Dear Alfie

Dear Alfie,

You, my friend, are probably my favorite thing that exists in my life right now. I feel really rude calling you a “thing”, because really, you’re not a thing. You’re much more than a thing. You’re my dog, and I think you’re absolutely brilliant. To be completely honest with you, you’re kind of an idiot, but I guess it’s okay, because everyone here at home loves you. I mean, supposedly your entire breed is hard to train, but nonetheless over these past three years the biggest things I can give you credit for are going to the bathroom only in places you’re allowed to go, and promptly rolling over for a belly rub every time someone gives you the slightest amount of attention. I mean, you’re fluffy and soft and super lovable, so no one really complains that you jump on people legs desperately seeking their love as if you don’t get enough at home (which we both know is very, very, false). But you’re small, not the smallest of all dogs, but a solid fifteen pounds so you get away with it. It’s all good bud, because I love you, and I still love you even when you sleep on my pillow or in the middle of my bed. I guess it’s alright so I don’t see a need to really stop you. You do you, kid, you’ve gotten away with it this far, and quite frankly, I don’t think there will ever be a time when you won’t.