Jeff,
I get that you have to work. I get that you can’t leave me inside the house because I’d go through the garbage, eat the cat’s poop, etc, I get that.
What I don’t get is why you can’t build an actual fence around the yard, instead of subjecting to me to this heinous “invisible” fence, which I’m pretty sure is a violation of the Geneva Convention.
I saw the manual in recycling, Jeff: “Communicating with an insulated cable buried around your property, our patented Collar Receiver gives a gentle correction to your dog when it steps outside the designated area.” Listen to the language, Jeff. “Designated area,” ”gentle correction.” Is this our backyard or is this Auschwitz?
Let me tell you how “gentle correction” actually works, because I don’t think you’ve really seen it in action, and if you had you’d probably turn yourself over to the Hague.
Let’s say I’m in the side yard, and the UPS guy pulls up to the driveway. I mean, the fucking UPS guy. You know how I feel about that dude. He’s a cocky, key-swinging, vaping motherfucker and I can’t stand him. So I head towards him, doing my low death-metal bark. Dude sees me and drops his vaping pen cause he’s so scared. But just when I’m about to start fucking his shit up, I suddenly feel like my brain—like my mind is being tasered by three different Ghostbusters crossing their streams.
The “gentle correction” is actually an electrocution of my consciousness, Jeff. It hurts physically, psychologically, and spiritually. It attacks my very sense of being and I guarantee you it’s in violation of Article 3 of the Geneva Convention.
And what about that genetically-engineered-piece-of-shit labradoodle who baits me every morning to try to leave the yard, and every morning I fall for it? You ask why I would do that, knowing what will happen? Because I need connection, and not the electrical kind. As I reach the driveway, the collar electrocutes me and I fall to my knees like Willem DaFoe in Platoon. Through my tears, I see squirrels doubled over laughing at me from the trees. Is this what you imagined when you brought me home from Rocket Dog Rescue three years ago?
I don’t like nuclear options, Jeff—it’s not me. I don’t want to lose what we have together. Being on the couch with you watching Colbert every night… I… I live for that, dude.
But if this “fence” isn’t out of here by EOD Sunday, I’m gonna blast right through my “designated area” and take my chances in this big bad world. The “patented signal field technology” will eventually stop “gently correcting” me and soon I’ll just be another stray with painful memories of what was and what could have been.
I'll be in the side yard next to recycling this evening if you want to discuss.
Respectfully Yours,
Rusty