Friday, 20 November 2015

Dog tales.....

Small Dog and I talk to each other all the time.

Sometimes our conversations are deeply philosophical, sometimes they're purely functional.

Tonight we had a mix of both.....

SD:  Muuuuurrrrmmmm.....hurrie uppp with mai dinnur.  Ai am starvven.

Me:  Oh for goodness sake.  I'm doing it!  OK?  Patience is not your forte.

SD: Forty!  FORTY?!?  Ai am onlie nein, as well yue kno.

Me:  You're nearly ten.  Do you know how old that is in dog years?

SD: Tenn?

Me: No.  According to the Pedigree website, in human years you are nearly 56 years old and are considered a senior dog.

At this point there was a loaded silence, during which Small Dog gave me a long, hard stare.

SD:  Phiphty sicks.  PHIPHTY SICKS!!!! 

Another long silence......

SD: Seenyore dog.  SEENYORE DOG!!!!

Me:  I'm sorry ..... but yes.  Like the rest of us you are no longer a spring chicken.

SD: *deflated* seenyore dog.  Ai kannot evin hardlie bileev itt.  

Me: * attempting to lighten the conversation* But look on the bright side.  There's life in the old dog yet!

SD: *withering look*  Harummph.  So.  Ai am neerlie retyrd.  Thats OKAI.  Ai eckspekt ai wil gett a penshun.

Me:  Ermmm..... 

SD: O bluddiehell.  Shurlie ai gett a penshun.  Ai have bean Hedd of Markitten & Komewnikashun.... thatt is a importent possishun.  Grate responsibilutie.  Perques of the jobb and orl thatt.

Me:  Yes.  Well.  I'm sure you will qualify for a pension commensurate with your level of management skills.

SD:  Ai shude thinc so too.  *mumbel, muttr.... seenyore dog... phiphty sicks.... peepul thees dais have kno respekt fore ther eldurs.

SD: *brightening*  Stil am yunger than YUE.

Me: Yes.  Yes you are.  Well done.

Me: *sigh*

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