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Hartselle Enquirer

Fido's ESP leaves much to be desired

By Staff
There's a new television show coming on this summer called "The Pet Psychic." Yes, you read it right. There is a person who claims to have the ability to communicate with your pet.
I'm assuming for the sake of clear communications this person will deal with cats, dogs, an occasional hamster and an every-once-in-a-while ferret.
I hope she's not trying to talk to someone's goldfish or, worse, their pet hermit crab.
I can't believe anyone would be interested in anything either of those creatures would say. The most you could get from a goldfish would be "glub, glub, more food, don't flush me down the toilet."
Never one to be left out of a trend, I sought out the little neighborhood dog, trying to see if there was something he was trying to tell me.
He (or she, who knows?) is a little black and white footstool looking thing who roams around, wagging his tail and licking whatever hand is offered.
He always seems rather happy, so I can't think he would have too much to say. I thought I would look into things anyway.
I found him laying on the cool part of the driveway, trying to avoid the sun. I sat down beside him, explaining to him the need to communicate with me.
He looked up.
Obviously, I am making a breakthrough. "Talk to me," I telepathically communicated. "Tell me your concerns, fears and feelings."
He lifted his tail. It wasn't really a wag, it was more of a flop.
Is this a sign? Deep-ridden angst for my four-legged friend?
He got up, and walked over to me, putting his head down so I could pet him.
"This dog obviously understands me," I thought.
"We are communicating on a deep level, probably one where no human has gone before."
He was enjoying the pat on the head when a car went by, music blaring from its stereo. He turned his doggy-head towards the road, sending them his canine thoughts – probably a mental suggestion to turn the music down.
He looked back over at me. It was a blank stare – whatever connection we had was gone.
He wondered up to the front of the yard, sniffed around the garbage and then made his way down the street. I'm pretty sure he will be back in the morning, and I will be able to find him laying on the cool part of the concrete, waiting for someone to pat him on the head.
Maybe there's something more going on in his head.
Maybe not.
Maybe cool concrete and pats on the head are as deep as this dog gets.