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The Ghoulish Guidance Archive
Dear Spiffy,
My name is Beatrice. I am an 8 year old miniature Schnauzer and I live across the street from you. I've wanted to ask you this for a long time and I think this is the safest way to do so: Why do you want to kill me?
-Beatrice
Dear Beatrice,
Woof! Wah-wah-woo!
-Spiffy
TRANSLATION:
Dear Beatrice,
I'm so glad we finally have a chance to clear the air. Please don't take this personally, but it's your voice; it's like fingernails on a chalkboard and it works my nerves. I don't really want to kill you, but I would like to remove your vocal cords, and eat the livers of your human guardians. I'm right there with you on the UPS driver and the mail man, but do you think, perhaps, that you could refrain from barking at falling leaves and rain? Or, at least, lower the pitch of your voice? (I know a wonderful vocal coach who can help you.) I realize that it's not entirely your fault that you're sent outside at an obscenely early hour of the morning -- every day -- but it is solely your decision to make a racket that could raise the dead. (Not that that's a bad thing.) Not everything is a dire emergency, Beatrice. Not everything requires the immediate attention or assistance of every living creature within a three-mile radius. I was ruthlessly reprimanded for jumping over the fence when I heard what I perceived as your call for backup, and Ghoulfriend said she'd tan my hide if I did it again. She has told me to ignore small dogs because "they have nothing important to say." I believe she is correct. The content of your frequent outbursts is very often merely gossip and rarely worth repeating at the top of your lungs, particularly at 6 AM. Instead of continuing your stint as the town-crier, please consider publishing a weekly newsletter. Thanks.
-Spiffy
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