Speak?

Awhile back, Brianna stood in the kitchen with treats. I mean, the really good kind of treat. The meaty kind of treat. And she had the clicky thingie that she clicks when I did something right and she's going to give me a treat. (I kind of dropped out of dog club... Well, Brianna did. Supposedly because I was humiliating her, but I have no idea what she's talking about there. I think it was because she's had oodles (are oodles like poodles, only less fluffy?) of schoolwork to do, and a college math class with lots of homework. But that's my personal speculation.) Anyway. So she took that little box, you know the one I told you about a long time ago? She held it in one hand with the treat and clicky thing in the other, and then kept saying "speak!" and then she would push a button and it would bark.

I just looked at her. I knew she'd gone utterly crazy, finally. When it gets sunnier out, her hair gets more red. Therefore, she also gets crazier. She's just a little auburn, so she will never be a true redhead, for which I am sad. But redheads are a rare race and if you have one, you can consider yourself lucky. Anyhow, she kept making the box bark. I don't know what she was trying to accomplish. I finally got disgruntled enough that I yipped.

She clicked! I got the treat! She said "good speak!" and we kept doing this, over and over again, over the course of two days. I still don't understand why she wants me to bark, she scolds me for barking at the neighbors. But I guess this is different? So that is the story of how I learned to speak. Sit and Lie Down and Shake and High Five and Roll Over and Dance and Spin and Turn all have very boring explanations. So this is your interesting explanation of what it's like to be a dog. Whoever said "it's a dog's life" had absolutely no idea. NO idea. Absolutely NO idea.