Re: Your call for puppies Nov. 4, 2008
Dear Obama Family,
I am writing to express my interest in becoming the first puppy. As the Secret Service will probably point out during the vetting process, I am not technically a puppy, but rather a mature dog of ten years. It’s my opinion that people’s obsession with puppies is a sign of immaturity. You may not be aware of it, but there are few things more annoying than a puppy. The only thing worse is kids (I mean other than your charming girls, obviously).
Before I get off track, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I am a brown and white prick-eared dog of medium height and weight. Like yourself, President Obama, I work hard to maintain my fitness level. I swim, run and bury bones. When I dig them up after they’ve rotted nicely, I often have dirt on my nose which looks extra cute. I’m not bragging on myself, only telling you what others have said.
I am notably smart and only afraid of loud noises and cats. Even then, I’m only afraid of cats that look at me. I’m hell on the ones who run away. Excuse my language.
My early years were less than idyllic. There was no abuse, but there was precious little luxury. My people, Susan and James, raised me in a small apartment in Marpole, which is in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Marpole is no one’s idea of a classy neighborhood. Later, I was moved to Nanaimo, which is on Vancouver Island. Nanaimo is fine, but I’ve always felt destined for greater things. I have this thing I do when I’m looking for treats. I sit very proudly, puff out my chest and point my muzzle (which is sometimes cutely covered with dirt) to the sky. James refers to this my “Proud American” look, due to how noble I appear and always makes Susan come downstairs to look at me. I think you will agree that this alone makes me a candidate for First Dog.
I will be sad to leave Susan and James. James is fun and Susan is nice, but James has to wear a face mask around me (which is embarrassing to my dignity) and Susan paces a lot and sometimes curses, which makes it hard for me to sleep and I’m ready for a change.
If you are unsure whether I am the right dog for the job, please have someone in your transitional staff Photoshop the following pictures onto the White House lawn. Ask anyone. I was born to roll around on that piece of grass.
Oh, and please note that if we do venture down this road together, I’d appreciate it if the girls didn’t have too many friends over. Like I said, I’m not really a kid dog.
Sincerely,
Frank Juby-Waring, soon to be Obama.
