Mommy's been busy reading some book written by this mutt named Enzo. I've heard her say it's called "The Art of Racing in the Rain." She seems real impressed by the fact that this canine can write. Shoot, if I thought she'd get so excited over such a thing I'd have snatched this baby a long time ago and jotted down a line or a paragraph. I mean, maybe I don't have an entire novel in me, but I'm only 2 and a half. I hear stuff like that comes with age.
It's not like I don't have my stories to tell. There's a ton of material flying around this house.
At the risk of being a tattle-tail, I can tell you that when Mommy writes sometimes she says bad words. Strings of them. Once she snapped a pencil in two. Once I heard her say that writing is for the birds, which is odd since I had no clue that birds could read. Imagine that.
I know these people love me. They say so every day. Then there's the food and water supply which just magically gets replenished by the same invisible fairy that changes the toilet paper roll. At least that's what Mom tells the kids. If the humans could only get on board with the whole outdoors = potty idea I believe their lives would be a lot easier. Poor ignorant dears.
It's time for me to dash. I hope Mommy doesn't mind the tiny drops of drool on her keyboard. There's a chicken roasting in the oven and if I'm especially cute I just know I'll charm a little of it off their plates.
PS - When Mommy's book comes out, please buy it. She looks much better when she smiles.
Very truly yours, Miley