Dear Cleo (my beloved bulldog),

You came into my life because of an event that I can only attribute to divine intervention. Two years ago I was having a really, really bad day. On the way home from a four-hour-long dentist appointment that went horribly wrong, I was rear-ended by a man who bolted after the accident. I was mad, to say the least, but, even in my anger, it was impossible not to notice the six-foot tall statue of a bulldog across the street from us. I pointed the statue out to my mom and told her that it was a sign that we just had to get the bulldog that I had been begging for for months.

Later that night, a bowling-ball-sized dog snorted and grunted her way into my heart.

You became my best friend on one of the worst days. You snore, you fart, you slobber and sometimes you do all three at once, but you also never fail to make me laugh. Any day is brighter with you and your terrible, terrible breath.

I know that I spoil you rotten with doggy ice cream and toys that just may be considered designer, but you deserve it because you do so much for me. While I haven’t had many days as bad as the day I got you, you’ve cheered me up every time I felt down and I am so glad to have you around.

Thank you for snorting up my Captain Crunch Berries when I spill the entire box and don’t want to get the broom. Thank you for farting so much that if I let one slip, I can always blame you. Thank you for always greeting me at the door with a slobbery smile. Thank you for always doing your tricks so well so that I can impress my friends. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for not putting up too much of a fuss when I dress you up as a caterpillar for Halloween because you are just so darn cute.

While I know that you will never be able to read this letter, I still think that you know just how awesome you are because you are a big, bad, beautiful bulldog and I am so glad to be able to wake up to your squeaky ball every morning.

Love,

Leah