Wonder Not, Gentle Suburbanite — By Auggie

Mar 1, 2015

My Name is Augustus. My friends may call me “Auggie” or “Aug Dog.” Only my most intimate acquaintances may call me “Auggie Doggie.” You most certainly may NOT call me “Hoggie” or “Hog Dog.” And “Hawggie Dawggie” is out of the question. There will be grave consequences should you cross that line. You know who you are, and you should tremble with fear until such time as I may exact my revenge on you, Fatso (Editor’s Note: Fatso = Max).

In any event….

I’ve had it up to my tail with this winter! Not the actual snow and cold. Those don’t bother me in the slightest. I actually enjoy the cold and the snow. No, I’ve reached my limit with listening to you Bi-Peds complain endlessly about the winter. As if “Winter” were a personal enemy of yours and bent upon your complete destruction. It’s a tough Maine winter, nothing more! And it’s certainly not your personal Shackleton Adventure.

I ask you, what IS more depressing than some smug suburban transplant whining and groaning like a little whelp about a tough Maine Winter? The thought of that same transplant coming home after work in the dark, microwaving a frozen burrito for dinner, and watching Seinfeld reruns until they fall asleep in their clothes, that’s what.

All I have to say to you is: GROW UP FOR DOG’S SAKE! This is Maine! It gets snowy and cold! What do you expect…Croquet on the lawn and Pina Coladas in February? Get off your butts and take up ice skating or ice sculpture for dog’s sake! Or take a well-deserving dog on a walk over a long snowmobile trail! Drive a snowmobile! Teach a dog (like me) to drive a snowmobile! Dare to get COLD and VERY COLD and come back into a warm house with hot cocoa and a raging fire. Is there anything better? But definitely teach me to drive a snowmobile. That would be fantastic.

Even the Food Providers have retreated from their usual manic stance on shoveling. They have completely abandoned the walkway to the front door and instead have feebly cleared the door into the garage and the path to the fuel oil fill-up. What’s next? A pathetic, bare-minimum existence around the TV and microwaved burritos in the dark? I pray they snap out of it before there’s no turning back.

And here’s a tip: You sound like a dreary malcontent when you say things like, “It was over 80 degrees in Florida/California/Burkina Faso today.” And if I catch any of Thumb-Users in August waxing nostalgic for the “crisp, clean air of a Maine Winter” I WILL bite you. Wonder not, gentle suburbanite, from whence the bite came. You were warned.

Now let’s go for a swim. It’s -12 out and the ocean is a balmy 35 degrees. It doesn’t get any better than that!

I Remain,

Augustus Megatron Bulldozer