Ask Simple-Dog

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Simple-Dog’s Philosophy

“Keep It Simple. Love-Sleep-Repeat,” encompasses everything we do.

Our motives are simple. We love you. We go to sleep. We wake. We love you.

It’s really that simple for us.

WE also take frequent naps.

Uh oh. Letter coming in. That was fast.

It’s supposedly from a female Schnauzer named Suzi from Massachusetts.
“Dear Simple-Dog I think a male friend has grown tired of me but I’m afraid to find out if it’s true because then all those magical moments of pleasure will be just howls at the wind.”

“It’s a lot longer then that but the rest is just rehashing and re-whining.”


     First. Suzie Schnauzer didn’t write this. Some bastard beagle named Milton did. I’m a dog, Milton. You’re a dog. You think I can’t smell a difference between a male beagle and a female Schnauzer when they put their scent on something? I don’t even want to know how much road kill and rotten corn is in that cheap canned food you’ve obviously been eating if you have forgotten even the simplest of things we dog do best. Also, I’ll skip over that magical moment’s thing. There’s too much wrong there.

     I do get why you wanted to adopt a female name when writing me. You fear others in the pack you’re in may find me just like you did, and they’d know it was you due to your constant whining about “Suzi said this but I think she meant that? What do you think Suzi meant?”

Well, Milton.

     First: Acknowledge who you are. Asking for help using a lie simply defeats the ask.

     Second. I don’t know how you two came meet. Was it under an apple tree eating fermented apples and judgment was impaired? Been near any, yip, yip, bark, excuse me, medicinal plants we dogs love so much until we got dumb and let early mankind follows us to sacred spots where we ingested said plant life and traveled towards the vision of the first Great Wolves?

     Third: Add your breed sake to your name. Think of yourself as Milton Beagle. Now there’s a name you can wrap your head around. The name of a dog that takes insecurities like worrying if Suzi Schnauzer said one thing but meant another and simply trusts Suzi said what she said because she meant what she said. If she didn’t, then that’s her worry. One I assure you will come around and bite her in the ass.

     But a significant part of the reason you asked me for help is I think you’ve been listening by a door while your Rescuer mates. That can lead to the insecurities you have because we dogs don’t think your way naturally. It’s an environment acquisition.

     Listen to me. Stay away from that door! It can only lead to more foolishness on your part. If you are in someway invited in before any mating takes place, put your tail between your legs and skedaddle.

     Fourth: Get some new friends. Friends don’t worry what their friends will think. Friends have their friends’ backs, period.

     You’re Milton Beagle now so stop eating that slop that’s making your brain turn into mush and restructure your food intake by sniffing out old pizza crusts and catching a rabbit or two. It what beagle’s do. They catch rabbits. And remember, having ones back means having the ones back that has your back. It’s reciprocal, Milton Beagle. That means it comes around as it goes around. You’re welcome.


Nap time.



Here’s a letter from Gloria seeking advice.

Gloria from Pennsylvania is a female. Not some poor bastard with friends she simultaneously fears and yet seeks their companionship, like Milton

Nope, Gloria’s scent is all female

O.K. Let me read Gloria’s letter.


Here’s the shortened version. I’ll skip most of her imaginings and get to the meat of her letter as I don’t want you going to sleep on me like I almost did on myself when reading this mass of insecurities.

Gloria writes: “I used to sleep with my Rescuer. Snuggle next to her while we slept. It was heaven. Now a new, smaller dog {a poodle if you can believe that taste in dogs to snuggle with} a Poodle mixed with some other type of bloodline gets the nightly heaven and I’m locked out of the room. I sleep by the door just to hear my Rescuer breathe and the sound blankets make when she rolls over or flips her pillow to get to the cool side. Will I ever get back to my nightly heaven? It hurts, Simple-Dog. It hurts bad.”

Gloria, Gloria, Gloria. You’ll get back. But there are now 2 of your kind. I know. I know. You’re not a poodle. Big deal. So what. You’re both indoor dogs your Rescuer uses like favorite stuffed animals from her youth. It wouldn’t surprise me if when you did have the right to snuggle next to your Rescuer while she slept, you had to compete against a stuffed bear with a torn ear, Mr. Binkles, a stuffed dinosaur she won at a State Fair, and assorted pillows with dolphins painted on them.

Be that as it may. If the new dog has gained rights to your Rescuer’s bed for more than 3 weeks, you’re in deep dog doo. This is what I want you to do if you’re in that deep doo. Watch and observe. See what the poodle does that you didn’t.

Does it lick your Rescuer just below her ear when you thought she liked being licked on her cheek? Does the poodle climb in her lap and take its time settling down forcing your Rescuer to blurt out things like “Stop it Pierre. That tickles my yam yams?”

See what it is doing that you’re not. I know this will be hard, Gloria. Hard for you to believe some damn poodle named Pierre or Sophie or any distant cousin of Pepe Le Pew knows what your Rescuer likes more than you. But I guarantee that when you’re allowed back in to snuggle after doing what the poodle is doing that was different, then you’re home free. But remember, it’s going to be a three-some from now on so get over the poodle prejudice. It’s redirecting your bafflement from why and how do I fix this to blaming a French parental accident of birth.

Time to find my moose chew toy.

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