Dear Rod,
I've noticed some problematic things about your boastful memoir, Dear Zoo.
You wrote to the zoo to send you a pet, did you? That's not what zoos are for. That's almost literally the opposite of what zoos are for.
I'm going to assume that you meant a pet shop. I'm going to assume that you meant to call your book Dear Pet Shop.
But hang on, that's not even how pet shops work, is it? If you wrote to Pets At Home to send you a pet, they would most likely ignore your letter as the scribblings of an impulsive time waster.
Assuming that they did reply to your letter, it would be to request that you took the time to responsibly research the type of pet you wish to own and then visit a pet shop, or reputable breeder, in person. There is no such thing as a mail order pet shop. These are animals, Rod, not 2 for 1 slankets from House Of Bath.
They sent you an elephant, Rod, but you sent it back. Was it 'too big', Rod? Is that the real reason? Or did its arrival immediately cause crushing self-recrimination as you realised the folly of your arrogant scheme? Did a huge and noble creature standing, bewildered and incontinent, on your welcome mat make you think 'oh. Good god. I've made a collosal mistake. It is not the elephant who is the wrong size for me, it is my ego who is wrong for the elephant'?
But no, apparently not, for you just calmly 'sent it back' and demanded a different animal. At this point, Rod, it's almost like you've confused a zoo with an old fashioned dating agency? Do you really want to own these animals or... something darker?
We don't need to itemise the whole of your shame. Suffice to say, each animal sent to you was appraised with a cursory glance, found wanting, and replaced. You seem almost proud of this in your memoir. At no point did you stop to think of the effect this would have on the animal. Torn from its home, wrapped up, delivered to your home (is your home even close to the zoo?) then quickly wrapped back up and subjected to the same traumatic journey in reverse. You're a terrible person, Rod. A pet is for life.
I have questions about the logistics. Which courier service was used? Can I have their number? Did you pay a one off fee for delivery, or were you charged separately for every animal? How much more did the giraffe cost to mail than the snake? Did you queue up in the post office for every return?
That aside, I want you to know that you're the worst sort of pet owner. You're reckless and feckless and ill considered and frankly I hope that your puppy shits worms on your pillow.
I look forward, with trepidation, to reading the next volume of your memoir, Dear Orphanage.
(I name changed because I can't take the pain of you all telling me I'm unfunny and tedious.)