Dear jagoff who left his dog in the car while he went skiing at Smuggs on Sunday,
First, let me say that you are a jerk and I rue the day you were born. Secondly, I wish that something wretched befall you, like rickets or anal fissures. I would say I wish unemployment and foreclosure on you, but then you’ll get a sliver of the economic stimulus package, part deux, and I don’t want you to get anything because if you’ve forgotten, I hate you.
This is a jagoff.
It’s possible that you don’t know to what I am referring, so I will kindly refresh your memory because I’m nice like that. On Sunday, it was spitting rain and generally pretty junky weather, so my friend Macmo and I decided to go snowboarding at Smuggs. I love nothing more than slushy runoff when I’m riding, so Sunday seemed like a great day to head to the mountains.
As we pulled my sick Pontiac Vibrator into the upper parking lot, we saw you, in your oversized black ski jacket and saggy pants, throwing a stick for your lovely little yellow Lab. I thought it odd at the time that a dog would be up at the ski resort and I mentioned it to Macmo. He was too busy brushing his long blonde hair to hear what I said so I let it rest. Perhaps you worked at the mountain, I said to myself, and you were bringing your dog along with you. Awww, how sweet.
After Macmo and I got beautiful and were ready to shred the gnar, we saw you walking away from your stupid champagne-colored Toyota RAV-4, sans dog. I growled to Macmo that that dog better not be in the car. But just as I said that, the pooch popped up from the backseat and I could see his head through the window. My blood began to boil. My eyes bugged out. I might have given myself a hemorrhoid from the strain. I couldn’t believe someone would leave their dog in the car on a 30-degree day while they went skiing.
I reasoned that maybe you would just take a few turns and then rescue the dog from his vehicular cage. That let me enjoy the day of ice riding with Macmo without worrying about whether or not your dog was cold, thirsty, sad, lonely, etc.- all the things you might be if some b-hole left you locked in a car for hours. When Macmo and I returned to the parking lot more than four hours later, I saw your car and started seething. You didn’t just take a few quick turns, unless you’re the world’s worst skier. You were out there the whole day, scraping all the decent snow off the runs as your eked your way down the hill.
I made Macmo go check your stupid car to see if the dog was still in there. He gave me a nod and I lost it. All I could think of was the story of the World’s Worst Dog Owner, the Montreal man who left his poodle, Michou, in his car in the Burlington Airport parking lot for three weeks in January. The dog didn’t eat or drink for 19 days and was at death’s door when Burlington Animal Control found him. The Canuck gave up custody of the dog and if I was mistress of the universe, I would demand that you do the same. You, sir, are a disgrace. If that sweet yellow Lab could talk, he’d say the same thing. And he’d probably say that I was awesome and that my car had mad steez.
So I suggest that if you’re one of the three people who reads this blog, you would take the following advice- unless your dog can ski or snowboard (preferably wearing doggles and a helmet) leave him at home. And if he can’t be left alone because he’ll pee all over your shantytown apartment, then maybe you shouldn’t go skiing. Or maybe you just shouldn’t have a dog in the first place.
