All my life I’ve heard other people’s definition of me. Or of what I was supposed to be. I should be the Man’s most loyal friend and life partner. I should guide Man when guidance is needed and protect when protection is needed. I should be friendly towards Man’s friends, licking them and wailing my tail when I see them, and I should bark at Man’s enemies, even bite if the situation requires it. I should stand by Man’s side at every time and sacrifice myself for Man’s safety and well-being. I should provide Man and his family with nice, cute and funny moments that they can share with their friends. That’s what I should have been, a Man’s dog; Peter’s dog, most loyal friend who stood by him no matter what. However, I was born with certain traits that kept me from staying true to this definition.
I’m not a normal dog. I can talk, I understand the English language and am capable of living among humans as more than a simple pet; intellectually, I can be as much of a Man as a Man himself. I dare to think that I’m more intelligent and that I put more thought into my actions than some Men. No matter how good and tempting these might sound, my life is horrible and I wish that I was born with none of these traits. If other dogs had them, they might consider me stupid for not feeling blessed, but I have my reasons and oh boy, they’re extremely valid.
Peter is, supposedly, the Man to my dog. I should follow him when he goes in dangerous and illogical journeys and car rides or go along when he’s planning the most irrational events. That’s what a normal dog should and would do. However, I can’t bring myself to be a part of these… activities. I often try to keep him from going until the end with what he’s planning, but I have a survival instinct, which stops me from following. Of course, this survival instinct wouldn’t be present in certain situations, if I didn’t have the mental capacity to label them as “dangerous”. Does this make me a bad creature? Probably. Am I dishonouring the one who saved me by not doing my job correctly? Most likely. Can I change? Am I willing to change? No.
I feel as if I’m a burden for the Griffins. My opinions are constantly being bashed and my efforts devalued; having to take care of me and treat me as one of them costs them more money than they probably ever imagined they would have to spend. I’m not good enough to be a writer and when I manage to succeed with something, everything immediately falls down. As someone who understands the meaning of “integrity” and “staying true to yourself”, I can’t put together some crap that has nothing to do with what I originally intended just for the sake of gaining money; there’s eventually a breaking point, it won’t last long. No matter how much I try to deny it, I can’t be a completely blank, boring and incapable of feeling shame, regret or indifference dog. And doesn’t that just make it all worse?
I raised my eyes from the paper where I was writing and sighed. Those kinds of thoughts were leaving me even more depressed than I was when I left the Griffin’s house. The kids had left for school, Peter for work and Lois had gone out to take Stewie to kindergarten and after do some shopping… again and that was the last time I would see them. How could I have screwed up my life so much? It’s not like everything else wasn’t enough to make me feel so bad about myself. I sighed again and continued writing.
And speaking of feelings… What could be more insane than my search for love? Dating lots of bimbos never really made me happy, but I guess I felt the urge to be seen as someone with a good life surrounded by people and love. I thought it might make me look as a better dog than I really am. In my defense, I honestly thought that going in all those dates would make me feel happy and loved, but I was very, very wrong. I still believe in my quest for love, though, no matter how insane it might be, which just might make me very stupid. I can’t hold back from having some hope that a miracle will happen and make it possible for me to be with the one I truly love. But I’ll get at that in a while, so just bear with me for a little longer, you, person who might be reading this. At one point, I really did believe that I should put all my efforts in the search for this special someone. Then, it was just for the looks. Then, I really wanted to find someone with whom to move in and maybe even marry so I could stop being a toll on the Griffins. There was Jillian, but it didn’t end well. I really loved her, however, as always, I was a fool and let her get away. When I realized my mistake, she was already getting married to someone else. Now, when I think about it, I understand that it was for the best and for the time they were together, Derek made her happier than I could ever have. And lately... All those miserable dates with miserable idiots that usually end up in miserable sex at miserable motels are just to cover up my recent sexual identity crisis. Or better, my what-is-this-it's-so-wrong-I'm-mocking-myself-no-way-I'm-in-love-with-Stewie crisis. Yes, you, someone who might be reading this, read right. I might be in love with an infant. No, scratch that, I AM in LOVE with an INFANT. This infant is the one I truly love. What could be more wrong? A dog who loves a child as more than a simple friend and who has certain desires that wants to fulfil with said child. Even having hope that he might love me back and that we can find a way of being together is immoral. I'm disgusting. How can I not be? I came with terms with it just this morning. I just woke up and the first thing I saw was his face and the first thing I heard was his voice and the first thing I smelled was his shampoo and the first thing that I thought was “Damn, I love him so much!”. How can I even dare to look at the other Griffins in the eye, let alone be near Stewie without feeling as the whole world is judging me and sending me to the death chair? Thinking honestly, it's probably what I deserve.
I stopped writing, this time to wipe the tears that were starting to fall from my eyes. I leaned my head against the headrest of the driver’s seat and closed my eyes. Immediately an image of Stewie came to my mind and I couldn’t help wondering how he’d feel when he discovered that I had left. He probably wouldn’t take it very well, but it’s for the best. I opened my eyes, cursed the sky and the darkening clouds and continued my letter.
Am I being a hypocrite? Am I behaving in the “listen to what I say, but don’t see what I do” way? But how can I ever accept this love? How can this be more than another joke that my own life is making me go through? So many questions and so few answers… Actually, there are no answers; there’s just one truth: it’s immoral. And I don’t know for how long I’ll be able to handle my situation. I don’t think I’ll be able to be away from Stewie for much time. I’m giving myself two more weeks to live at best. I can’t go back, not right now, not with these feelings, however I also know that they won’t disappear quickly enough, if ever. So, I’ll be left with this immense pain in my chest and this immense need to smell, touch, talk, kiss him. I won’t be able to handle this pain and honestly I don’t want to. I’ll go out on my own terms when I wish to do so. In less than two weeks, the world won’t have a bastard of a dog polluting its existence. What good could I possibly have to give to the world? And you, my dear friend, whoever you are, whatever day it might be, you are reading the last thing I’ll ever write.
I just have one last wish. Please, please, I beg you, tell Stewie that I say “goodbye, pall”. If he doesn’t know that I’m dead by then, don’t let him know. Please, find Stewie Griffin from Spooner Street and tell him that. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t at least give say goodbye. And that’s the best that I can do for him. Please.
Thank you.
-Brian, an immoral dog
I heard the first rain drops impact against the glass and looked up at the sky. It was even darker than before and the rain seemed to be getting heavier and heavier at each passing moment. “How the weather matches my spirit”, I thought. And it really, really did. I was a dark soul in a dark day. Perfect matches are perfect, right? Well, not quite right, because that perfect match had the chance to get even more perfect. I noticed a truck, in the distance, ‘zig zagging’ in the middle of the road. It seemed that the driver had lost control of his vehicle and couldn’t get it back on track. There was a high chance that the truck could hit the Prius on the driver side if I started the motor and reversed into the road. After all, why wait? My life was already over, so I did just that. In those supposedly final moments, I let myself think of Stewie and imagine the many scenarios we could have lived through had I been a boy or girl close to his age. I didn’t let myself think of how he’d react to my death or of how he’d cry at my funeral. No, this was for a greater cause than my selfish feelings. The letter was forgotten, lying on the floor of the Prius. I could imagine that there were a few seconds for the impact and decided to open the window and feel the rain one last time.
“Goodbye”, I whispered to myself, to my car, to the rain, to the world. To the Griffins. To Stewie.
I heard a honk and saw some lights flicking, probably just the other driver trying to warn me in case I was distracted and couldn’t see that he wasn’t controlling his truck. I wondered if he imagined that I was in the middle of the road on purpose and if he’d feel guilty in the end. Just then I realised that I probably was ruining another life. Even near death I still managed to screw everything and show how horrible I really was! However it was too late. I could have done it on my own. I didn’t have to get this poor guy into my mess, but at that moment there was nothing I could do. I was feeling guilty, but I knew that, if everything went according to plan, I wouldn’t have to feel that way for much longer.
“Sorry”, I whispered again, this time to the other driver even though there was no possible way that he could ever hear this. Truth be told, I never imagined that my last word would be “sorry”, but what would it matter? No one would know and it was as good as any other. At least it was honest, despite being simple. Who could imagine that five letters could hold so many emotions and life experiences? I decided to repeat it over and over in my head, in an attempt to count how many times I could say “sorry” before the fatal impact. One, two, three. Not that many, but in which one of them I added something. Sorry for being such a burden. Sorry for being such a douche towards everyone. Sorry for not being able to make you all happy as you deserve. Four, five. Sorry for not being better. Sorry for being a stain in your memories. S-IMPACT.
The car didn’t spin. I’ve got to confess I was a little disappointed with this. My chest hurt from being thrown against the steering wheel and I had at least one broken rib. And I was alive. The other car had come to a stop and the other driver seemed to be nauseated, but not much hurt; maybe he had a concussion, but nothing more serious. And I was alive. That wasn’t what I had thought would happen.
I had decided that that was my moment to go, to leave this world. I didn’t want to think twice or reconsider my actions. I wanted to go. At that moment. No matter how much my chest hurt, I opened the door and let myself fall to the road. I wasn’t on my best when it concerned to thinking things through, but I believed I had a plan. All I had to do was close the door as hard as I could and pretty much smash my head. It was ugly and dirty, but certainly could get the job done. So I tried to do it. I concentrated all my efforts on pushing the door and closed my eyes. That was it. That would be it. And… there! The distant sound of a “NO, DON’T DO IT!” echoed through the air before I lost consciousness.