Amos and Gracie
Gracie, our ten year old Lab mix bitch, is not a terribly bright dog. We’ve had her forever, and she’s the top dog since the former top dog passed the way of all things. I work out of our home, and the dog hangs out with me most of every weekday.
We engage in a dialogue of sorts. The subjects do not range widely, mostly consisting of going out, coming in, doing one’s business, and where, getting rawhide chips and biscuits and table scraps and all things edible; who’s trying to burgle the joint, get off with our stuff. The positional status of the meter readers, the FedEx drivers and the 7th Day Adventists. The dogs next door.
The good thing about Gracie is that all of her communication is non-verbal, but she is totally able to let me know what she’s thinking. She usually channels through my wife, who tells me what she is saying, in her voice, which is inimitable, to say the least. Gracie combines at least 4 separate and distinct speech impediments, including:
- Baba Wawa, substituting the W for the R sound;
- The classic lithp, where the TH sound replaces the S sound;
- Substituting the Y sound for the L sound, giving you yips (actually yipth) instead of lips; and
- The Tweetie Bird lisp, “I tawt I taw a puddy tat.”
She does this in a high-pitched, semi-sing song voice–my wife, not the dog–and it never fails to crack me up.
Gracie does it silently when it’s just the two of us. Sometimes I speak out loud to her, other times just telepathically. Neither way gets me anywhere, as she mostly does what she wants, or is beyond reason, terrified when my computer crashes and I start talking to it. When I’m talking to my computer she heads for the basement. Anyway, when I’m speaking out loud to her, I’m in quotes. When I’m just thinking AT the dog, or grinding my teeth in her general direction, I’m in italicized parentheses, emblematic of my frustration. Like this:
Me: “Gracie, don’t you want to go outside, hang out in the backyard in the perfect summer weather, your $20 a dose Revolution-whatever stuff keeping you flea and tick-free? The birds chirping, locusts thrumming away?” (For God’s sake. dog, it’s only perfect out there. I promise not to eat while you’re outside, so you won’t be missing anything!!!)
Gracie: (No.)
Me: “So, what’re you gonna do, just lie in here all day and look out the door? You’re gettin’ old, dog, and you should find a patch of sunshine out there and lay OUT. Fool.”
Gracie: (Why are you always so mean?)
Me: “I bet if I took a treat out there, you’d come out to get it.”
Gracie: (You said “treat.”)
Me: “I bet if I got your freaking LEASH you’d get up and go outside.”
Gracie: (You said “leash.”)
Me: “Probably if I threw a CHIP out there you’d get up off your bum and roll out there.”
Gracie: (You said “chip”. That’s ALL THREE THINGS–treat, leash, chip. Now, I get ALL of those things, right now, now, like now, just as soon, treat, leash, chip, now, now okay? okay?…)
Me: “OK, OK, PLEASE let me get you a treat, a chip and a walk, so you don’t have a freaking STROKE on me here or wear out the carpet. Thank you for not breathing on my thigh. I am so sure the next dog won’t have ANY terrier in it.”
Gracie: (You said treat, chip, leash, let’s go, I’m ready to go, let’s go to the cabinet, hey, I’m ready, treat, leash, chip…)
