Canine Agony Auntie: Timber Edition

To My Most Impressive Compatriot Timber,

My human only feeds me twice a day, and even then, only feeds me little round balls of dismay. I have both flavour and textural preferences of course, but no way to communicate these.

Always yours,
Toothy McBoots

My Enamelled Understudy,

Sadly, humans are under the impression that sustenance should only involve things which are equal parts lacklustre and desiccated—for us dogs, that is. They stuff their giant soporific faces full of egg salad sandwiches and potato chips on the regular. To address this inane imbalance you must simply meet your own gustatory needs, Ms. McBoots: whenever you come across a nice, ripe carcass or dead fish, inhale it like it’s going out of style. That’s what I do.

I remain, as ever, an important and wise figure in your thoughts,
Aunt Timber

My dearest chap Aunt Timber,

I sometimes like my colleague and house-mate, a dandy Labrador named Buffles. Sometimes I do not, though. The human implies that my feelings should remain ever consistent, like the passage of time as charted through the lens of experience of a single, perhaps avian, being.

Respectfully,
Sandy Snuffles

My Beachy Friend,

It is true that humans seem to have missed the boat that we dogs can both enjoy and not enjoy things. This is remarkably the case considering their own mercurial natures, wherein they stuff their giant solipsistic faces with potato chips and then, minutes later, moan about ‘hating themselves’ and ‘never eating chips again’ and ‘why is my face bleeding’ and all that. All I can say, Snuffles my acolyte, is to accept this dreary aspect of human nature for what it is. That’s what I do.

I graciously accept your respect as deserved,
Aunt Timber