your head is bigger than my printer, and you scare me.
Another reason I chose the written format is because I’d like to avoid confrontation with you, dog. I don’t want to walk all the way over there, only to get into some kind of macho pissing contest with you. I’ve seen the way you piss. You piss for what seems like days. Onto the side of your own house, no less, you Neanderthal. No, I’m not walking over there. I’m staying right here in my room, and writing you this goddamned letter.
Do you understand what your barking does to me? Do you know that I haven’t had to set an alarm clock for 5 months, because you wake me up every day at 5:30 a.m.? Do you realize that I watch you from across the street, my 50-caliber sniper rifle scope following you as you gleefully prance around your 5ft by 5ft patch of grass, oblivious to the fact that you spent the last 36 hours continuously barking? You selfish, stupid, clueless bastard.
Now, I love dogs. I do. Don’t think that I’m some kind of anti-dog person. I don’t think that’s a type of person that even exists. If I had to choose a favorite type of dog, I’d probably go with puppies. So now you can’t dismiss me as some kind of psycho that just hates dogs. And I’m sure you personally aren’t all bad. Just to keep this from becoming a hate-filled rant, I will say that you have a beautiful coat of fur. Your fine, slick coat of mahogany fur puts my blonde hair to shame. Unfortunately, if you continue your barking, I’ll have to forcibly take that fur, and sew it into some kind of coat. It’s probably too much for a coat. Maybe a coat, a rug, and a car cover for my Stratus.
In conclusion, dog, I feel writing this has been healthy for me. Maybe you aren’t as bad as I previously thought. Maybe I’ll be able to find the humor in the situation, and grow to love your barking. Or, maybe you’re a demon sent from the depths of hell to taunt me and only me and I’ll hate you for the rest of my life. Who knows, right?
Thank you for your time and compliance,