Dear Ms. Emily Elizabeth Howard,
I’m Scott Tungsten with the Birdwell Island Animal Safety board. It has come to our attention (and frankly I’m embarrassed that we missed this for so long) that two years ago you and your parents went to purchase a puppy. You, like any small child, picked the runt of the litter. This runt inexplicably grew into a twenty-five foot tall red dog you named “Clifford.”
Your diligent neighbor Horace Bleakman informed us of the monstrosity after your animal was chasing a ball and destroyed his rose garden, mailbox, and western half of the Bleakman home.
One errant paw and it’s over…and apparently Winnie the Pooh has a dog cousin (lower right).
Ms. Howard, there are myriad issues here I’m reasonably sure as an eight year old you haven’t addressed. Did you ever wonder how a dog grew to twenty-five feet in height? I’m sure your parents haven’t let you see “Godzilla,” but it took absurd amounts of radiation to cause that kind of size in a creature. I know you don’t want mommy and daddy being subjected to potentially lethal amounts of radiation every day, right? I mean, the damage has probably already been done, but better safe than sorry.
You make a damn sturdy fence.
I have to admit, Ms. Howard, that discovering your monstrous pet has cleared up a big (well, many big) piles of mystery. I’m sure having a freakishly huge dog to play with would be wonderful, but Emily Elizabeth, do you remember your parents house training Clifford? Your pet poops like everyone else, but he’s about fifteen times the size of us. Try to imagine how much that thing is costing Birdwell Island sanitation…now double it. It’s created a phenomenon that we here call, “An Inconvenient Clifford.”
Your local vet Dr. Dihn says your furry red friend has done some good deeds, but in all honestly Ms. Howard, we’re the board of Animal Safety. I’m not sure if you were here for this, but in 2006 we almost lost Birdwell Island to an infestation of rabbits. We would be doing the island a gross disservice if we looked the other way and Clifford got bitten by a raccoon, got rabies, and turned into a twenty-five foot, two ton Cujo. We just don’t have a workable strategy for this.
We don’t even want to know how your parents got a backpack that big, how they made it, or what they’re keeping in it.
I know you’re only eight and life seems full of wonder and magic and frog prince Ken dolls, but the reality is this Clifford is literally eating your family out of house and home. Do you know what your father or mother do for a job? Does ANYONE? Have you ever thought about how you can afford to feed a dog the size of Clifford? The sad truth, Ms. Howard, is that with the sudden downturn in this nation’s economy and no easy solution in sight, your parents asked us to put Clifford down. I lost two good men to that behemoth, but it’s finally finished.
Understandably, I realize you’ll be feeling upset. That’s why we’ve sent this letter to you at summer camp.
Birdwell Island Animal Safety Deputy
Filed under: Children's Books, comedy, Essays | Tagged: animal safety, Children's Books, clifford, comedy, Emily Elizabeth Howard, the big red dog, woody tondorf |