Another Dood demands equal time

Dear readers,

When my dog, Hank, found out that John Cullen wrote about his granddog, Wrigley, he demanded equal time in print. I said no, but he whined and he howled until I gave in. My apologies. I am not responsible for the following content.  — Joan Zwagerman

Dear Mr. John:

I pass by your house most days with She Who Feeds and Walks Me, and even though you love Wrigley, your granddog, I think that you also like me. Just because you spent two weeks with Wrigley in Indiana doesn’t mean you won’t still say hi when I pass by, right? I mean, I don’t have doggrandparents, so I’m feeling a little unsure of where I sit. Sit? Why, yes, I will.

I love Storm Lake, and when we get to the parks, well, let’s just say that it’s a dog’s paradise. So many trees! She appreciates how the parks department provides dispensers with little green bags. She’s always bending down and collecting my doo-doo. Sometimes I want to bark at her: “Hey, I was gonna eat that!” She’s a fun hater.

Some days we walk through Chautauqua Park and hear the pah-tonk, pah-tonk of the pickleballers, but I never see or smell any pickles. Some days there are kids on the soccer practice area, and sometimes She chases a stray ball for the kids, but she can’t throw worth a damn — er, darn. I’m four, technically an adult, but She would like me to keep it clean. I love all human beings, Mr. John. I think She has mentioned this to you and Mrs. Mary. I think She tells everyone. I like your species better than my own sometimes, although when I met Wrigley in July, she and I sniffed each other’s undercarriage and hindquarters with mutual admiration, so she’s “good people” in my book.

This summer, there was a food truck in the park, and She keeps saying She wants to try it, but She never has any money when we go to the park. If She could understand me, She could see that I’ve reminded her with one of my looks, but She’s not that bright, truth to tell. Maybe you can talk to Her. I can’t get anywhere with Her.

We usually go around the big shed and then walk past the basketball court, and you should see Her try to throw back an errant basketball. Hilarious. I feel sorry for Her. I’m glad She has me to help Her out in life. I don’t know how She’d make it otherwise.

Of course, I always want to go to the play equipment and say hi to the little kids, but She tells me that some little kids might be scared of me. Scared of me? They haven’t even met me yet. Like I said, She’s not too bright.

Some kids have told Her, “You have such a cute dog!” I am a fine-looking specimen. Even though Wrigley and I don’t look similar, we are both mini-Golden Doodles. I don’t have Wrigley’s  poodle-y hair. I have my mom’s Golden Retriever waves, and She says I have my dad’s crazy behavior, only She uses bad words when She talks about it. Well, I can’t help that I love every second of every minute of life, and any time I see a person, I can’t contain my joy. She should be so joyful. Instead, She yells at me if I scoot my butt on the rug.

I’ve taken enough of your time, Mr. John. Say hello to Mrs. Mary who loves to see me, even if I am overly joyful.

Maybe I’ll check in again sometime. I’ll look at my schedule. I’m busy walking three times a day and taking five naps and in between that, I’m begging for carrots and popcorn.

Hank the Dog

P.S. Let me know when Wrigley’s back in town.