Dear Westley,

I am fine. How are you?

Ok, honestly, I’m not fine. It’s cold here. It’s gray, dark and ugly outside and our yard is one giant mud puddle with icy chips in it. If it weren’t for the blankets on the couch and the other dogs to keep me warm, I don’t know if I would survive. We haven’t had too much snow, but it’s only a matter of time.

Snow sucks, especially if you’re 8 inches tall and go around naked without a thick, fur coat. You wouldn’t understand, since your fabulous Golden Retriever locks are so luxuriously warm. I’m sure you’re already a mess without Miriam’s and my attentions to your grooming. We dachshunds are masters at licking, as you know, since we never run out of saliva. It’s a fact. But I digress. Back to food.

They never feed me enough. Well, okay, the boss lady did double my morning rations for the last year, since she thinks I’ve been getting too skinny in the midst of my continuing battle with cancer. Whatever, I feel fine, except for the hunger pangs. Pretty sure those are normal for me, though, since I’ve never really been satisfied with whatever I’m offered. It’s another dachshund thing. Kevin once ate three bowls of food within an hour and he couldn’t even swallow the last few kibbles. He gave it his all, though, and it was impressive.

I talked to Marty, the new dog — you met him… the one who looks like a soccer ball — and he said he’s not used to eating the stuff we get and he’d rather eat McDonald’s. What self-respecting dog wouldn’t? So when he walks away from his food, I am ready to pounce. I’ve got no problem with anything they offer us — it’s all delicious as far as I’m concerned. I love all food. Well, except mushrooms. Otherwise, you name it, I’ll eat it.

Marty’s ginormous compared to me, and he gets this itty-bitty bowl of food that he walks away from before it’s finished. You read that correctly. And get this: the boss lady sits there and feeds this guy one kibble at a time from her hand when he pulls that malarkey. He’s ridiculous. Miriam says she can’t take watching it anymore and she thinks if we just swoop in together, we can take him down and get all his food, but I think that’s a terrible idea. Unless the boy is acting as the food police, then, yeah, no problem. He’s too busy with his phone to notice who’s eating what. Piece of cake.

Speaking of which, I could go for a nice piece of cake right about now. Ivy (the big, shaggy, doodly dog) hooks me up with stuff like that when she scores awesomeness from the counter now and then. Since the Holidays are over it’s about time to switch from cookies to cake. I can’t wait.

So how’s the weather in Florida? Sunny and warm, I bet. You’re so lucky. I remember visiting you in June and it was like taking a walk on the sun. I’m sure part of me melted on the pavement in front of your house just going outside to do my business. So hot. I did not like it. But as I understand it, wintertime in Florida is like springtime here — I can live with that! I love my people a whole bunch, but they just don’t get me like you do, buddy.

They pretty much flat-out said “no way!” when I asked them to drive me south this winter. I know you’d drive me, if you weren’t a dog and knew how to drive. It’d be a road trip like no other — we could hit every fast food joint from here to the Panhandle! I could sniff ’em out — don’t even need to read the road signs. It’d be outstanding.

What’s it like on the beach these days? Have the people down there repaired all the damage from Hurricane Michael, yet? Can you run and run on the shore like we did that time? That was fun, even if I’m not partial to the ocean waves, the warm sand between my toes did feel nice. Salt water tastes blech, but the smells of rotting sea creatures makes up for that. Ah-mazing.

Well, I guess I’ll get back to my pre-bedtime nap. This typing stuff’s hard. Write me back. Or just come get me. I’ll be the third lump from the left in the middle of the couch under the pile of blankets and pillows. Don’t offer to take the others — they’ll hog all the good sunlight and eat all the French fries, especially Marty, heh, heh.

Your best friend forever,

Walter

Daverio is a veterinarian at Williamsport West Veterinary Hospital. Her column is published every other Sunday in the Lifestyle section. She can be reached at life@sungazette.com.