A letter from Brizzy (translated from Bark and possibly slightly anthropomorphized):
Dear Mom,
You’re weird. What is it with this ‘Jog’ command? You go too fast for me to sniff all the p-mail in the neighbourhood and too slow to really stretch the legs. You don’t chase balls. You don’t even chase birds. And then you start telling me numbers. “3 more minutes, then you can have a sniff break.” I’m a dog mom! Numbers don’t exist. Unless I’m counting how many treats you give me. You may not believe me, but it’s true. I count treats every time you give them to me and they number Not Enough.
But back to this Jog business. I don’t think you really know what you’re doing. You make it so complicated. Let me simplify it for you:
Chase the bird! Chase the ball! Chase the ----oooooh! Why hello to you too, 3 year old Bailey. Thank you for the p-mail. Allow me to respond in kind.
Don’t feel too bad, Mom. Just follow me and I’ll show you how it’s done. Try to keep up, please. And throw more balls. They’re motivating!
Love,
Brizzy
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