Open letter to India Knight
Dear India,
I have looked you up on Wikipedia.
This is no more weird or stalky than Her using photographs of me to make a calendar.
At least I haven’t blown up a picture of you rolling in fox pee in the park and named it ‘Little Miss August Full of the Joys of Summer.’
Or maybe I have.
That aside, I understand that being a country of over 1.2 billion people with one of the world’s fastest growing economies and a fantastic line in spicy food must be time consuming for you.
I am amazed you find the time to write for The Times at all.
Now…Towards the end of last year you published at article entitled ‘I think I’m in love.’ It troubled me. It troubled me more than being stared at through the kitchen window by next door’s cat (it is always there – it is ALWAYS THERE.)
After reading this article I felt, for your own sake, it was of the upmost importance that I penned this open letter to you.
Like other recent open letters (O’Connor – Cyrus, Girl Called Jack - Edwina Currie etc) this has nothing to do with my own ego or my craving for attention.
Nothing to do with that.
At all.
Your best interests at heart.
Only ‘cuz I’m worried about ya kid.
Just so we’re clear.
In this article you made some rather disturbing statements about dogs:
‘Dogs… are enthusiasts. They love everything….They love grass. They love leaves (“Woah! Leaves!” they seem to say, every single time). They love sticks (“Sticks! Cooool!”). They love running and jumping and eating and having naps… and if they could talk, they would say, “Man, today is a great day,” every single day.’
Right.
Obviously we haven’t met and so I can’t expect you to be up on my own particular brand of eyebrow raised disdain for all the ‘exciting’ things you listed, and it would take me past my dinner time to address them all, so let me give you a just few pointers:
I am a dog and yet….
I do not love everything. I do not love being given a carrot as a treat (I know there is peanut butter in the fridge you selfish woman).
I have never said ‘Woah!’ in my life. The phrase died in 1991 after Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey. Let it rest in peace there.
If I could talk I would not say: ‘“Man, today is a great day.” I would be hosting my own show on BBC Radio 4.
India I could go on and on like, if you’ll excuse me, a dog with a bone. (Which I would actually be excited about. Much more excited than if presented with a stick. Or grass. Or leaves. ….Leaves? Really!?)
I think, perhaps, your misguided perception of us canines does not really come from watching your new pet pooch Brodie. You have projected these things onto him. I think it would be healthier if you were honest and admitted that in all actuality it is not Brodie but you who loves sticks. It is you who loves leaves. It is you who loves grass and using outmoded phrases from the early 90s. It is you who wakes up and thinks ‘Man, today is a great day!’ It is OK India. It is OK to be this way.
It’s not your fault.
It’s not your fault.
IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT.
I know that cultural expectations have pressured you into pretending to have a dry sense of humour and writing intelligent social commentary for newspapers when all you want to be doing is jumping up at strangers and chasing a tennis ball. But it is OK. It is OK India - you can run, you can jump, you can pee in people’s shoes if that’s what you want!
So while Brodie is shredding that Jaegar dress and plotting how he can buy things from your Amazon account (do they sell kittens?) you go out there and chase that ball/ your tail/ the postman/ your dreams. And if you come back when Brodie calls and don’t chew the tassels on the carpet when he’s out then you’ll be a Good Girl and maybe he’ll give you a treat.
Maybe it’ll be a carrot.
See how ya like that.