May 22, 2009

“And by the way, and I know I’ve mentioned this before, it’s not nice to try and fool someone into feeding you twice.”

—What are you talking about?

“All the eager leaping and dancing that greeted my rising. The rush to the back door followed by more leaping and dancing. The plaintive look when I let you out that asked, ‘Why aren’t you following me to the food bowl?’ That’s what I’m talking about.”

—Oh, there was no fooling involved: I was just happy . . . ecstatic . . . to see you again.

“Uh huh. Fortunately, we humans have developed a useful tool called writing that allows us to communicate even when we’re absent . . . I know you’ve heard of it.”

—Yes, and it is cursed by all dogs at least five times a day.

“This a ritual of some kind?”

—No, just an ordinary oath, like a minor swear word.

“Care to let me hear it?”

—It’s untranslatable.

“Right. You realize, of course, that you’ve just admitted your charade.”

—Shhhhh. Don’t bother me, I’m in the middle of an intense round of surveillance.

Advertisements

May 18, 2009

—Ahem. . . . . ahem.

“Did you just cough at me?”

—Sort of, just trying to get your attention.

“Why?”

—You’re ignoring me and my . . . our . . . bark.

“Oh yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you about that. See, I think I’ve got enough material, and we seem to be repeating ourselves. There are only so many ways to talk about your love of food and sleep.”

—Don’t you mean vital sustenance and eternal vigilance?

“Of course, how insensitive of me. Anyway, I’m just not sure we have all that much new ground to cover or discover or however you want to describe it.”

— . . .

“So, you’re not talking to me now?”

— . . .

“Don’t look like that. Of course, we’ll still chat and hang out, it’s just that I’m not sure there’s much more to transcribe.”

— . . .

“You’re upset.”

— . . .

“C’mon, don’t pout. I just think I should start putting together all the great material you’ve generated into a more finished, polished state.”

— . . .

“You’re really upset aren’t you? I can tell. Would a biscuit make things easier?”

—Took you long enough.

“Hey, get your nose out of the box: I can’t get you biscuit with your face in the way.”

May 13, 2009

“You seem calmer today.”

—I’m always calm.

“Yes, except those times when you nearly break the wall open with your thumping tail hoping I’ll get up and feed you.”

—That’s my exuberant calm.

“I see, but I was trying to sleep in.”

—Why? Doesn’t the pull of your responsibilities make that difficult?

“Responsibilities?”

—You know what I mean.

“Yeah, that’s not hard to figure out: my responsibilities to your bottomless pit of a stomach.”

—See how calm I’m remaining even as you insult me?

“Remarkable. And I guess you’re admission that you were a ‘nervous wreck’ yesterday reflected your calm breakdown mode?”

—Something like that, though I believe you’re misremembering what I said.

“No doubt.”

May 12, 2009

[I mention to She With Whom Lewis Abides that “her dog is going nuts.”]

—I am not.

“What’s with the constant ‘I need to go out’ followed by an immediate ‘Let me in, let me in’ crap?”

—You forgot to feed me.

“I did not.”

—You forgot my biscuit.

“Again: I did not: you don’t get biscuits right after you’ve wolfed down

your breakfast.”

—I suppose I’m just a little unsettled by your presence.

“What?”

—I can’t figure out who’s supposed to be here and when. She With Whom I Abide leaves for days, and you put me outside when I’m barely awake, and then you stay home, and then you won’t feed me . . .

“I repeat: you’ve been fed; you eat so fast, though, you probably don’t remember chewing at all, assuming, of course, you actually ever chew.

—I’m just a nervous wreck.

“Let me guess: a biscuit would calm you down?”

—You’re smarter than you look . . .

“Hey, insulting the hand that throws the biscuit is not a wise policy.”

—Sorry.