Angels and Platonists shall judge the dog.

We're watching television. An ad comes one, featuring a dog who's evidently also a policeman--he has on a uniform and wears glasses. Also, he walks on his hind legs. 

In this book, one of my

favorites, a dog lives his own 

doggy life, including the fact 

that he has a house, where 

he lives independently.

Me: Do you think that dog can actually walk on his hind legs?

The historian: No, no. No. That's Photoshop or something.

Mr. Dog has a friend, and
also goes grocery shopping.

Me: No. No. I think he can actually walk upright.

[The dog is speaking, I think, but we've muted the sound, so it's hard to say for sure. Who knows what this ad is even for?]

The historian: Really.

Me: I like to think that dogs have whole lives they don't necessarily share with us.

[What I really like to think is that dogs talk to each other, and sometimes to us, if we're really listening. Using words, I mean. I'm keeping that to myself, for now.]

The historian: Well, I've kind of wondered about that, what Bruiser actually does all day, what he would do all day when I was home all the time.
Me: Sleep like a mad dog?

Clearly exhausted from his rich
private life.

The historian: ... and go in and out. A lot.

Me: Right.

The historian: ...but maybe they do things when we're not there...

Me: Right.

The historian: ... maybe have their friends over?




"Dogs are Shakespearean, Children Are Strangers," by Delmore Schwartz.