Write a short story in epistolary form
Dear Mr. Noodle,
I hope this letter finds you well. Mom says that you are now on a farm. She says that your old bones needed to move away from the city and that a lot of dogs go to farms to retire.
But I am angry. I’m not sure why you left so suddenly, and it’s not fair that no one told me you were going away. I went to school yesterday morning, and you were there, saying goodbye. Well, not really saying goodbye, because dogs can’t talk and because you really didn’t even get up from your bed. But I saw you lift an eyebrow. The same eyebrow that you always lift when someone pulls out your leash.
“Is it that time again?” your eyebrow seems to say.
Of course you don’t really have eyebrows. More like brow dots with a couple of hairs coming out of them. Dog eyebrows are funny.
But why did you go away, Mr. Noodle? It’s not like we asked very much of you. Most of the time you just laid about on the floor near the kitchen. Or you waited on your bed for someone to walk by and pat you on the head.
Well who’s going to do that now, Mr. Noodle? Who do you think is going to pat your head now? I can’t believe that you just took off – WHILE I WAS AT SCHOOL!
Mom says that at the farm you will be with lots of other old dogs – that it’s an old dog farm. I think you’re being selfish. You seem to forget that for eight years, since I’ve been alive, I’ve been your best friend. And before that, Mom says that she and Dad were your best friends. So what makes you think that you can just walk away from your best friends?
I’m writing to you because I want you to know that you forgot your Kong. Your beloved Kong. I gave you that Kong for Christmas when I was 5. And you just left it. Mom says that you won’t need it at the farm, but that makes me mad. Are you going to get toys from your dog friends? I don’t think so. Are you going to regret not having your Kong when there’s a thunderstorm and you can’t stop shaking? We both know the answer to that question.
Mr. Noodle, why couldn’t you have retired here with us? Sure, you weren’t much of a guard dog anymore. But you were part of our family. And now you’re gone. Please come back. I’ll brush you every day.
Your best friend,
Ronny
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