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My Dog is a Karen – Ginger’s POV


Hello everyone,


The other day I saw the neighbor talking to their cat. It was so funny to see someone talking to their cat, I went inside and told Ginger our dog about it. Ginger indicated that she wished to pronounce more complaints to you, her reading audience. She believed my skewed view of her righteous behavior gave you the wrong impression. Here is her story this month:


I stood guard over my ungrateful family ever diligently defending them from mass murderers driving trucks in the neighborhood with the most unthankful being dad. He failed to recognize the danger from the massive machine or its deranged drivers. He sent me to my room instead of adhering to my burning plea.


He brings me into the house when the new neighbors walk Bailey their dog. “He’s old, slow, and quiet,” naively quantified by the man who refused to see the danger. Only I know this unassuming demeanor covered up years of pent-up rage just waiting to explode on my family. Dad petted him like an old lost friend not knowing the wrath lurking below the surface that can take his hand off at any moment. Then, he had the nerve to call me a karen for warning him with a gentle bark of concern.


Dad relishes getting me in trouble with mom with no proof and with circumstantial evidence. The other evening while standing guard over the house from intruders I hear, “Mom, you better come down here Ginger pulled the cover of the couch again. Oh, and she also knocked the pillow off the red chair.”


I looked at dad with righteous indignation over his accusations. I was minding my own business securing this house and he had the nerve to blame me. Dad pointed at the mess as mom enters the living room. In my defense, while still staring at dad, “Both of my eyes were shut as I took a short nap. It was fine before my respite from saving my family and you blame me?”


Mom gave me the disappointed look and then put the pillow back on the chair. Then she chased me off the couch and fixed the cover. Dad stood there smiling like the devil himself. I finally recognized he found me napping and moved the cover and the pillow just to blame me. How else did it explain the cover landed on top of me when I don’t have thumbs for grabbing?


Please cast your verdict, do you think I, a sweet innocent dog, or the jealous mean-spirited dad guilty?


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God bless,

Danny Mac

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