Dog You Got During Quarantine Has Some Fucking Questions About Why You’re Job Searching Again

Dear Mom,

I think it’s time we have a chat. 

Yeah, I know

You think I don’t notice, but I always do. You are getting out of bed early to rush to your computer, stumbling home in your sexy-yet-sensible ‘fit every afternoon, rushing to your phone every time you get a little blue notification. It wasn’t until I began pondering “what kind of a fuckboy name is LinkedIn?” that I figured out the truth. You weren’t engaging in romance, you were engaging in something far more toxic, sinister even: the job market. Frankly, the only thing you should find surprising about this confrontation is that I’m typing this without thumbs. 

I know you’ve been depressed, but the last year and a half have been the best days of my life. I got couch cuddles during movies, repeated dog park visits, and most importantly, a little extra time with you, my favorite person in the world. If I’m being completely honest, it makes me sad that you’re so eager to leave me out cold.

Was I not enough of a support system for you? When you called me your “good boy”… was it all a lie? Let me just remind you of a few things: Who hung out with you when your friends had the potential to give you a deadly illness? Who stood by your side when your employer sidelined you? Who ate all your disgusting sourdough scraps when you decided to adopt cottage core as your pandemic personality? It’s funny that you conveniently forget the things I’ve done for you the second your toxic ex, capitalism, shoots you that “U up?” text.

Cottage core? Not when your new corporate job pays the rent on your upper-middle-class house in the suburbs, you dumb cottage whore.

I’m sorry for the anger, I truly am. That was out of line. I just want you to know how much I’m going to miss the time we spent together when you had to stay at home. I know inside that you have to make money for us both to live a comfortable life and that you only have both of our best interests at heart. I just want you to know that I see your sacrifi… wait… what are you bringing in the house right now…? That can’t be what I think it is… no… is that a fucking crate? You can’t be… are you really going to lock me in a goddamn cage? Like an animal? I swear to God, I take back everything I just said. Enjoy your chewed sheets and the new shit in your slippers.

Ever yours,

Dog <3

Kirsten Hernandez
Author: Kirsten Hernandez
Kirsten Hernandez is a writer, activist, and occasional linguist in the Los Angeles area. When she isn’t clowning on the internet for likes, she’s likely to be tending to her multitude of dogs or overanalyzing the shit out of television shows.