Sylvie's Satirical Stories

By Ms. Swann-Pye

Hello Humans Big and Small, 

My name is Sylvie. You may know me as the chubby dog of Mr. Yusah and Ms. Swann-Pye, but my dog friend’s know Mr. Yusah and Ms. Swann-Pye as the skinny human’s of Sylvie. 

Anyway — I am here to tell you a little about my life because, although this newspaper CLAIMS to be “hard-hitting journalism”, it has not yet interviewed a dog and I think that is a shame. So here I am — ready to break the glass dog house.

I have heard Mr. Yusah and Ms. Swann-Pye talking about how this is a scary time for humans. To be honest, I haven’t noticed humans looking too scared; I do see that they wear funny face bandanas but I figured that was a stink fart protector cloth — I’ve been telling them to get those for months (my butt puffs are pretty pungent). 

I have noticed a few things, though. My humans used to spend their days at human daycare (where, I imagine, they would run around in very small circles, pee in corners, and lick each other’s butts). Now, though, my humans stay home. This, in my opinion, is a very good choice. They don’t have to wear their fart cloths when they’re home AND they are able to rub my belly for many more hours. Sometimes it is hard to balance on the couch in just the right manner so that my belly is in prime belly rub position, but I am happy to martyr myself so that my humans can experience the true joy of giving me belly rubs for many, many hours. They are very lucky. I hope that they understand just how lucky they are. 

When my humans aren’t giving me belly rubs, they are usually cooking Human Food. Human Food, for those of you who don’t know, consists of many juicy, delicious morsels. How do I know this, you ask? Well, my humans have become much more sentimental in these strange times. They used to say, “Sylvie! You are chubby! No human food!” Now they say, “We feel sad and helpless! The world is a scary place! Sure you can have a burger!” I’m not really sure what any of that means, but it works for me! And, as I’ve always said, “your couch body is just your body on a couch.”

So, yeah, as I say, things are looking PRETTY GOOD for everyone’s favorite Short and Stout gal. Still, though, despite all the belly rubs and burger bites, I can’t help but feel a little sad. Usually, when humans see me on the street, all I need to do is sit very still and let their toddler whack me in the head and call it a “pat” and everyone is happy. Now, though, people stay away from each other and my old charms simply aren’t working. At first I thought it was a “me” problem (has my fur become splotchy? Does my breath not smell enough like bacon?) But, no. It couldn’t be me. I am, in my Human’s words, “the most perfect dog in all the land.” And when even “the most perfect dog in all the land” can’t bring joy to the face of a toddler with remarkably strong palms, something must be going really wrong . This makes me sad. Because, even though the Humans decorate me with funny collars, and even though they sometimes insist on picking me up despite my unruly size and shape, and even though they call me “Chunk Chunk” in front of my cool Doberman friend from up the street, I love them and I take pride in making them happy. 

I am sorry that things are hard for you all, Sweet Humans. I wish I could fix it for you but, unfortunately, I am not Wishbone; I am only a standard dog. So all I can do is leave you with a little advice. When things are feeling dark and gloomy, do as we dogs do: eat everything you can get your paws on, go outside and run around in circles (quickly and with gusto), and, whenever you can, sit as close as you can to the people you love (even if it’s uncomfortable and even if you have uncontrollable burger farts) (they’ll say, “EWW SYLVIE! YOUR BUTT SMELLS SO BAD! AND WE JUST WASHED THE COUCH CUSHIONS!” But they won’t mind. I promise).