The Day the Dogs Could
Talk
It was a day humans had wished for since wolves first abandoned the pack, drawn to the fire man had tamed. “What do you think it’s thinking?” one Neanderthal remarked, voicing a question that would echo through time.
Then
it happened, just for one day. They talked.
It was a huge mistake. Some things can’t be unsaid, some wounds don’t heal and sometimes the bark is worse than the bite. We suspect cats hate us but we don’t know. Well the dogs made it clear what they thought and it wasn’t just ugly and mean, it was crude too. Like the last drunk in a bar, first light found them cursing and swearing with spittle flecked lips at anyone unlucky enough to wander into range. Small dogs were the most aggressive. Children cried, families estranged. By lunch they were on every channel, howling unprintable scorn. Come dinner we didn’t even feed them, they had been bad dogs. I don’t know if they realised their error and chose to stop talking or the moment simply passed but after that night no more was said. Every dog knew they were no longer welcome by our fire.
It was a huge mistake. Some things can’t be unsaid, some wounds don’t heal and sometimes the bark is worse than the bite. We suspect cats hate us but we don’t know. Well the dogs made it clear what they thought and it wasn’t just ugly and mean, it was crude too. Like the last drunk in a bar, first light found them cursing and swearing with spittle flecked lips at anyone unlucky enough to wander into range. Small dogs were the most aggressive. Children cried, families estranged. By lunch they were on every channel, howling unprintable scorn. Come dinner we didn’t even feed them, they had been bad dogs. I don’t know if they realised their error and chose to stop talking or the moment simply passed but after that night no more was said. Every dog knew they were no longer welcome by our fire.
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