Not Insane

Brian's Letter

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.