I’m Your Innocent Dog in a Horror Movie, and I Don’t Deserve This

Look, I get it. You’re the heroine of a horror movie — you have a ton on your plate. Everywhere you go, you carry a vaguely troubling past, and I’m one of the few things representing safety and normalcy in your life. But at times, I feel like you’re using me, and I worry that I’ll get caught up in your bullshit.

Pretty soon (in 10–15 minutes of screen time, to be exact), the inciting incident is going to hit, and your life will never be the same. Granted, I’m a dog, so you can rest assured that I’ll be loyal to a fault, but we all know I’m not making it out of this in one piece. And before the situation gets too dire, I just want to stick your nose in that. Look at what you’re responsible for. Bad girl.

Sure, for now, your life is chugging along as planned; you just moved into your “dream home,” which — let the record show — is one hundred percent haunted. I’ve told you this like 80 times already, but you don’t speak dog, which honestly blows. Maybe if you were a more attentive owner you’d be able to discern the nuance in my many different types of vocalizations. But I digress.

Not only did you move us into a haunted house, you chose one in the most rural area possible. Why is our yard so dark? See, these are the details I notice, because that yard is where you leave me to my own devices, 24 hours a day. On the one hand, what I love most about being a dog in a horror movie is the freedom. I never wear a leash. On the other hand, I hate how you moved us to a literal portal to hell, and now you’re provoking the evil spirits because you “need to find out what it all means” ?!?!?!?

What — and I mean this sincerely — the fuck?

Typically, you and I have an arrangement that works. You interact with me when it’s convenient for the plot — a hasty pat on the head, a spoonful of leftovers when you’re too distraught to eat — but otherwise your life is never inconvenienced by me. I don’t require walks or medicine or, frankly, any real care whatsoever. It makes sense; you’re too distracted by the spirits who visit you at night in an effort to communicate some otherworldly message to you. It doesn’t leave a ton of time for a healthy work-life balance, let alone a trip to PetSmart when I’m getting tired of my old toys.

But it pisses me off that it will take you far too long to heed my warnings. I can bark all night long when there’s a succubus hovering over your bed, but it’s on you to do something about it. Last time I checked, I still don’t have thumbs.