Dear Mom (or, should I call you Molly, as most teens - as I understand it - call their parents by their given names. Of course, those teens are also something called "grounded" and "put on KP duty" and "shut off from the internet" [whatever those things mean], so maybe not):
I am writing to tell you how my life is going, and to ask you some really important questions about my ancestors. I'm pretty sure that you won't get around to reading this, because you're probably tired from reading letters and notes and emails from Baxter and Cody and my sister (who's name I can't remember), not to mention those brothers/sisters stepbrothers/stepsisters you've had over the years. But, maybe some day someone will read this to you and maybe - just maybe - I'll get some answers.
Okay, first of all, how my life is going (updated on January 12, 2011): excellent.
Now, for the questions. First of all, I want to know why my fur isn't as white as snow. Now, I do remember when I was just a whelp you told me a story of a girl named "Snow White" and - silly me - i thought you were talking about me. It's a reason that for my entire 21 plus months of existence I have been looking for small men to come and take me to meet my prince...just kidding! i don't want a prince, and small men would scare me). So, I thought that my fur was going to be "as white as snow". Well, I have to say that that's one perception that was shot to h--l today (I'm too much of a nice puppy to curse, although my adopted parents don't seem quite so reluctant). We got so much snow and I was so happy to see my yard get all white and sparkly. I was so enchanted by the sparkles that I took a step outside, then two. And, I ran right back in...it was cold. But, later, I got taken outside and I just assumed that I would be lost when I was put down in the snow...you know, what with being as white as snow and all. Well! I was anything but white, when compared to the snow! I looked more brown or even black! I was so embarrassed! So, my question to you is: which one of my long-lost relatives was a black lab? I mean, since we Maltese are white, and since I'm not, it must be that I'm genetically encoded to be other than white, right? Can't be that I like to get dirty, and hate to get groomed. Must be that there's something inside of me that makes it so.
Next question: I know that my father's name is "Bunny," but is there really some sort of rabbit in our bloodline? And (side question): if there is, just how did any such member of the coniglio (that's Italian, like my favorite new treat: spaghetti) world become one of our family's progenitors? I mean the physics involved....but I digress. You see, Mom, I don't so much as run as I to hop. Like, when I go to visit the varmints under the shed (and, if I may say, what with this snow and coldness, I'm not sure that I'll be able to see them again until springtime, and so I'm not sure what I'll do with the fifteen to twenty minutes a day I've been spending hopping out to the shed, barking until I'm exhausted, then resting, then forgetting why I'm out there, then remembering that I was barking at something, then barking some more, then coming in for a nap. Maybe I'll use this extra time to refine my napping skills). There are other times that I hop, mostly when I'm outside. So, it makes me wonder whether there is some rabbit gene buried deeply within my skin. On the other hand, when people in this house try to feed me carrots, I'm not interested. So, there's that.
Third, and final, question: is there any mental illness in our family? I ask because there are times that I run round like a crazy girl. Sometimes I do it when I'm outside and have tired of chasing my green ball (love my green ball!) and sometimes I do it in the house. Like, the other night, I was tossing the zombie head up in the air and then running after it for what seemed like hours but which was really about 17 seconds. Then, for no reason that I can determine, I started tearing around the bedroom like one of those metal bunnies at the dog track (and - look! - I just thought of another reason I may have rabbit forefathers) four or five times. I mean, there are times that I wonder whether I'm wearing a hole in the carpets from this running. So, maybe one of my dozens of aunts and tens upon tens of uncles and thousands of cousins and siblings and half-siblings has a history of - um - less than normal mental issues?
So, in closing, thank you for having someone read this letter to you. And, thank you for being my birth mother. Perhaps some day, we will meet, and you'll recognize me as your little, off-white, hopping, crazy little girl.
Arf. Yip. Yip. Arf.
Izzi
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