Where Mute Memories Start Talking

It’s recently come to my attention that dogs are subjected to the most inhumane treatment of all animals. Most of us simply subjugate them to house arrest, but often times they are forced to engage in much more disturbing practices. Filmmakers even force them to talk sometimes for their movies, ignoring the fact that dogs do not possess the proper vocal cords for human language. Shameful!

For some reason, dogs are slowly overtaking the household pet scene, leaving cats behind in the dust. Obviously the cats are not pleased, but they always seem to be preoccupied with licking themselves or vomiting in shoes. Demographics have shown that cats still dominate households with old ladies, but dogs have an extreme edge in places where men dwell. This is likely due to the fact that having a dog is masculine, whereas having a cat is perverted.

If a dog is lost, it is totally fitting for a man to go out to the porch, put one leg up on the rail and start yelling “REX! Where are you boy? REX!” On the other hand, scurrying through bushes and whispering “here kitty kitty. tsk tsk tsk. come home kitty” is a completely different story. Anyone walking by will label you as a pervert right away. Thank heavens God invented the rape whistle to protect against people like you.

The most tragic fact about dogs is that the noble ones always end up dying horrible deaths. Case and point: seeing-eye dogs. These dogs exist for one reason, and one reason only: so that the swerving car will kill the dog instead of the blind person. How many times must these dogs be subjected to barbaric treatment? Blind people constantly issue orders that the dogs are extremely uncomfortable obeying.

“Walk me across this street, Air Bud,” said Gladys. “Rufff Ruuuuuuuf?!?” (Dumb bitch, this is a river!), said Air Bud. “Come on! Let’s go!,” said Gladys. They both drowned.

Law enforcement up the ante on the abuse, particularly the DEA. Dogs are hired to sniff drugs, a job which many of my hallmates would likely take in a second, depending on the hours. In the age of terrorism, the job has become even more difficult for drug-sniffing dogs. Anthrax, cocaine, powdered sugar, and Pixie Stix residue are extremely difficult to distinguish between, unless your name is Keith Richards. To complicate things even further, dogs must work through wintertime on the east coast and Midwest. It snows over there. How many white powders can one possibly expect these animals to deal with?

Convalescent homes for retired drug dogs are overwhelmed with patients. On a recent visit, an Irish dog was seen bathing himself, proclaiming “I can’t taste me ass, and I dun know why!” As I moved a step closer, the dog became noticeably shaken and antsy. Suddenly, the poor Celtic mutt panicked and went “WHOAAA! LORD ALMIGHTY BABY JESUS WHAT WAS THAT?!??!? Ahhhhh, phew. It’s jus’ me tail.”

Meanwhile, the cats laugh their asses off and proclaim the brilliance of their indolence. Then they come up with clever rhymes, but one thing they never, ever come up with is a suitable ending to their think pieces.