Despite her inability to form words, my puppy uses sounds, looks, and my rampant imagination to have entire conversations with me.

Here is one we had recently.

Puppy (distressed): My love can’t get to you!

Me: What?

Puppy: Something is blocking my love and keeping it from getting to you!

Me: It’s called a door and I will open it for you in a minute.

Puppy: Why do we even HAVE those? They block my love and my ability to chase the squirrels.

Me: You know, love can actually get through doors.

Puppy: Not my love. My love is strong, but it has a short range. You have to be very close for my love to get to you.

Me: Okay, well, I’ll open the door in a minute.

Puppy: Okay.

. . .

Puppy: How long is a minute.

Me: You know your attention span?

Puppy: Yeah.

Me: It’s about 6 times longer than that.

Puppy: Wow! That’s really long.

Me: It really isn’t.

Puppy: Okay, I’ll wait.

. . .

Me: Why are you making that noise?

Puppy: It’s just the sound of me dying inside.

Me: You are not dying.

Puppy: When my love can’t get to you, it comes back and attacks me. Not being able to love you is literally killing me.

Me: Just give me a second, and then I’ll open the door. You won’t die.

Puppy: Okay. But I might. It’s already happening, I can feel it. I’m dying.

Me: Are not.

Puppy: On the inside!

Me: Not on any side!

Puppy: YES, ON THIS SIDE OF THE DOOR, I AM DYING!

Me: OKAY! THERE! Now the door is open!

Puppy: I’m alive again! My love can get to you and…oh no!

Me: What?

Puppy: You’re not doing that horrible thing again!

Me: What?

Puppy: That thing with all the water?

Me: Bathing?

Puppy: Yes! I hate that!

Me: Why do you hate baths so much?

Puppy: They ruin my camouflage.

Me: What camouflage?

Puppy: You know the squirrels that want to kill us all?

Me: Um…maybe.

Puppy: They always know when I’m coming for them, and it’s because they can smell me.

Me: Really? You don’t think it has to do with the manic barking?

Puppy: That’s my war cry.  But they already know I’m coming because they can smell a predator.

Me: You’re not a predator.

Puppy: My kind have always been hunters.

Me: You’re a designer mix of small white fluffy things. Your ancestors were stuffed animals.

Puppy: You’ve just never seen my ferocious side.

Me: That is true.

Puppy: Well I would tear those squirrels limb from limb if they didn’t smell me coming and run away. That’s why I need camouflage. I find the best smells in the yard and roll in them until I smell like them. But somehow, I always achieve the perfect scent just at the same time as you randomly decide I need a bath.

Me: It’s not random.

Puppy: No, it’s really weird. It happens every time. What are the odds?

Me: I bathe you because you smell bad.

Puppy: I don’t smell bad. I smell glorious!

Me: You smell bad.

Puppy: Well I hate baths for robbing me of my camouflage.

Me: You don’t need a bath right now, so you don’t have to be afraid.

Puppy: But you’re in the bathtub.

Me: I am.

Puppy: I want to be WITH you!

Me: You are with me. Look, I can reach out and pet you.

Puppy: That’s just your arm. I want to be with the rest of you! The bathtub is blocking my love!

Me: We’re a foot apart! How close does your love have to be?

Puppy: It works best if I am sitting directly on you. We need to be very, very close. So close that I can lick the inside of your mouth.

Me: You know I hate it when you do that! Why do you like doing that so much?

Puppy: Why? The inside of your mouth is amazing! It’s where all the food goes, so it’s like tasting what you’ve tasted.

Me: Ew.

Puppy: And it’s where you secrete that beautiful scent from.

Me: Excuse me?

Puppy: In the morning, while I’m waiting for you to wake up, I like to let you breathe on my face. The smell of your breath is so strong, you could sneak up on any prey and they’d never smell you coming, just your breath.

Me: Hmm. Thanks.

Puppy: So…

Me: So?

Puppy: My love still can’t get to you.

Me: I’ll be out of the bath in a few more minutes. I, unlike you, don’t like to smell “glorious”.

Puppy: Okay. I’ll lie here and wait for you.

. . .

Me: What’s that noise about?

Puppy: Sorry.  I’m trying to be quiet. It’s just so hard to do when you’re dying on the inside.

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