Ginger Gripes

Queen Ginger

Hello to all,

Thirteen years ago, our dog Ginger was born from peasant blood. In the six months from her birth to the day we gathered her from the shelter, she pulled Excalibur from the stone and became a bona fide queen, at least in her own mind. Although I call it gripes, Queen Ginger commands me to tell her story in her words:

Mom claimed this morning that I let a stinker out last night. I groaned over this mistaken statement that cannot go unchallenged. I am a lady of royal blood, and do not let that happen. She probably did it herself and blamed me for the convenience. More likely, is the stinky old gray face Dad snuck in while I slept and let it rip. Then, he convinced Mom to blame me.

Mom tried to starve the queen of the house out of jealousy of my royal position. Instead of feeding me herself, she sent my sister to feed me, and it was four o’clock sharp. When I complained about the lateness, Dad pointed out that my dinner time is at four. My long-standing decree has been, “If you are not fifteen minutes early on feeding me, you are thirty minutes late.”

Dad made burgers for everyone last night. I watched carefully as he pulled them from the fire. One for mom, one for sister, one for grandma, and one with extra cheese for him. None for the queen of the house. He is so cheap, he wouldn’t make a fifth burger for the most essential empress and ruler of all she sees. Plus, he is still breaking my cookies in half, despite millions of my adoring fans having told him to stop.

This concludes this quarter’s gripes from our dog, who suffered abuse from her unworthy subjects. She suffers immensely from the presence of family members refusing to accept their roles as servants and peasants under her royal authority.

Happy Independence Day,

Danny Mac