Dear Indiana Jones,
(My dog. I don't think Harrison Ford is super open to my notes evaluating his performances, especially since the one for Indiana Jones & the Crystal Skull (aka, the movie that doesn't exist in the paradise of my imagination) just consists of a lot of swearing and 'come on, seriously?!')
Wait. What are we talking about?
You are indeed super cute when you bring me toys to play. This is a definite plus in this whole 'you are our dog' arrangement we have going. The way in which you convince all of our friends they kinda want dogs too is also a huge mark in your favor.
You are indeed adorable when playing. There's only two notes of possible improvement I'd like to make;
is there any way the toys we buy you could start lasting more than four days? This was a tightly braided three-weave rope toy on Sunday.
Now it's just... rope.
Frayed rope at that.
Yes, I see your point. Part of it is still braided.
Your adorable puppy growls notwithstanding, we really need to work on this. That plastic hamburger I also bought you on Sunday? There's a hole in it the size of my thumb.
Four days, dog.
Didn't even last a week.
At least the hot dog, chicken bone, and steak are all still lookin' good.
Oh, and your Wubba! You know, that supposedly awesome industrial strength toy? It came with legs, Indy.
It has no legs now.
And no head, either, for that matter. It's just a big squeaker torso. I'll admit the head part was my fault, since it looked like a rabbit.
Your energy is adorable. We loved letting you out in the yard to run and play and growl at tree branches. Which is where my other note of improvement comes from. We liked letting you out in the yard. It's why we have a fence, so you could just run around and come back in when you were ready! Good times had by all!
Then we found you in the neighbor's yard, and thought, eh he dug himself under the fence there. We'll just lay out a cinderblock or two.
That worked, for a while.
Then on Monday I found you in the back neighbor's unfenced yard, with no conceivable hole to have wiggled through. Because you 'forgot' how you got over the fence once you saw my face, I couldn't get you back over and had to carry a kitchen chair out and put it on the other side of the fence, squeeze my hands through the chain link to get your leash on, and then pull you by your leash up onto the chair, then deadlift you, then pick up the chair and get both back into the house.
That... could have gone better for both of us.
Then, the last two nights in a row, we've found you in the side neighbor's (thankfully fenced) yard when we let you out for the last time for the night. Jason had to pick you up and carry you over the fence, since once again you conveniently 'forget' how you get through the moment the people show up all troubled and panicky.
So now we go outside with you. Which seems to be troubling you, Indy, since you go sit by the back fence and wait for me to leave. When I do not leave, you give the fence a longing stare, paw at it once, and then woefully trot over to me to play.
I know what's what, little puppy.
I wasn't born in a barn, you know.
Your cuteness has no power over me.
Well... maybe a little power.
Dear Tsertsa, whose name is Russian and whose spelling I am mostly making up,
You spend your entire day eating, sleeping, drinking some water, and sleeping some more. You only seem to want to play at 3 AM when Jason and I are asleep. This sleeping offends you in some way, so it cannot be allowed.
It's okay; you are very cute, even at 3 AM.
Occasionally, when you feel you have the energy during the day, you walk carefully over to one of our laps and force your head under our hands and start to purr.
Your hints are not subtle.
On the other hand, I have never found you wandering around an unfenced yard just off a highway, even when we let you out. You just stay in the yard, and come back inside when I call.
When we call to the dog to go into his crate at bedtime, half the time you try to muscle him out of the way and go in yourself. You know where the treats come from.