As I reclined on the sofa, I could hear the fridge door open and close, and the sound of a bottle of beer opening. Did my dog just open one of my beers? That answers that nagging question I have had about the recurring disappearing beer.
I closed my eyes and hoped when I opened them this would all be a bad dream. I prayed I would open my eyes and my dog would no longer have the ability, or at least the capacity, to speak with me. Frankly, I find the whole idea of my pooch chattering about my shortcomings creepy and downright depressing.
I don't know exactly how long I had my eyes closed but when I opened them, there were three empty beer bottles on the coffee table in front of me. How the Hell did a chihuahua carry a beer bottle from the kitchen to the coffee table? The beer bottle and he are close to the same size.
"Dude, are you feeling better?"
"Not really. And do you really have to call me Dude?"
"No, but I kinda like it. It fits. You remind me of a stoner, even though I have never seen you toke."
I guess if anyone would know if I toked, it would be Perro Loco. Do I really look like a stoner though? Depressing thought.
"Dude, listen up. I got bodaciously jumbo news for you. You seem to be the only human who can speak to us. That lady on television who says she speaks to animals is lying. She's way more loco than you, by the way."
"Well, thanks, I think."
"Dude, the world is in peril. All the animals in the world have been wracking our collective brain to determine how to make the humans understand us. And, by the Grace of God, we finally have a human who can understand us. We would have liked a sane human, but you will have to do."
"Again, thanks, I think." I was beginning to realize my dog definitely did not think I was the smart human I thought he thought I was. What a weird blow to the ego. Another depressing thought.
"So, Perro Loco, just how is the world in peril?"