Big dogs don't cry.

Crying is for puppies. I'm not a puppy. I'm a big dog. Big dogs are supposed to be strong, right?

So why are my eyes dripping like a leaky faucet? Must be the allergies making my eyes all sweaty. I need to lie down.

As I curl up in my dog bed, memories from past times come flooding back. They're not good memories.

I shut my eyes, simultaneously trying to block them and the hot tears that threaten to cascade down and stain my already wet coat. Yeah... it's not working.

So instead, I try to think of happy things, like my dingleball. My dingleball is the only thing that I find joy in nowadays, besides digging holes and burying bones. They're the only things that can distract me from the pain and misery I've been hiding all these years. I might as well keep repressing it. No one understands what I'm going through. No one cares about Oooodiiiee. Because I know Garfield doesn't. He hates my freaking guts. He doesn't actually love me.

You know that one time, when Garfield just let me get caught by the dogcatcher like that, and then just sat and watched as the truck drove away?

I remember the cell I was in. It was an old, dirty, tiny cell with a cement floor. I was freezing to death in there, and the cat just sits at home for a while on his bum eating and watching TV like he always does. He never has time for me. He finally got up and did something, and by the time he got there, I was being dragged away by some horrible person who wanted to put me to sleep!

Then he put on this phony show of pretending that he liked me. First he was trying to pry the cell doors apart or something. That was pretty funny because I knew he didn't actually have the strength to do that. Then he was just like, "Yeah, I'll see you whenever, bye now! :D" He's a good actor, I can tell you that. He can make himself cry pretty well. I think he managed to shed like one little tear, but after that, he just stared blankly at me, like I didn't see him anymore.

Then he actually saved me, but despite my outward joy, I knew deep down, the little orange lard-ball only did it because without me, he'd have no one to be his chew toy.

I already told you that Garfield never has time for me. That's because he doesn't. The weird thing is, he used to have plenty of time for me, and we used to have so much fun together playing pretend and going on adventures. And he was a little nicer to me, too, treating me like a buddy instead of an enemy. I have no idea how, but somewhere along the line, he just stopped caring about me. Now I feel like he just ignores me as much as he can.

During the day, the overweight jerk sits in the recliner and watches television, taking breaks to eat all kinds of foods like lasagna and pizza. I never get lasagna and pizza! I tried to ask for a piece of Garfield's lasagna once and he made me watch him devour it all as punishment for asking. Since Garfield usually empties out the fridge before I can get to it, this leaves me with... regular dog kibble. It's not even the kind I like. It's the store brand knockoff that says "DOHG KIBL" on the bag. I don't think it was intentionally spelled that way, either. Jon says he gets it because it's cheaper than the kind I actually like. He can't sacrifice a few dollars so I can be happy. What an uptight cheapskate. I have to choke this crap down, three times a day, every day, because if I don't, I'll go hungry. It literally tastes like nothing. It's also stale as soon as you open it. Yuck.

And at night? Garfield STILL doesn't have time for me. He goes outside and sits on the fence with his giiiirlfriend, Arlene. I don't have a giiiirlfriend. Jon has one. He's dating our veterinarian, Liz, for God knows why. Sometimes, Garfield and Jon both go out on dates at the same time. Leaving me alone in the stupid house. All. By. My. Self. AGH!

You know what, forget what I said about Garfield not having time for me. It's really not entirely true and I apologize for misleading you. Sometimes he does make time for me, and when he does have time for me, it's never to actually play with me. He never throws my dingleball or does anything I want to do.

Instead, he does something else with me.

It's a little game he calls "Kick the Dog Off the Table".

Repeat: he doesn't just kick me; he kicks me off the high table. You don't know how much it hurts when I land. It's like a really bad, burning pain. Sometimes I even land on my head. In fact it's probably the reason I feel so stupid all the time. I feel like one of these days I'm going to get my head seriously hurt and I'll suffer from severe skull fractures or worse than that.

But that's okay.

Because he'll just laugh at my face like he always does, and taunt me and call me a "dipwad" or "Tweedledee the Wonder Dummy" or something else demeaning, before putting me back on the edge of the table in order to start the grueling, painful game all over again.

Sometimes it goes on for hours. By the end of the day, I'm bruised all over, and sometimes even a little bloody. Sure, I look fine. Or at least I pretend to look fine in front of him. But when I'm by myself, I can't even walk without limping and yelping in extreme pain. He doesn't realize the extent of the damage he's doing to me, physically and emotionally. That, or he just doesn't give two craps about it.

But it's not just kicking me off the table. Garfield actually tries to hurt me every chance he gets. He pretty much uses me as his own personal punching bag. Sometimes he twists my nose up and then lets it go. Sometimes he pulls my tail and lets it snap back. And sometimes he rolls me up into a basketball and dribbles me. One time, as an April Fools' Day joke, he even tied my ears to a tree trunk while I was napping in the shade. After I woke up, I was running but not going anywhere, and my ears were being stretched and it felt like they were about to tear off and it hurt like heck. It wasn't a funny prank then, and it isn't funny now.

Did I mention that he also jumps on me a lot?

He picks me up while I'm just lying on the floor, throws me down like I'm trash, and hops up and down on my back, hard as I yell out in agony. It's like he's attempting to sever my spine and kill me. What a monster!

It certainly doesn't help that all of this abuse aimed at me is followed by the awful sound of his joyful, mocking laughter and his stupid name-calling. No other word can describe his actions but "diabolical".

No amount of repression or thinking happy thoughts can keep me from hearing the haunting echoes of Garfield's taunts in my mind at all times of the day. "Ha-ha! You're such a nerd! Ahahahahaha!" I just can't unhear it.

And Jon really isn't much better. I don't know why he doesn't keep me away from Garfield, or at least make sure he doesn't abuse me like he does. He just chooses to let this blatant abuse happen, and when I crawl up to him in pain, he just says I'm "overreacting" and that Garfield is "just trying to play with me". He doesn't even kiss my boo-boos. He probably thinks I'm faking it for more attention. Well, I'm not faking it. The pain I feel is real, and he doesn't even care. I've had to drag myself to the vet a lot of times, just to get my injuries taken care of, because Jon is too stubborn to listen.

One time Jon even told me he was going to freaking murder me over his last green jellybean, which are apparently his favorite. I don't care if they are his favorite, that was still a terrible, uncondonable thing to say to me. It wasn't even my fault. Garfield ate all his green jellybeans and left the other ones, then framed me for his crime by giving me the last green jellybean and running off, leaving me alone with it. *sigh*

I feel like Lyman, my former owner, was the only one who actually loved and understood me. We did everything together. I still have fuzzy memories of us frolicking in the park on a warm spring day, playing fetch with my dingleball and rolling around in the grass afterwards as I licked his face. Ah, those were the days.

Sadly, those days are no more. Lyman left for an Australian jungle safari without telling me first. I was sniffing around the house for weeks trying to find him. He never even called me after that. It's like he just forgot me altogether. It was horrible and it was the first time in my life that I truly felt alone.

And despite the presence of Jon and Garfield, I still feel alone. I'm missing the nurturing love I got when Lyman was around. He was my best friend and now he's gone and I'll probably never see him again. I WANT LYMAN BACK! *sniff sniff* I WANT LYMAN! ARRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I'M SO LONELY AND I JUST WANT SOMEBODY TO HUG AND CUDDLE ME AND SHOW ME THAT THEY LOVE ME!

*sobbbb!*

I'M SO LONELY!

AAAARRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOO! ARRR-ARR-AROOOOOO-HOOO-HOOOO!

And...*snif* and the absolute worst part is, I have to always keep my emotions bottled up inside of me out of fear of getting further abuse by Garfield and Jon for being a "sissy" or a "crydoggy". So whenever you see me prancing around smiling with my tongue hanging out, I'm not really happy. I haven't been happy since Lyman left me. I've basically been living a lie for all these years, but I might as well because I know Garf or Jon won't do anything to comfort me or dry my tears.

I'm talking to your computer screen. Oh, what's the point? You probably don't care about what I'm going through either.

I can't go on living like this. Ugh, here comes that fat land barge, Garfield now.

And he's saying, "Heh, you're bawling like a little baby! Ha-ha! What a wuss! Hey, Jon, get a load of this!"

All of a sudden, I'm being laughed at by both of them for my misery, which only makes things worse than they already are. "Crydoggy! Crydoggy!" they chant.

I try my best to pull myself together, so they'll both go away and leave me alone. But my efforts are in vain.

Then Garfield says, "Hey, Jon! Get the camera! I have an idea!" Garfield then dresses me up in a baby bonnet, diapers, and Mary Janes. He also gives me his Pooky bear to pose with. As you can already guess, I am humiliated, embarrassed, and mortified. After several pictures of me sobbing in baby clothes, they high five each other and Jon says, "These are totally going on Facebook!"

Garfield then approaches me, chuckling to himself and getting ready to beat me to a bloody pulp.

I've given up at this point, and in dog language, tell him, "Fine! Go ahead! Do whatever you want to me! In fact, just hit me with everything you've got! I don't care if I die! In fact, I want to die! So just do it! Okay?!"

He thinks about it for a second, then smiles. Said smile then turns into a big, evil grin with cat fangs glistening slightly.

He starts delivering blow after blow to my body, which has already been weakened from all the years of abuse, as hard as he can, laughing all the while as I let it all out. First he steps on my delicate tail. Then he starts swinging me around by my ears and flings me into a wall. You get the idea. After a few minutes, he drags my limp body onto the table and kicks me at full strength. Straight out the window.

I land hard in a bush, covered in glass shards and with my ears tied in a knot. My nose is bleeding heavily.

I black out.

Slowly, I wake up and look around, and realize that I'm still alive.

I'M STILL ALIVE?!

UUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Since I don't have any access to guns or ropes at the moment, I guess I have no choice but to continue on with my broken, miserable life— no choice but to keep pretending like nothing is wrong and put on a fake happy smile, and bounce around like I'm completely content with my life. That or get beat up and laughed at for getting emotional in front of Jon and Garfield. They don't love me. Lyman was the only one who loved me and took care of me. I hope someday we will cross paths again, but at this point I doubt it very seriously.

*sigh*

I want Lyman back.