All in all, we think the doggies in this video are overly paranoid, obsessed with pee, poop, and their own anatomy, or lack thereof, and are tragically misguided in their interpretation of human behavior. For example, Joey dog and I don't agonize over whether or not our humans are constipated. From the odors that waft from the bathroom at times, we are sure they are not.
Although we two doggies are mostly happy with our lives—cocker spaniels are basically a merry lot—and we love our dearest humans, we are not totally without our own worries and fears. So, in the spirit of the dreary, hopeless, pessimistic tone of the video, we’re going to try to make up our own "Sad Dog Diary." Here goes:
Dear diary: Every time our dearest humans go out this door, we fear they might not return. We try to cope with the loss by doing what our ancestors did: whine pitifully, and then revert to howling like a pack of coyotes. We continue with this behavior until they return, or until we get tired and take a nap, whichever comes first.
Dear diary: Today I got into the garbage and ate some old leftover food. I don’t know what it was. I’m afraid my dearest humans will now dose me with medicine because my allergies will flare up and make my ears smell like a “stinky old dog.” I worry that the fact that I am an old dog might not bode well for me at the next vet visit. I will now chew my toe nails to cope with the stress.
Dear diary: Did he say vet?
Dear diary: My dearest humans think I’m weird because I sleep on my back. I’ve tried to explain to them that sleeping on one’s back is a sign of dominance, meaning I have nothing to fear when I expose my soft, pink underbelly. But they insist on taking photos of me while I’m sleeping. They then post them on the internet for their friends to laugh at.
Dear diary: In order to get in some private squeaky toy play time, I have to do it in hiding. My greedy and unreasonable colleague Chester L. W. Stephens thinks that all squeaky toys in this house are his. Personally, I think he is rather infantile in his squeaky toy obsession. As the senior cocker spaniel here, I know I shouldn’t have any interest in squeaky toys. But still, I just can’t resist sneaking them occasionally.
Dear diary: I worry about the snow melting. Dearest humans might be appalled by the sheer number of doggie poops that will be revealed in the back yard when the snow is gone completely, and then decide I need to go on a diet because I eat too much and poop too much. I love to eat.
Dear diary: I have been told that I have ghosty spots on top of my head that look like a Japanese forest spirit. This makes me quite paranoid and fearful it will try to take over my doggie brain. I don't want to live in a tree.
Dear diary: My dearest humans spend a lot of time watching the news on TV that’s all about the national debt and raising taxes. I’m afraid they will become so concerned about the government taking all their money that they might decide not to buy doggie treats anymore. What good is life without doggie treats?
Oh, we almost forgot: here is the link to the video, in case you’re wondering now. Please let us know if our sad dog diary is better than the original. (I think we nailed it.) And that’s a memo.