A Letter From Furgatory


I cannot believe it has already been four months since that nice lady with all the treats came to our house and I ended up dozing off.
In case you have been wondering I woke up in the clouds. That is why I have not been back.
All dogs go to heaven.
But I was only there for a day.
I complained that it was not as nice as home.
That is why I am now in Furgatory. It is pre-heaven school.

Oscar, a rottweiler with wings and a crooked halo, says there are rules in God's country that I need to learn.
It is hard for me to listen to him since I have never cared for another canine opinion or soul.
But considering my situation, I am trying.
Since I was a free-spirited beast who always barked out of turn, who always got my way, and who had no regard for others, the guy in charge thought it best that I spend a little time in class.
Apparently, you are not supposed to complain about heaven when you get there.
You are supposed to be dazzled and amazed with all its beauty and charm.
Not brag about your stinky pond.
Or carry on about your buttered biscuits and your dad's chocolate chip cookies.
Heaven is a selfless universe.
It is about peace, love and harmony.
The day I popped in I was running, jumping and barking.
It was a miracle.
I could not believe how fantastic I felt. My legs were like new. I wanted to keep on going. Never stop running. Never stop barking.
So, that's what I did.
I was a complete spaz.
And then a dinner bell rang.
Lines are ridiculous inside the pearly gates, Mom.
Nobody budges in line in heaven.
It is the exact opposite.
Everyone lets everybody and their friend in front of them, and they are all saying, "Oh, I couldn't," so much so that there is never a beginning to the damn thing, and it just keeps on getting longer and longer.
It was stupid.
I ran up there and grabbed that sixteen-ounce, medium rare filet mignon, done just the way we like them, and I wolfed it down.
Well, a fight broke out, which is unheard of in those parts. It was an amazing brawl of heavenly proportions. Oscar says in all his time with wings, which has been a long time, he has never heard of anything that compares.
Oscar is kind of a fuck up himself, so he knows.
These guys here in Furgatory never even knew that you could stuff Dingo Dyno Styx with raw hamburger once you eat the red strip out of the middle. The school nutritionist ordered a million cases for us and a bunch of fake cows to boot.
Yesterday, Mr. Please Be Quiet, used me for an example in class. He said that judging by my unholy character, my mother must have been an enabler.
I jumped up and down yelled, "You can go to hell, teach! My mom was perfect!"
Unfortunately, I forgot to raise my hand and to use my inside voice.
Oscar thinks that probably bought me another month or two here.
So, things are alright.
Anyway, I will write to you again when I find another loophole.
Just wanted you guys to know that you do not have to worry about me. If Leonard and Dakota made it to heaven, I will get there someday too.
Say hi to Tuna and piss off to Grandma.

Love you,
Hunter Bunter

P.S. Do I have to come back there and take care of those beavers or what? Jesus.

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