Talk To your Animal

Talk to your Animal

My dog is worried about the economy because Alpo is up to 99 cents per can. That’s almost $7.oo in dog money.

                                                              Joe Weinstein

My best friend has been depressed lately.

 I mean he hasn’t taken to biting the children, or peeing on the furniture, but he’s defiantly grumpy. It could be that he’s 91 years old 100 lbs overweight, & losing his hair, but he has always had such a positive attitude that it disturbs me to see him so low.

 I thought that it could well be time to sit down with him and have a long heart to heart. After all, we go way back, & have shared a good bit of life together. There isn’t much we don’t know about each other...no secrets between us.

 The only problem is, I’m a democrat...he’s a Malamute. It’s hard to find equal ground.

I had to try though, that’s what friends are for.

So I had him in for ice cream & cookies, made ourselves comfortable on the couch & I looked him in the eye...

“So Sofa ol buddy...you seem a bit bummed out lately....wanna talk about it?”

Silence....maybe he didn’t wanna talk about it.

“Well lookie here, I’ll start out and if you want to chip in, you know, add anything, feel free.

Silence.

“I want to say I’m sorry right now for turning out from under you that time. I know it’s hard enough staying on that tool box without me driving crazy....”

Silence.

“Well it was kinda funny, I mean I jerked the wheel and left you curled up, sound asleep, going about 45 mph down the highway. I don’t think you even woke up till you hit the pavement....ha!”

Silence, as he nimbly plucked another Oreo from the plate.

 “Not funny huh?” “Well how bout that time you got stuck in the girls bathroom at Kochevars trying to get a drink. Sorry we didn’t find ya for two days, but there weren’t many girls in Kochevars back then...”

Silence.

“Food OK?” That new bed working out for ya? You upset that the baby thinks your a pack mule? You mad about the haircut?...I realize you resemble a Yorkshire hog shaved but it’s for your own good.

Silence.

 “Hey!, your not still sore about that little operation?” My God man that was 13 years ago!”

“Listen I don’t know if you remember but you were a maniac. Fighting & humping everything in sight and when your covered in fur & 200 lbs a lot of people & pets were just a bit intimidated to see you coming.”

“ I realize that little surgery, which by the way really took the proverbial wind out of your sails, cost you years of meaningful relationships but it also saved ya miles of heart ache & grief...trust me on this one.”

Silence. He licked a crumb from a giant paw.

 I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Apparently there was some very deep rooted animosity, or quite simply...he didn’t understand a word I was saying.

 Then it came to me. I recalled reading about a woman in Boulder, of all places, that could talk to your pet. Originally from California, go figure, this gal claimed she could communicate with your animal & unearth all types of deep seated resentments & suggestions, thus making for a better relationship between the two of you. Of course her consultation was 100 bucks per hour, but hey, for a special gift such as this, one expects to pay the piper. I was certainly getting no where.

 

 

 “Hellowww, Pet Consultation” spoke a soft, I’m OK your not, kind of voice. New age music played in the background...ear pudding, I call it

 “Hi, my names Steve Church, Crested Butte and I’ve got a problem with my pooch, Sofa”

 “And just what kind of a...er ..dog is Sofa sir?” answered the voice dripping oil .

 A very large, overwieght Malamute.”

“I find that many large breeds suffer hypomania, which means inflated self-esteem. Being large everyone expects a certain leadership alpha male type when actually many large dogs suffer feelings of insecurity and hopelessness.”

 “Do tell.”

“ Now, if you would care for a consultation, I could fit you in.. say a week from Thursday? Of course our first meeting is a minimum 2 hour visit, and it is important to get him started right away on Atypical Antipsychotics...”

“Well I don’t think he’s psychotic...”

“ Well then at least an antidepressant until he is able to communicate his feelings to me.”

“How long should that take?....until he is able to communicate his feelings?’

“Usually 2 or three meetings before he trusts me enough to open up.”

“Or about $500.oo bucks worth?”

“Sir, we try not to put a price on your pets peace of mind. You could be dealing with a very disturbed dog... he could well be bipolar, depressed, schizophrenic, anal retentive...

“I assure you there’s nothing wrong with that end...look here, seeing how we live about 5 hours from Boulder, and I’d rather shoot myself than go to the city, I was wondering if you might have a little chat with him over the phone. You know, a little Dr. to dog dialog.

 I could put him on the speaker phone...”

“Where is the dog now, Mr. Church?” Is he listening to all this?”

“Well he’s lying here like a beached Beluga, cutting the cheese..”

“It’s very important that he doesn’t associate me with the medical field, he must consider me a caring friend.”

“I actually don’t think he’s following this conversation at all, but I’ve been wrong before...”

“You’d be amazed just how much of your life your pet understands.”

“You mean maybe I should be asking him for a stock tip, or letting him make our vacation plans?”

 “Mr. Church, Sofa is a highly tuned receptacle of nerves and intuition that picks up on any negative or positive vibration within blocks. Pets are a intelligent antenna, receiving & understanding much more than we humans ever could.”

 I glanced down at the highly tuned receptacle of intuition, who grunted & tore off a yard long olfactory bomb without so much as opening an eye.

“Mam, you could drive a bus load of cheer-leading rabbits over this dog & not wake him up.”

“Could be attention-deficit disorder.” She oozed.

“Well that certainly runs in the family, hope he didn’t get it from me, anyway, I’m gonna put you on speaker phone and leave the room. Would you just see if you can get anything out of him before I drive all the way to Boulder?”

Without waiting for a reply I hit the speaker phone button and yelled at the prostrate Malamute...”SOFA!!! PHONES FOR YOU!!”

 I guess I waited about 5 minutes, like a expectant father pacing the front yard, dying to know how the conversation was going, I finally crept back in.

 The phone was disconnected, buzzing in it’s cradle. The dog still passed out in the same position.

 “SOFA WHAT HAPPENED?? THE PHONE WAS FOR YOU!!”

The dog opened one bored eye & let out a long sigh that sounded exactly like this:

“Crank call.”