Low Rider

Dear Winter,

I am not a fan.

Your snowbanks are ever so high and as you can see, my legs are ever so short. The phrase for the season? Frozen balls.

The dumb one? Yeah, Shuggie?...he doesn't seem to mind your evil machinations. He's also got the benefit of being fat and furry whereas I am sleek, sveldt, built for speed and picking up sophisticated chicks at jazz clubs in Harlem.

In other words, I am not built for winter.




















See what I mean? Look at this picture! He's packed with insulating fat! He's probably contemplating how he can lure me away from my bowl and eat all my food.

He does that.

And he sticks his entire head in the snow when we go outside. I just look at him and wonder how he is allowed to go outside without his helmet and ticket for the short bus.

He just doesn't get it.

When the owner takes us on our walk, he doesn't protest at all. He just barrels ahead with his empty head and his enormous stomach.

I, on the other hand, let my displeasure be known. I will walk one block and one block only and then I sit down.

This is the signal that the owner needs to call me a cab. I am through.

Winter? You will not defeat me. And I'll be damned if I'd be caught dead in those nerdy dog bootie things. I have my pride.

I am currently investigating whether or not Petco offers a taxi service.

Sincerely,

Kirby