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I Thought It Was Better That Dogs Don’t Talk

I was wrong

By Lese DuntonPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 3 min read

In my apartment lives a Bassett Hound named George. Like all dogs, he is able to communicate without using words. It's usually not too difficult to understand what he wants. His mind is primarily focused on two basic ideas: food and going out for a walk.

He uses his big brown eyes to start a conversation by staring up at you as if to say, “I'm so hungry. I need to eat right away. Please, please, I'm begging you!” This is perplexing because I feed him a huge bowl of food every day. How could he possibly be hungry? And yet his eyes repeat this urgent request over and over. Good thing he is asking silently. Can you imagine how loud it would get if he could actually talk?

His body is rather small, hovering just a couple of inches from the floor. If he eats too much, his stomach drags across the rug. Although that can get scratchy, he never complains.

Even when you call out his name with enthusiasm, George has been known to disappear on occasion. A loud, “C’mon boy! Georgie! Where are you?” renders no response. At this point, it’s advisable look in the kitchen. He likes to sit near the stove where a morsel of food might drop before him and into his waiting jaws. This almost never happens but he holds onto hope with admirable optimism.

When he finally gives up on the eating obsession, he waddles over to the front door and scratches it with his paw. Time to go out. Time to go out. As much as we all love George, it's probably better that dogs don't talk. That’s what I used to think. Until the day that everything changed.

I am doing the dishes which had piled up and I see that he is looking up me adoringly. Aww, how heartwarming. Just a look of pure love, not even wanting food. And then, he speaks.

“I understand your reasons for having me, but you may not realize my reasons for having you. Allow me to explain.”

I thought maybe I took too strong a dose of Ibuprofen and was having a drug-induced lucid dream, but that can’t be it. Of course I let him continue.

“I’m adorable, that’s obvious. I know my brown eyes are endearing, my body is laughable, and I’m soft to the touch whenever you pat me on the head. I do want to make you happy, yes, all these things are true. But beyond this ideal companionship, I have another mission.

“If my experience of living with you enhances your life in ways you never imagined and infuses you with a type of joy that was previously unknown, then I feel I’ve done my job. If you agree, then when I return to the heaven world in just a few short years, I’ll be able to advance to greater heights, no offense, and accelerate my soul’s journey.

“My only question for you today is, ‘How am I doing so far?’”

“You’re doing great,” I answered. What else could I say? “You’re such a good dog. You have succeeded at what you came here to do, but why have you waited so long to talk?”

“That’s simple,” George replies. “We’re not allowed to talk until we feel our host has nearly mastered positive thought communication and unconditional love.

“What do you mean nearly mastered?” I asked, feeling defensive.

“I mean you just need a little more training, that’s all. You’re such good human, you’re doing great.”

After that day, George never spoke again. I give him everything he wants now because I know he’ll be advancing to the next phase of his beautiful Bassett Hound mission.


About the Creator

Lese Dunton

Essayist, reporter, and book author. Writes about everything.

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    Lese DuntonWritten by Lese Dunton

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