Back when I was the most happy I’ve ever been an only puppy, my best friend in the whole world was my Yeti.

The dictionary defines a  ’yeti’ as a “large hairy creature resembling a human or bear, said to live in the highest part of the Himalayas.” I define my Yeti as the coolest friend in the whole world – good for a snuggle when I was sleepy, lets me lick his nether regions, always up for a romp in the yard, and crazy good at Scrabble. Yeti and I were super tight. Yeti was my bro. Mama took lots of photos of me with my Yeti, but when the incident happened, I destroyed any and all photos of Yeti and I together because the pain was too much to bear. So, you’ll just have to accept this photo of adorable puppy me instead…

Now, let me explain the incident I mentioned earlier…the day that changed my life forever. It all started the day Mama brought home this monster from the shelter.

Now, Mama tried to explain to me that Turk didn’t learn any manners at the shelter he came from, but seriously?! He was a straight up savage the day she brought him home. Without so much as a “hello” to me – his new brother - Turk ran into my apartment and promptly ripped the head off my Yeti. My Yeti. My best friend in the whole world! It all happened in slow motion. There was nothing I could do. I mean, I’m not a doctor or anything, but I am pretty sure that when your head is ripped from your body, you are dead. Like, dead dead. I retreated to a remote corner of my one-bedroom apartment to mourn. Turk proceeded to dismember Yeti’s lifeless body until only one solitary arm was left. I managed to wrangle Yeti’s arm from the brute Turkus, and I’ve kept it with me all these years in my cave under the bed. I’ve tried to play with it, but one Yeti arm is not the same as a whole Yeti. I had resigned myself to live a Yeti-less life until Mama sent me this photo when she was in Portland…

Yeti?! Could it really be you?! But wait! You were DEAD. Like dead dead! I watched as your head was torn from your body! So you are trying to tell me that all these years that I mourned your passing and was left to play with one of your arms, you had really faked your own death and were just chillin’ in Portland?! You were just riding the MAX and eating at Cartlandia and taking weekend trips to hike at Mount Hood?! We are finished! Finished I say! F-I-N-I-S-H-E … oh who am I kidding? Come over here, you…

I don’t know why you faked your own death, Yeti. I don’t care. I’m just glad you are here now and we can get back to the business of being bros. Because bros cover for each other when it’s time to clean our nether regions…

Bros will pose as a thick head of hair when the other bro has a date (because chicks don’t dig bros who are balding – not that I’m balding per se, but you know, just in case-sies).

Bros will hold each other accountable to wash our hands after using the bathroom (because seriously, not washing your hands is gross).

Bros snuggle (’nuff said, am I right?).

And most importantly, bros will act casual when Mama suspects of us doing something wrong. Because most likely, we probably have done something wrong, but that doesn’t mean she has to know about it!

I’m glad you’re back Yeti. Life was barely worth living without you. Besties for life? Cool.

PS – Mama insists that I tell you that the Yeti she found in Portland is the same Yeti as before, but not the exact same one. She said the old one really was killed by Turkey. She says she found this new Yeti at NoPo Paws – which is owned by her friend Sarah from Married with Dawgs. But I know the truth. I know Yeti faked his own death. Mama is/was just too dumb to figure it out.

PPS – Mama wants me to tell all of our friends on the East Coast to stay safe from the Frankenstorm – or Sandy – or whatever they are calling it. Stay safe and protect your doggies and kittehs (and Yetis)!

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