Dear Enzio:
I like you. I like you a lot. You are funny, charming, loyal, protective, a keen observer, and you love your family unconditionally. You made me laugh; you made me cry. You made me feel guilty for not buying my kids the dog that they desperately want. You made me want to go to animal shelter and get my children the puppy they passionately desire.
But, my urge to head to the animal shelter soon passed. Guess what, Enzio? You are not a real dog. You are a fictional character created by the clever author Garth Stein, a pet lover who has made a career out of spinning animal yarns. I have always been a sucker for a man with a good line and I am especially suspicious of men who talk to animals. Most likely being kind to animals is just part of Stein’s master plan to get laid. Stein probably has women tossing bras at him at every book signing and speaking event. But, I will no longer be duped by his charismatic, quadruped oracle. My bra will remain firmly in place when I hear Stein speak in November.
By then, I will be over the happy buzz that Enzio the philosopher-dog and Stein gave me. I will be fooled no longer. The Art of Racing in the Rain is a cheesy, schmaltzy, overly sentimental, ridiculously melodramatic book that I absolutely loved. I think I am still in shock; it is not in my nature to like a book that is so simple and concludes with a reasonably happy ending.
As of tomorrow, I go back to disliking dogs and calling animal control when I see a dog off of its leash. There really needs to be at least one person in this town who doesn't think it is fashionable to sneak a pocketbook dog into Walmart or to buy gourmet dog treats at a canine only bakery.
So Enzio, remember I am not a dog lover just a lover of silly dog narratives.
Sincerely,
Garabageman's Daughter
