Just a Dog
The man didn’t like dogs. They were filthy creatures, really. Getting in the garbage and pooping all over the place. Shedding and stinking up everything they came into contact with. Who in their right mind would willingly allow that in their home?
And then there was the barking. A squirrel walks by the window and they’d go off like someone insulted their mother. Like their owner should really care that there is a small woodland creature outside. If it was inside the house then sure, bark away, he thought, but most dogs weren’t like that. If you wanted them not to bark like that you would have to train them, or pay someone to do it. What a waste of money.
That wasn’t even taking into consideration the cost of food or vet bills.
No, the man didn’t like dogs and the feeling seemed to be mutual. He was always getting barked at for absolutely nothing. He only had to be near a dog to get it to bark at him. Even dogs that “never barked at anyone” (according to their lying owners… dog owners were almost as bad as the dogs themselves!) would yap and howl at him.
So, when the man was walking down the sidewalk on his way home from he store and heard a loud, shrill yip he wasn’t surprised. He cringed, yes, but there was nothing unusual about it. At least, not that he noticed until the dog continued on insistently, the sound getting closer, the barking.
But that was the thing, it wasn’t barking. It was telling him something.
Absurd. Preposterous! It was outrageous to an incalculable degree, thinking that a dog could be telling him something. He shook his head, thinking that he must not have slept well enough the night before. That seemed the only suitable explanation. Dogs made noise for all sorts of reasons but they didn’t actually speak. But this particular beast didn’t seem to be relenting, so he stopped in his tracks to turn around and face it.
The man didn’t see anything at first, but when a renewed round of yipping filled the air he looked down. It was one of those absurdly small dogs—the type that socialites and celebrities seemed fond of carrying in purses. There was no way it could be a stray considering how it was groomed, but it looked to have escaped from its owner.
“Go away,” the man snarled, kicking out. Not to hit the thing, but just to drive it back. Instead it stood up on its hind legs with his front paws flailing, growling slightly before barking more than ever.
Raising an eyebrow, the man looked around to make sure that no one was watching. He didn’t want to be seen associating with a canine at all, let alone responding to one. Crouching down to glare in the miniscule dog’s dark, round eyes, the man let out a growl of his own. “What the hell do you know about anything? I mean, seriously, you’re just a dog.”
Straightening up and turning on his heel, the man quickened his pace. The dog put its front paws on the pavement again and began to trot after him, tiny little paws flashing as it hurried to keep up, barking all the while. The man broke into a run and the dog followed suit, until the man reached his home with the dog still hot on his trail, barking and barking, the man shouting insults and obscenities in response to the rude animal.
The man didn’t like dogs. His neighbor knew that much, but still, she thought it was a bit much to get into a shouting match with the Lesage’s Maltese. He must have gone around the bend, because he seemed to be responding to something the dog was saying when all she was doing was barking because she smelled the food in his bag.
