I hate mailmen … by Jasmine

“I like to fetch the mail … and the mailman.”– Jasmine

I hate mailmen.

A lot.

I don’t know why. It’s been like this ever since I was a puppy. One postal carrier in particular really gets on my nerves. (Which doesn’t take much.) I mean, he comes by the house almost EVERY DAY.

I have to chase him away.

Sometimes I sit on top of the couch by the window so I can watch for him. As soon as I see him I begin growling and I pound on the window. (It has the paw marks to prove it.)

I bark as loudly and angrily as I can. I think he gets the hint because he goes away. But not before he puts a lot of paper into the box where I can’t reach it. (I like to chew on pretty much any kind of paper.)

I vent my frustration by tearing my teeth into something at hand … usually fabric. A tennis shoe will do. A rug is good, too. Or my favorite couch, which used to be my master’s favorite couch. When it was new. Not long before it lost its stuffing. (I like stuffing.)

I never get tired of sitting on the couch and waiting for him. Because I know he’ll be back. The people in my pack (a.k.a. a dog’s best friend) finally put a throw over the shredded sofa. Personally, I thought it looked better with the stuffing exposed.

I think they know that I won’t chew the throw because I’d get yarn in my teeth. (Don’t ask me how I know this.)

And real dogs don’t floss.

Except Spunky. Spunky will do pretty much anything his owners tell him to. Most of the time. Spunky likes the mailman. But then Spunky likes everybody. I like everybody except strangers … mostly male strangers. I can be walking along happy as … well, Spunky, … and if we encounter a strange man, I turn from gentle, mild-mannered Jasmine into Attack-Dog from Hell … teeth bared, a bark loud enough to make your ears ring, and a full-fledged aggressive pursuit slowed only by that infernal potential-stifling leash.

I’m pretty sure my blood-pressure goes through the roof.

I might even pee.

But that’s okay, because I’m o-u-t-s-i-d-e. (I’m also pretty sure my people don’t know I can spell.)

They say I have quite an attitude. Who knew? The mere sight of a stranger on the street and suddenly their sweet little pup morphs into Monster-Dog. Then they scold me and I back off, satisfied that I’ve scared yet another potential attacker away from my pack.

They don’t understand me at all. I’m just doing what a good Shetland sheep dog is supposed to do and that is protect the flock, pack or whatever.

Sometimes, I get no respect for protecting my pals. But I still get a doggie treat when we get home.  It might even be the people’s version of “animal crackers.” They’re called “People Crackers.” They come in shapes that are very familiar to me, including a police officer, a mailman and a delivery guy.

The mailman is my favorite.

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