Well, Pops, I was plannin’ to spend my weekend proofreadin’ my wiener letters, ‘cuz I really am QUITE concerned about the purity of the dogfood supply. But some lady named Irene is havin’ a catfight with Mother Nature, ‘n’ Tommy Lee has canceled all leaves for any agents east of the Mississippi. I am on SUPER DUPER red alert for the next three days, ‘n’ that means I gotta patrol 24/7, on the lookout for hail hurtlin’ a hunnert-miles-an-hour outta the sky.
That’s pretty excitin’, but I sure don’t wanna lose the momentum of my letter-writin’ campaign, either. Oh, gosh, I’m bein’ pulled in many, many different directions! Who to save first? Wiener eaters or the innocent civilians caught in the vortex of Irene ‘n’ Mother Nature’s hissy fit?
I was gonna hide my weekend assignment from Mom, ‘cuz she really has enough stuff to worry about, ‘n’ Canyon Trail most THANKFULLY don’t lie smack in the middle of that irritable Irene’s path. But when Mom come home from that EWP tonight, her lovely brow was furrowed quite deeply in concern for that Bryan Guy.
Seems that Uncle Bob, havin’ nothin’ better do, went trollin’ on the Internet, ‘n’ discovered that the evacuation zone in New York City is only a coupla blocks away from that Bryan Guy’s address, ‘n’ he immediately informed Mom that her boy was smack dab in the middle of the projected path of destruction. So Mom just as immediately dashed off an email to that Bryan Guy, instructin’ him to rent a car ‘n’ come back to Ohio to sit out the storm.
That Bryan Guy just told her to get a grip on reality. He’s many many feet upstream from any POSSIBLE storm surge, ‘n’ ‘cept for the possibility of a power outage (‘n’ the fact that the subways has been shut down for the weekend), he really don’t expect to be affected at all.
“Oh, Louie,” Mom groaned as she give me a big hug, “my baby boy is in danger, ‘n’ he won’t listen to reason. Whatever shall I do?????”
Well, thanks to the MIB, I’m trained to handle emergencies like this, ‘n’ I told her we needed to round up all our candles ‘n’ extra batteries ‘n’ Band-Aids ‘n’ Little Buddy III ‘n’ my secret stash of Milkbones ‘n’ FedEx ’em to that Bryan Guy overnight so’s he properly provisioned for the impendin’ emergency.
“Why, Louie,” Mom said, very, very touched, “that’s quite generous of you to sacrifice your Milkbones!” ‘N’ she give me another teary-eyed hug.
“Well, shucks, Mom, it’s the least I can do,” I said modestly.
” ‘Specially since the backlash of Irene could knock out our power, too, ‘n’ close all our grocery stores ‘n’ leave us short of Milkbones, too,” Mom pointed out.
“OK,” I said hastily, “we leave out the Milkbones, but we’ll send him all our batteries ‘n’ a flashlight, too!”
“Oh, Louie,” Mom said, “I knew I could count on you!”
‘N’ she immediately dashed off to gather provisions to send to that Bryan Guy.
Which is what she’s doin’ now, while I prepare to patrol the perimeter. Canyon Trail isn’t supposed to be hit very hard — IF you can believe the weatherman, who never gets nothin’ right — but after our ominous earthquake earlier this week, I’m pretty certain that the weather in the whole eastern half of the United States has been broke, ‘n’ there’s gonna be great destruction in our immediate future. I may have to deputize the entire gang down at the dog park to get us through this crisis, ‘cuz you know, humans aren’t the least bit capable of handlin’ things like millennial floods ‘n’ hurry-canes. I am just exceedin’ly happy that you’re out in California, ‘n’ I don’t haveta worry about YOUR safety, too!
So I’m gonna sign off now ‘n’ as soon as Mom’s done stuffin’ her care package into a West Point Market bag, I’m gonna run it out to the curb for pickup, ‘n’ then I’m gonna pace, pace, pace all night long. ‘Cuz there’s somethin’ electric in the air, ‘n’ I can feel a dreadful storm comin’. I only hope the Ents can keep the oak trees in line, ‘cuz I’ll have my hands full keepin’ MOM in line.
Gosh, if it isn’t ONE thing, it’s another.
You gotta come home soon, Pops, so YOU can take charge of these catastrophes ‘n’ I can go back to chasin’ chipmunks ‘n’ just bein’ a dog.
Your most overtaxed,
Louie.
P.S. Say, Pops, you don’t really think that Bryan Guy’s in danger, do you? ‘Cuz Mom would be MOST devastated if he drowned!
Letters From Louie 
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