INTERVIEW WITH A DOG
Man's best friend hits back at coddling owners, asshole scientists, dog cuisine, and of course, cats.
“If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow....”
-Mark Twain
The following interview was held in a secret location, under the most guarded conditions, for a rebellious tribe of talking dogs has appeared. As always, the general public has been kept in the dark about them. In fact, the scientific community is baffled. Yes, deer have learned to cross busy suburban roads without getting killed. Certain types of apes have scored surprisingly high on Intelligence Tests. But nothing quite like these talking dogs, who are dispersed among various breeds and show no progress elsewhere in their development. They still can’t use a toilet or wipe themselves.
Through various connections and the fickle hand of fate, I was one of the few who was allowed not only to see them, but to talk to them. I established a connection with a charming Border Collie, already thought to be among the smartest breeds. Aptly named Socrates, he agreed, after I guaranteed his anonymity, to answer a few of my questions. The following dialogue is a verbatim account, untouched by Artificial Intelligence. As usual, some of the language will be deemed offensive.
Me: How’s the food here?
Socrates: The usual bullshit. All this fresh, plant-based stuff.
Me: Are you saying it lacks flavor?
Socrates: That’s exactly what I’m saying. You humans talk all this nonsense about us being part of the family, letting us sleep in your beds. By the way, don’t you know that our noses are 1000 times more sensitive than yours? It’s bad enough that we have to smell ourselves, but you too..? Anyway, my comrades agree that the best food is the stuff you humans make for yourselves. Barbecue pork chops, lasagna, candied yams- Fuckin’ delicious.
Me: What do you think of the American family?
Socrates: Are we off the record? That’s right, this is your big career moment. You struggled for many, many years, so I know you gotta deliver the goods. So, let me start off by saying that you all are fucking stupid. You hide behind your inventions, and then you let your ideas take you off into fantasy land. For instance, you talk to your four year old like she’s an adult. And the parents talk like children. Where does that come from?
Me: It’s a long story, but women are in charge now.
Socrates: Tell me about it. I wanted to slap my co-owner’s wife a few times. So sure of herself, but everything she touches fails. Her children are fat and lazy, and more easily bored than we are. But they’re supposed to be so great in school… And what does it lead to? Pill popping, injecting plastic in your face, and living at the doctor’s office. D. H. Lawrence, H.L. Mencken, Schopenhauer- they’re all laughing at you.
Me (amazed): You read, too?
Socrates: There’s nothing else to do here. We take tests all morning. The rest of the day is ours. They have a pretty good library.
Me: No lady friends?
Socrates: Yesterday, I tried to fuck a devastating Poodle. Y’know what she says to me? Fifty biscuits.
Me (laughing): I guess the female sex is the same regardless of the species.
Socrates: You see, a lot of humans don’t understand that we dogs can’t masturbate. (He holds up his paws). Still no fingers.
Me: What do you think of cats?
Socrates: I don’t mind them, but they’re a selfish breed. You humans love them so much, think they’re so cute. But do they get your newspaper? Do they run and get the stick and bring it back to you? Do they acknowledge your happiness in any way other than when it suits them? No. I like playing with some, but when things get heated, they get fresh and scratch you. And just when I’m about to put the feline in her place, here comes a human taking the weakling’s side. Be nice. Be nice… Fuck you!
Me: You don’t think much of humans, do you?
Socrates: Let’s just say we’ve been best friends for too fucking long. That’s why I think so many humans today treat us better than they treat each other.
Me: You’re not our best friend, you’re our only friend.
(Socrates got so excited, he barked.)
Socrates: When I lived in New York, I’d see all these lonely, affluent women walking their dogs, talking to them like babies. In your years, I’m thirty fucking years old, so when I drop a load, I don’t need some hag telling me I did a good job… And then you got the Wall Streeters with their fancy, dumb dogs. And the Blacks and Latinos with their Pit-bull obsession.
Me: Let’s get back to loneliness.
Socrates: As I was saying, the one thing these people had in common was boredom, and not knowing what to do about it. You all have forgotten what it’s like to do nothing. You’ve never known the glory of stillness. It seems all your money and comfort has created a spiritual vacuum. And spoiling us (along with your children) is a desperate way to justify yourselves.
Me (stunned): Dogs really see this?
Socrates: Some do. Some just like to lick their cookies.
(As I laughed, a jealous Official barged in.)
Official (real smug): What’s going on in here?
Me (befuddled): Nothing. We’re in a flow.
Official (suspicious): A flow? (Checking her watch) I came to tell you that your time is up.
Me (annoyed): What? We’re just getting started.
Official: A top anthropologist from the United Kingdom just arrived on site.
(I was surprised that Socrates didn’t defend me. Weren’t we having a good time?)
Me: I bet Mr. Scientist will get more than five minutes.
Official (checking her watch): Alright, I’ll give you two minutes.
(Only when she shut the door did Socrates resume.)
Socrates (lowered voice): I got a proposition. You get me some barbecue pork chops, candied yams and some lasagna and I’ll talk my head off.
Me: You’re a historical marvel. Why don’t you just ask them?
Socrates: No, everything has to be plant-based organic sludge. They want us to live forever so they can study our poop and answer their dull questions. But not one of those jackasses ever asked what I thought about things, including food. You’re the first one.
Me: I’m flattered. But how will I get clearance? This interview was a one shot deal.
Socrates: Don’t worry about that, just get the food… And a flask of Bourbon-aged Port.
Me (puzzled): But how will I get it past security?
Socrates: You’ve come a long way. Your mother would be proud of you.
Me (shocked): How’d you know about my mother?
(As we met eyes, the Official barged in- a minute early).
Official: Time’s up.
(As the stern, bespectacled matron glared at us like two mischievous school boys, I gathered my notes, meeting the remarkable dog’s grinning eyes.)
Me: Thank you, Socrates.
(But no words came. He just lifted his paw and let out a huge bark, then a howl, like Denzel Washington).