One of the household dogs receives an application for a credit card... and accepts!

Sifting through the day’s pile of mail, I came across an item which glistened past the typical lot of advertisements, bills and credit card offers. It was one of the ubiquitous credit card mass mailings, but it was not addressed to me. The addressee was none other than one of the dogs that roam about the house, Gridley. Or, as was stated on the envelope, Grid Wisti. It was from L.L. Bean: an application for their Platinum Plus Visa Credit Card.

I released the unnecessary postal stuff from my grip and shouted the dog’s name. He ran into the kitchen, hoping I’m sure, for a morsel of any food I had to spare. “Grid! You’ve got some mail!” Holding out the envelope for him to sniff he was, at first take, unimpressed, although he humored me by sitting at attention on the linoleum floor, gazing with longing at the canister of dog biscuits on the countertop.

“It says ‘Grid Wisti’ on the envelope. It looks like a credit card offer. Grid, you might get your own credit card!” His disposition was accommodating and polite, but yet shaded on the side of darkness. He is, after all, not on a nickname basis with many, let alone a person sending an unsolicited piece through the postal service.

Gridley is an Australian Shepherd mixed with Farm Dog and took on his name after a small town in California, I offered up this name Gridley to him years ago, and he took to it immediately. On any matters of formality he prefers to be addressed by his full name, not the shortened Grid. Regarding the substantiality of a credit card application, he sunk to the floor when he heard that the letter was addressed to Grid, but was intrigued by the notion of obtaining his own credit line.

A Mr. Fuller, the vice-president of corporate marketing at L.L. Bean had taken the initiative to post a thoughtfully composed letter to my dog, along with the application for credit. According to Gridley, since Mr. Fuller spends his valued hours writing letters to dogs he should surely be granted the politeness of a swift reply. Gridley sat me down at the kitchen table and insisted that I fill the application out for him immediately. With pen in hand, I obliged.

“Social security number?” I asked.

“None.”

“Birth Date?”

“Not sure. About 10 years of age.” I did some quick math on my fingers and figured that that was about right.

“Mother’s maiden name (for security purposes)?

“Don’t know. Put down ‘Abandoned when young.’” He stretched out on the floor and stared at the wall, suddenly melancholy in his attitude.

“Total household income?”

This is where he brightened, raising his head and looking towards me.

“Tell Mr. Fuller, ‘Lots of good food, snacks, snuggling and furniture privileges.’”

I wrote this down, but shifted in my chair. I was taken aback by Grid’s mention of furniture privileges and told him so, as I thought that sleeping and otherwise relaxing on furniture was a given with any dog. I was about to grab the white-out fluid, but Grid insisted what he said was true and not all dogs are allowed on furniture. Asking him if daily walks and runs should be included in his income, he at first thought they should, then stood up, sniffed at the amount of space available for household income and decided that exercise was mandatory and available to any dog.

“Leave it as it is.”

We finished up the application by listing his occupation (guard dog and companion) and filling out his phone number, date of application and signature. The signature was in typical dog fashion: a quick scratch of the paper to verify that to anyone who might sniff the paper it was, indeed, Gridley’s distinct mark.

I was about to place the form into the pre-addressed, no-stamp-needed envelope when I heard I sigh. I looked towards Gridley and his steely brown eyes caught my glance.

“Anything else?” I asked, hoping that filling out his request for credit was the end of this charade.

“Yes,” his eyes penetrated my very being, “Take a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Yes, I want you to write a letter for me. And address it to Mr. Fuller personally.”

Once again I accommodated.

“Dear Mr. Fuller,” Gridley’s letter began, “Though you address me by my nickname in your recent correspondence, I feel compelled to compose this return letter by use of a proper salutation and, of course, your surname. I am, after all, rather firm about formalities until I develop a working relationship with a person.”

“Isn’t that a bit hmm… robust for the starting point of a letter?” I asked.

“If it’s not a problem with me, it shouldn’t be a problem with you,” Gridley told me. He raised his right back leg to scratch an itch on an ear. “You know me, start out an association with a stranger barking gruffly, then ease off as the person melts to my personality.”

I considered his disposition and decided he was on the mark.

He continued, and I faithfully wrote his words without further interruption:

“Let me say I am delighted to be considered for a Platinum Plus Visa card! You don’t know the many times I’ve wished to append my daily offerings with something a little more… shall we say on the ample side? This will be the perfect opportunity for me to grab an extra bit of sustenance while my man is away at his job or otherwise occupied.

“You mentioned in your letter that your offering is being made to those who love the outdoors. Well. What can I say — that’s ME! Also mentioned is the fact that there are over 1,000,000 people with an L.L. Bean Visa card. I’m curious. Are there other dogs whom you have made this offer to, or am I the first of the canine species to have received this offer? Whether I am the first or one of many, I am, indeed, pleased.

“Let me, if you will, allow me to say that I am hard-working and honest. I will repay any debt that I owe you in our transactions by slurps on the face and allowing you to hold my front paws for as long as you please. If, at any time, I should fall behind in my reimbursements I pledge the household cat to you. You may do with her as you please.”

I took the ink pen off the sheet of paper. I asked, “The cat? But I thought you and the cat were friends.”

“It’s a bluff. And a bit of dry wit in the manner of my master. Can’t you take a joke?”

“Funny.” I cast my eyes to the sheet of paper and re-read the line. Yes, I liked it.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“Just sign it,

“Yours faithfully,

“Gridley ‘Grid’ Wisti.”

I tore the paper from my notepad, folded it and was about to secure it inside the envelope.

“Oh, just one more thing before you give me a snack.”

“One… more… thing…. What is it?”

“Add a postscript and send along a picture of me to Mr. Fuller.

“Sure, anything you want,” I grumbled, “Which picture?”

“The close-up of me smiling, of course.”

“And the post script?”

“P.S. I am enclosing a recent picture photograph which will, I’m sure, attest to my demeanor and sincerity.”

“Anything else?”

Gridley shifted and moved closer to the kitchen counter where the canister of biscuits perched just out of his reach. “That’ll do. Put it in the mail; let’s see what we get by return mail. Meanwhile, let’s have a snack.”

© 2003 Todd (and Gridley) Wisti

Todd Wisti is the author of the travelogue Full English Breakfast published by iUniverse.com. Gridley is typically not in the habit of writing, as he is usually occupied with other more dog-like pursuits.

***
To view Gridley's letter to Mr. Fuller, click on the "Download this Article" icon above.