Dear Brenston: March 1, 2019
I don’t know what to do for spring break. Got any ideas?
Don’t want to go home? Don’t want to stay at school? Don’t want to go to America’s theme park, the one and only Doggy-wood?
Here’s a tip. Steal a car, and drive until the road runs out.
I have crippling depression, and this first half of the semester has gone by without me getting a single thing done. How do I get help?
Talk to others–and not just fictional dogs. I recommend your rector, your family—maybe even stop by the UCC. It’s free, and here expressly for your benefit. Whatever you do—please don’t try to slog through this alone! We are with you. Bark.
I’m going to be leaving Notre Dame soon. What should I do before leaving this place?
Dear Wisty RomRom,
Go to your freshman year roommate. Tell them you will never forget them. Go to Fr. Jenkins. Tell him you will never forget him. Go to the first TA you ever felt neglected by. Tell them you will never forget them. Go to the geese by the lake. Throw rocks at them.
Your advice letters stink! They rarely seem to be written thoughtfully, and you treat your readers like garbage.
That’s not a question. Besides, I’m a dog. I like garbage.
What are your feelings about cats?
I knew this question would come up eventually. My feelings towards cats are complicated. On the one hand, I have a couple good friends who are cats–Oscar and Munroe. They roam about Notre Dame’s campus observing everything–silently.
On the other hand, I’m a dog. Dogs hate cats, sure as Notre Dame fans hate Michigan and reasonable attitudes towards sports. So, you can understand why I’m hesitant to give a simple answer here.
Brenston is a dog.