Note from author: The following is a work of satire, in case the letter-writing-dog didn’t give it away. Try not to take offence.
To my hooman Imran,
Remember when we used to spend time together at Bani Gala? I’d lay down on the lush grass of the lawn and drool on your feet as you attended calls from Pindi. My life was much more cavalier then, but now we’re both jumping through hoops and pulling tricks at the drop of the hat.
That was a time before Bushra and Reham, when I was the priority, but that isn’t the case anymore. We’ve shared so many wonderful memories, from your first Pepsi with Pervez, to your second Jhappi with Qamar, we’ve come a long way.
I still remember when that man with the red cap came to see you, the not so interesting musician from Junoon, and we couldn’t wait for him to leave but he wouldn’t take a hint – you even had you dinner infront of him, that was funny wasn’t it hooman? But I can’t say I’m happy these days, ever since Bushra came along, I’m not allowed inside because I’m paleet and that just breaks my little doggy heart.
You don’t even let me in on your legendary party nights, I thought we were both ladies lads but you’ve changed too much; I’m definitely a much better wingman than that British chap you’ve been keeping around.
Also I wanted to say, Motu – that traitor – has been conspiring with Maryam’s dog and supports the PDM, but don’t worry I’m keeping an eye on him for you. I’ll always be faithful to you, no matter how many u-turns you take.
My place in your life may not be the same, but you’re still my favourite hooman. All I want to do is lick your chappals all day long – P.S. Pidu told me you’re also one of us now and have taken a liking to leather boots? Does this mean we are both good boys?!