|Sweet-baby Marcie is almost 13 years old.|
mean when I say I speak for my dogs. I literally talk for them.
My grandmother did that for her poodle, only St. John (pronounced Sinjin) cussed like crazy. He’d run out in the yard from one side of the fence to the other, yapping his curly white head off and Mawmaw stood at the kitchen window interpreting. “Get the blank out of my yard you old blanket-blank bluejay or I’ll tear you to pieces.”
He never yelled at the mockingbirds like that, but Mawmaw explained that he respected the Texas state bird. He didn’t respect the squirrels though and would cuss the tar out of them when they ran across Mawmaw’s roof.
This past Christmas, I started talking for my new Labrador puppy in front of my extended family. My brother looked at me like I had a third arm growing out of my forehead.
“What? Everybody does that.”
He shook his head with his eyes widening.
“Well, Mawmaw always did.”
My brother cracked a grin. “Yeah, but she also took an album full of pictures of the dog peeing at every tree between here and the Grand Canyon.”
Okay, I’m not my grandmother … Really … I’m not!
But when my old-lady beagle comes happily inside, my girls greet her. “Hi, Marcie!”
I pipe up on her behalf, “Do you have some food for me?” (Of course I’m speaking for the dog, not myself. I can get my own food thank-you!)
Usually my beagle comes in all excited, especially when it’s almost time for her dinner – I swear she has a belly clock and it is MOST punctual! Her tail is up, her ears are perked and the girls start ooing and ahing over her and petting her, which she loves. So I start speaking for her.
“Thanks, that’s nice. Is it time yet? Ohhhhhh, yeah right there, but I could use a nibble. Maybe a piece of that sandwich while your scratching my ears?”
Now, I don’t claim to truly translate for her, but anyone would believe it because as I speak, her eyes roll back in her head and her leg starts scratching in mid-air. Then she sits tall and eyes first the girl that is supposed to feed her, then the girl that has the sandwich, all in perfect timing to what I say. My girls are amazed! They think I can really communicate telepathically with my beagle.
In fact, a little while later, I cracked a few jokes from Marcie’s point of view – little one-liners that had the kids in stitches – to which my youngest spouted, “Oh Marcie, you’re so funny!” I seriously felt the need to bow!
Not a talent to place on a resume’ I still have fun with it. And when I get to be 96 years old, although they probably won’t cuss them out, my dogs’ll tell off the local wildlife, too. But I’ll refrain from the picture-taking, thank you!