— A short story

Bart thought he was going crazy and who wouldn’t when you are forty-two and you think your dog is talking to you. Harley, his black and white border collie, was sitting in front of him, staring intently into his eyes and saying, “You never listen to me!”

Well, okay, the dog wasn’t actually moving his lips, but Bart could swear he heard a voice coming from him. Bart shook his head. “Nah! I just must have had too much scotch at the party last night,” he said and went off to the kitchen to fix himself some strong black coffee.

Harley followed him and then hit Bart’s leg with his paw.

“You are doing it again – ignoring me!” the dog said.

Bart turned around and there was that darned voice again. Harley’s eyes were blue, which was unusual for a dog and combined with that concentrated stare made him look almost, well, human, and a pissed off one, too. The dog was saying, “What’s the matter? Can’t you understand English?”

He’s not really talking. Dogs can’t talk. I’m imagining all this, thought Bart, wishing the coffee maker would hurry up.

“Who says we can’t talk? Humans! What do they know? Arrogant bastards!” said Harley.

You have to admit, thought Bart, I sure have a lively imagination. I wonder if I could make a living from it. Maybe write stories for children, produce a cartoon show. . . He started to whistle as he fantasized waving to pint-sized fans in the Santa Claus parade. 

Harley barked and Bart patted him absent-mindedly on the head. At last, the coffee was ready. Bart filled his mug, sat down at the kitchen table, and opened the morning paper to look for jobs. He had been unemployed for 6 months and his savings were getting low. Harley, forgotten and ignored, padded out of the room in disgust.

The dog flopped onto the rug by the fireplace and rested his nose on outstretched paws. He let out a big sigh. This is not going well, he thought, The guy is incredibly slow.

Just then, Minxy came in through the cat flap. She stopped to give her short, but silky black fur a few licks, before moving over towards Harley. Keeping her thoughts carefully shielded, she crept up behind him and suddenly swatted his tail with fully extended claws. Then she made a dash for cover under the coffee table. Harley did not react.

Hmmm, they must need sharpening, thought Minxy, and began working both sets of front claws on the nearby sofa.

“No, I felt that. I just chose to ignore it,” said Harley.

“Why? You sick or something?

“Just depressed. I still can’t get Bart to communicate.”

“Hey, give it up! You’ve been at this for months. Face it; he’s a dud, even for a human.”

“I can’t understand why it’s taking so long. God knows I’ve left enough clues. I left books lying on the floor open, with the corners folded. Surely, he could figure out I can read. But no, he thinks I just want to play, or I’m hungry or some such thing.

“Then I try to get his attention by staring at him and transmitting thoughts, but he only seems to understand barks and whines and growls. It’s so pathetic! Here I am trying to raise the intellectual level of our communications and all he thinks about is my physical needs.”

“Harley, you are wasting your time. Even if he could communicate with you, who’s to say his thoughts are worth hearing. You’d probably wish he’d shut up once he gets going. No, take my advice and forget him. Just do your dog thing, get yourself fed and walked and leave the intellectual stimulation to the animal kingdom.”

“Well, there was a rather intelligent poodle I met on our walk yesterday. Had some interesting things to say on fluid dynamics and the forces at work on a urine stream projected at angle A with a velocity of B, or something like that. I didn’t catch the formula, ’cause his human hauled him away before he could finish his demonstration.”

“You see! What do humans know? Stupid clods. Last night, you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Well, it was around midnight, see? Bart was watching TV, some old movie. And I told him I was just going out for an hour and to leave the latch off. But the jerk went and locked me out all night!”

“No!”

“Just about froze my tail off.”

“Such as it is.”

“Hey! You making fun of my tail?”

“Well, it is short, don’t you think?”

“It’s meant to be. I’m a Manx cat. Why do you think the idiot called me Minx the Manx? The guy has no imagination at all.” Minxy licked the little puff of fur at her rump.

“Looks more like a rabbit’s tail, if you ask me!” snorted Harley.

“Ok, that’s it! You asked for it!” And with that, Minxy leapt onto the dog’s back and dug in all four sets of claws as deep as she could. Harley yelped and ran around the living room trying to dislodge her.

Bart heard the commotion and ran into the room, shouting, “Hey! No fighting. Minx, get off him now! Now, I said!”

The pair ignored him, putting on the greatest rodeo show the world had ever seen—Harley bucking to and fro crashing into furniture and Minxy hanging on for dear life.

Bart tried to get a grip on Minxy as they passed, thinking to pull her off, but he just got in the way. Harley slammed into his knees, bringing Bart to the ground. In true bronco fashion, Harley threw himself down and tried to roll on his rider, but Minxy was too fast for him. She sprang off just in time to avoid being squashed and then sped out through the cat flap, disappearing into the bushes beside the house.

Damn cat, thought Harley as he licked his wounds, She’s so vain. Can’t take a joke.”

“Hey bud, you okay?” said Bart, as he picked himself up. He went over to inspect Harley’s back. “Looks like she got you pretty good there. It’s bleeding. Let me put some ointment on it.”

“Ugh! Not that white stuff. It tastes terrible!” said Harley.

“You aren’t supposed to eat it, stupid,” said Bart.

“Hey! Did you just talk back to me?” said Harley, his heart leaping with hope, tail wagging wildly.

“Stop wriggling about. If you don’t let me treat it, I’ll have to take you to the vet.” Bart said.

Nah, must have imagined it, thought Harley, as he forced his body to calm down. “Why don’t you take that damned cat to the vet and get her declawed instead?”

“Hmmm. While I’m at it, maybe I should take Minxy to the vet and get her declawed,” said Bart, “She’s tearing the place apart. Just look at that sofa!”

Hey! It’s working! I’m slowly getting through to him! Harley’s tongue lolled out in a huge grin and his tail thumped enthusiastically on the rug.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pal?”

Yes! thought Harley, Success!!! By George, I think he’s got it!

The End

“Pet Talk” © Copyright 2004 by Gail Christel Behrend — All Rights Reserved