Dogs can’t have coffee, but they want to!

A dog sniffing a laptop and trying to type.
Illustration by Vanessa Lennon


I WAS GOING THROUGH THE TRASH. You know the trash right? I don’t mean that you KNOW the trash. It’s not like you’ve been introduced or anything. But I mean that you know what I mean when I mention trash, right?

So anyway I was smelling all the wonderful smells and chewing on a paper towel when I started chomping on that WONDERFUL stuff your mom calls COFFEE! COFFEE COFFEE COFFEE I LOVE COFFEE!

I don’t know why your mom puts it in the coffee pot ‘cause the old wet coffee grains were FANTASTIC!

The coffee filter was like an amazing chewy cookie! No cup required!

I LOVE COFFEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The VET, however, did NOT want me to have coffee, so I had to go in and she gave me yucky stuff that made me vomit. It was NOT as much fun as eating the trash.

By the way, what does “toxic” mean? Sounds like a human code for don’t-share-with-the-dog.

So, like, the whole world peace thingy would go faster if everyone drank coffee! Coffee, coffee, coffee! Your human juice makes me happy (well, it did, for a minute, before your mom freaked out), and it would make everyone happy, and we could all be happy together!

The next big gathering when everyone is arguing and getting all cranky, just bring out the coffee! The smell rivers up through your nose and flows to your brain and then you start to smile. Then you swallow some and KAPOW! Happiness!

If all the humans sat down and shared some really, really, good coffee, then everyone would get along forever (or until the coffee runs out!)

I have to go run around in circles now. I can’t wait to get some more of this stuff. Your mom says it’s not going to happen, but there has to be a way. She’s going to slip up and throw out coffee grounds again one of these days, and I’m gonna eat it just like I ate your dad’s underwear. I’m going through the garbage every hour of every day for the rest of my life!


Your favorite Jamie,


OH—The letter’s from me. Jamie. The dog. The cute young one, not the old grumpy one. The one you like who talks. Gotta run!


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