I’m always amazed by how people will talk to their dogs in sweet, loving tones, and then rip their fellow man a new one. It’s why I decided to instill peace and harmony in the human race by convincing world leaders to speak in doggy voice.
My oldest brother is an evil ogre. Many a times as a youth he tried to tear my arms from their sockets, and as an adult, he now tries to take the legs as well.
Despite inflicting cruel, unspeakable horrors upon me, he has a soft spot in his heart for doggies. I recall him speaking in an affected voice to his dog, lovingly commending him for snarling at me and making a lunge for my throat.
This type of behavior among ogres and all people is common. Go ye to a dog park, and you’ll hear the doggy voice among owners. It’s kind of a high-pitched, all-loving, all-forgiving tone, and it always induces a tail wag from doggies and owners alike.
Why do we reserve such love and affection for only our four-legged friends? What if such warmth were radiated toward each other? Would we have wars, assassinations, and the World Wrestling Federation?
I think not. In fact, so convinced was I that the doggy voice could lead to world peace that I booked a flight to Washington DC.
I was a bit late to the gate, and the airline person informed me that regulations prohibited her from boarding the plane, even though it was idling on the runway in plain view. A heat current simmered under my collar, but instead of lashing out, I went full-doggy on her.
“Aw, what a good girl you are for following directions!” I said. “That’s a good girl! Good girl!”
As I uttered these words in doggy voice, I scratched her behind the ears.
You’d think such a maneuver would get me pepper sprayed, but the lady melted beneath my voice and my scratching. She even rolled onto her back and let me rub her belly as she radioed to the plane.
“Arf, arf!” she said into the intercom, then cleared her throat. “Ahem, excuse me. One more passenger!”
As I skedaddled toward the flight, I could hear her little puppy whimper fading into the distance. I was definitely onto to something here.
Puppy Toys in the Oval Office
I’ve always liked President Barack Obama, and I have to say, I think he’s enjoyed my company as well. Most commoners don’t have access to the Oval Office, but when you’re an epiphanizer of my standing, the door is always open.
“Mish man, wut up!” Barry called out as I entered his office. We did one of those mid-air celebratory collisions, as if rejoicing over a spectacular TD.
“Mr. President, I have an idea,” I began.
The President’s eyes grew large, a Pavlovian reaction I’m accustomed to generating.
“Howza bout you get Putin on the phone? I’ve got an idea,” I said.
“I’m not calling that chump,” the President’s arm-crossed in a hell-no symbol of defiance.
“Aw, Mr. President. What a good boy! What a good boy!” I doggy-voiced to him, and ear-scratched with great tenderness.
As he legged-twitched in approval, the President speed-dialed the Kremlin, and we got a Ruskie translator into the Oval Office. I doggy-voiced soothing words of peace, love and understanding, knowing full well we were about to tear down the Iron Curtain once and for all.
Unfortunately, my grand plan went awry. It turns out the translator we picked had a dog allergy, and had never once spoken in doggy-voice dialect. Thinking me and our leg-twitching President to be mad, he translated in a straight voice.
Putin got pissed, and before we knew it, four-star generals were running into the office, saying nuclear missiles were armed and pointed at the Oval Office. “Stand down, sir, or he let’s doomsday fly,” they warned.
I stopped scratching the President behind the ear, and he regained his Commander-in-Chief demeanor. He issued some sort of retaliatory threat back at Putin, and everything returned to its normal state of brinksmanship.
As the President escorted me out, I apologized for my valiant attempts.
“Aw, don’t worry about it,” he said. “No matter how hard you try, there are just some people who will never wag their tail.”
I patted him on the head, then threw a tennis ball across the room. I smiled at the sight of him vaulting over the couch to snatch it with his mouth. Good boy, Mr. President. Good boy!