My dog Willis can talk. he proved it by asking me for a rawhide bone. Immediately I start laying out my plan for striking it rich. Willis agrees to my scheme in broad strokes, but first he wants a sweater. He tells me to go to the mall and find him something comfortable, but not too itchy or bright. I return with a Baby Mossimo cardigan from Target and pull it over his enormous ears. The sleeves are too long, but Willis agrees to let me roll them up. Next time, however, I better get it right, he says. Willis is pushier and less easy to please than I'd imagined a talking dog might be. Very passive/aggressive. First with the sweater, then with his food. No more Purina for small dogs with sensitive skin. Now he wants tuna fish. What kind of dog eats tuna? Turns out talking dogs do. At least the ones he knows. I ask him how many dogs at Camp Bow Wow can talk. His flippant answer is none. If talking dogs were a dime a dozen, everyone would be rich.
And that's when Steven Colbert snapped back into focus. Weird. In the five seconds it took this yarn to unfold, Willis jumped up on the couch and sneezed.
"Gesundheit," I followed.
Willis doesn't respond.
I guess a bilingual Welsh Corgi would have been asking for too much.
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