We taught our dog to talk. She can say I love you and out, though
the two often get confused. We sometimes think she’s expressing her affection
for us when she really just needs to hit the grass.
This got me thinking. What would our beloved canine say if she really could talk? Here are my
thoughts on this I 8 Wednesday:
- I like how my mom (she calls herself that, but I’m no fool. I don’t believe I grew in her belly like those other three non-hairy ones) nestles next to me when she’s sad. Yum…salty tears.
- I’ve worked hard to master what they call “a cute puppy dog face” when I’m drooling, and dying to have a little nibble of what they’re eating. Mom caves easily. The non-hairy ones seem indifferent and usually let me take a few licks. Dad, he’s the hardest one. Gotta work on my face more.
- My family feels bad for me when I get squirted by a skunk. Sheesh, it’s happened enough times. What they don’t know is I’m the one who wins. They’ve never seen the skunk after the fiasco, have they?
- Mom must really enjoy picking up my poop. She saves it all for one day toward the end of the winter and spends over an hour scooping it up in the backyard (aka: my kingdom).
- Yes, I eat my own fur after they brush it off of me (if I can get to it in time). What they don’t know is every time I eat it it goes into my stomach and finds a way to grow on my skin again. So the brushing thing—it’s really a futile act. Wonder when they’ll wake up and smell the truth? Humans!
- The vet = public enemy #1. Cats in our neighborhood are spies for the vet. I can’t figure out what side the mail carrier is on. But I’m beginning to understand those pesky squirrels in the backyard (my kingdom) aren’t just gathering nuts. I think they’re transferring messages to the cats to take to public enemy #1.
- Yeah, so, I walked straight up to the police station where the animal control guy parks his truck? I wanted to see what it was like on the inside. Mom’s a writer. She gets this. All in the name of research, right Mom?
- I’ve been all around the country, but I’d have to say the coolest place my parents took me (other than a park in South Dakota where my parents had to chuck graham crackers out of the car…dropping some inside the car…in order to get past the enormous donkeys) was Mount Rushmore. Loved seeing those big rock heads. A little afraid they’d tumble down on us, but I tend to pick up on Mom and Dad’s anxiety and they didn’t act near as scared as when they do when they detect the first whiff of skunk.
What would your pet say if they could talk?
*Just ignore the dopey looking picture of me. Pay attention
to the cooler one.
