More Open Letters

Thanks, Rachel, for inspiring me.

I was reading Rachel's post recently. She was writing about some lackluster parenting she'd seen at the pool and it reminded me of some open letters of my own that I wanted to write...

Dear Lady with the Cute Dog,

I think it's great that you don't keep your little dog cooped up in the house all day long. It seems like you take your responsibility as a pet owner very seriously.

However, I'd like to recommend that you rethink WHERE you take your dog when you want to have an outing in public places considering that when my son came toward your dog you mentioned that it likes to bite small children. Perhaps a better choice would be someplace other than the children's play area of the creek.

Or at the least you could stay with your dog instead of leaving him tied to a rock when he's only about ten feet from where my 2-year-old is playing and periodically yelling, "Mommy, me go see doggy!"

Sure, I could move my son out to the deep end where the rapids are even though he's a little shorty toddler who can't swim, but it seems more sensible to me that maybe you could take your carnivorous baby-eating canine somewhere that doesn't endanger the next generation of presidents, scientists, homemakers and manual laborers.

Thanks for your understanding.

* * *

Dear Cool Single Guy with Dog,

I know that a lot of personal ads say that women like to take long walks on the beach. Probably because of this you dress all spiffy and take your dog down to the beach when he's all duded up with a cute red kerchief around his neck. I'm certain this catches the eye of many women who think it's adorable.

Under other circumstances I might have thought it was adorable, too, until your crazed maniac dog bit my hand because I was holding a tennis ball for my OWN dog. Yes, I know he wasn't actually trying to bite my hand on purpose and that he only wanted the ball meant for my dog, but it's hard for me to listen to your explanation of that when my blood is pouring out onto the sand and your dog is smelling it excitedly.

I hope you do better with the next girl.

* * *

Dear Frail Old Lady,

Please accept my most humble apologies for my dog knocking you down flat on your back in the sand. He's a very kind and silly dog, full of life and madly in love with the tennis ball. When we throw it he doesn't take his eyes off the ball, but runs full out at about 90 miles per hour in the direction he thinks the ball will land.

Unfortunately, this particular day you were standing between him and where the ball was supposed to land. While not overly bright in many areas, my dog is a master at the physics of trajectories. Also, unfortunately, while he only weighs about 60 pounds it's more like 260 when he's running full speed. And considering you look like you weigh about 45 pounds you really were no match for him.

I'm really happy, though, that you were on the beach when this happened and not on the sidewalk or in the parking lot or I'd probably still be paying lawyer fees what with osteoporosis being so common in women your age.

Again, my apologies.

* * *

Dear Mother Who Probably Hates Me,

I'm really, really sorry that my dog plowed over your 26-pound daughter in her cute little ruffled swimsuit that was probably not meant to get dirty and wet. Also for knocking her into a small wave that happened to be coming into shore right at that moment. I was really happy, though, that there were no riptides.

In the past this hasn't been that much of an issue (except that one time with an old lady, but she turned out to be fine) but it seems like as he is getting older he is a little less careful than he used to be. Doggie dementia, I'm thinking. Please be assured that we have learned from this experience and will be more cautious in the future about where we throw the ball.

Thanks for not calling the police (although just to be sure we left the beach right away so we would have been gone before they got there anyway).

* * *

Dear Rob,

Please stop throwing the ball over my head so the dog doesn't knock me on my ass. It's not freaking funny. At all.

Love, Wendy