"Do you want to go to Bayonne tomorrow?" This is how my boyfriend greeted me when I arrived home on Monday night. If you're from NJ, if you've heard of Bayonne, this is not a proposition you agree to lightly, readily, unsuspiciously. If you're in Bayonne, you're either lost, visiting relatives or your realtor tricked you into believing it's turning around.

I did not understand his words. How did he know this city, this boy from Maryland? How was he asking me this question? Like so many other adventures in our recent past, it was all about the dog.

Hey Buddy,

I'm out of treats. It would be swell if you could find some time to stop and get me some more before you come home from work. If you come home without them, I'll take it to mean that you do not love me anymore or that you are too consumed by your life and bloated importance of your work to think about the single being in your life who gives you immense, unbounded pleasure ninety percent of the time.

Dear Mr. V,

Thank you for not abandonning me. Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for walking me in the morning when mommy won't get out of bed. Thank you for taking me to the dog run every day and letting me eat sticks while I'm there even if that's the only thing I do. I love sticks. Thank you for picking such a great mommy. Thank you for feeding me oranges. Thank you for teaching me how to fetch. Thank you for naming me Mister President. now if you just start working a little closer to home, my life will be perfect.

Keep feeding me,

MP

Dear Mister President,

You are a big stinker.

Love,

Santa.

Dear Santa,

I've been a good boy. I would like beef jerky, a roasted chicken, sausage (cooked or raw), three knucklebones, a pork neckbone, a couple of t-bone steaks (the omaha frozen ones are fine) and access to the refrigerator.

Tell those people to cough up some cash for better treats.

Love and dog kisses,

MP