Dear Goddamned Dog,
This computer provides the employment that pays for your organic unicorn meat and bluebonnet petal food, your gear, your toys and your not-insubstantial vet bills.
While I appreciate that you would rather be out on a mountain somewhere, the breeze blowing your ears back as you gaze at the sky for falling squirrels, I still have to work.
It is therefore not OK for you to bang your squeaky toy against my leg as I type.
Yes, I get your message loud and clear, but the relentless “squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak” as you repeatedly shove the hedgehog into my thigh is not helping me finish my tasks. You’re bored. I get that. But you’ve got to know that you’re only slowing me down. Also, your eyes looking up at me as your plushy-stuffed mouth squishes with every contact is kind of silly-looking.
I’m starting to think we should go for a walk. You?