It’s no scientific revelation that humans and animals can converse. In the case of dogs, a bark or a whine, a wag of the tail or a certain posture, a turn of the head or a nervous scratch can communicate very specific messages that humans can interpret as two-way dialogue.
If you spend consistent time with your animal these conversations can run on to full-blown sentences, indeed, these animal talks often equate to the most intellectual discourse I have over the course of a week.
Cartoons depict fake conversations between dogs and cats and dinosaurs and lizards and the occasional human, but the banter I’m talking about is real.
Over the past couple of months, when it has rained or threatened to just about every day, the park is near deserted and it’s at these times, dodging raindrops and sidestepping puddles that the casual discussion with your dog can get a bit spicy.
Angie: “Why do the gooses and crows have to make so much damn noise?”
Me: “They’re called geese and the sounds they make is how they communicate. It looks like they’re having fun.”
A: “It would be a lot more fun if you let me chase those motherfuckers.”
Me: “What would you do if you caught one of those fat birds?”
A: “I’ve heard that geese tacos are tasty. I’d bite off the beak and save it for a Halloween costume, the feathers would make a nice accent for a fedora and I’d use those orange feet for a backscratcher.”
Me: “Why do you constantly freak out about those geese?”
A: “They act like they own the fuckin’ park. They should fear me for the predator I am but they just stand there all high and mighty because they see all the dogs are leashed. Where is a pack of coyotes when you need one? … Fuck them.”
A: “How come at this exact spot on the trail there’s always that funky smell?”
Me: “There’s a fish cleaning station right there. Smells like your fuckin’ breath.”
A: “Oh no you didn’t! Listen, I get fed one fuckin’ time a day, the rest of my day is spent nosing around in the dirt or exploring my fur for something to eat. It takes its toll on a pup’s breath.”
Me: “Remember when I tried brushing your teeth with meat flavored toothpaste?”
A: “Indeed, not one of your better ideas. The breath is not likely to improve by rubbing your teeth with a steak.”
A: “Why can’t dogs go in this lake anyway?”
Me: “They think you’ll scare away the fish.”
A: “Screw that. How many fish could there be in that murky pond and what kind of trailer trash hangs around a manmade suburban lake every day of their fuckin’ lives?”
Me: “It is a bit sketchy. These dudes have a lot of time to kill between unemployment checks, heaven forbid that they should read a book or take a shower.”
A: “Uh-oh, here comes that fat lady with the dog with the mushed-in face … why can these little bastards bark at me but I can’t bark back?”
Me; “You can bark back, I just thought you were better than that. Why do you have to act like you’re gonna go on the attack at the sight of every other dog?”
A: “You gotta fuckin’ stick up for yourself. I’ve heard too many of these dumbass owners say, ‘Oh it’s okay, he’s friendly’ and then have their ugly dog take a nip at me. Not me boy, I’m all about bite first asked questions later … besides I have nice teeth, let’s let people see ’em.”
A: “Hey, look, that geese over there is walking funny … he’s got one leg up like he’s a fuckin’ flamingo.”
Me: “It’s a goose, but you’re right, looks like he’s hurt.”
A: “Too bad it’s not December, he’d make a nice Christmas dinner.”
Me: “You couldn’t catch even a crippled goose, and we gotta go.”
A: “That’s a hurtful thing to say … Do you have to pull that dog brush out every time we come here?”
Me: “You wanna look your best don’t you?”
A: “You should worry about your own appearance.”
Angie is a five-year-old Labrador with an exceptional vocabulary and a supermodel attitude.