I’m Your Dog, Not Your Child

I get it. You want children but haven’t found the right person yet. It’s not you; it’s them. It’s always them.

But that doesn’t mean I can become your fur baby. Your little beauty boy. I’m a damn dog. You know, the one you ripped away from his parents when he was just a pup. Only eight weeks old!

I don’t want to be dressed up in little dog clothes. Do you know how embarrassing it is when we go for a walk and I see that cute little pug from down the street and I’m in a poncy puffer vest? I worked hard to build these muscles—let me show them off.

Speaking of muscles, I like to be fit and run around. What I don’t like is being crammed into a handbag and paraded as an accessory. The other dogs see this. They mock me. They think I’m too fat to walk. If you wanted a handbag dog, then you should have gotten a smaller breed.

I don’t need to go to the designer doggy care place. I don’t want a fresh hipster haircut. Shaggy is my look. And stop washing my ass! How am I supposed to pick up the local bitches when I smell like fancy shampoo. It’s a huge turn-off. And don’t get me started on the stupid “pawdicure.” My nails look ridiculous now.

You know, dogs survived a long time without phones. And we don’t have social media. So delete that Instagram account you made for me. I don’t need followers. I don’t like being photographed like I’m a Kardashian. Is that why you buy these ridiculous outfits for me? For Instagram likes?

I’m a male dog. You know that, right? Of course you do—you cut off my balls when I was still a baby. One hump of the couch and off they went. I was just young and experimenting. Anyway, as a male dog, I have a deep voice. My bark is loud and proud. So stop imitating me and using a little cute baby voice. That sounds nothing like me! It’s literally the worst impression you can do. If you insist on putting on a doggy voice, at least make it sound a little like me.

Child labor is illegal, right? So why is animal labor okay? Why do you treat me like a performing clown? Shake hands. Roll over. This ain’t a circus! Your friends come over and I become cheap entertainment. A dog treat for a trick. That’s below minimum wage. Dogs were getting that 100 years ago, and the pay hasn’t changed. Either cough up more treats or forget the America’s Got Talent shtick.

Oh sure, I like having my belly rubbed, but not so you can laugh when my legs move like I’m riding a bicycle. It’s a reaction I can’t control, and to be honest, it’s embarrassing. It stings when you laugh and makes me not want to get my belly rubbed.

I just want to be treated like a regular, average, everyday dog. A good boy. Not like your surrogate child.

If you wanted that, you should have just bought a cat. They love thinking they are human.

Idiots.

About the author
I've been to 105 countries, and I'm allowed back to many of them Follow Ash on Instagram or read more articles from Ash on Thought Catalog.

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