If we were to read a dog’s mind it might sound like this:
OHmygodohmygodohmygod HI, How are you? I’M GREAT! Where’d you go? THERE–where? HEY CAN I EAT THAT?
If dogs were children they’d be medicated. Their brains and hearts operate inseparably, and they are loyal to a fault. They do tricks and a lot of embarrassing things with glee, and without a care that we literally own them. It’s an endearing dumb goofiness that we can’t help but love.
I think, however, that beneath their spazzed-out exteriors is a kernel of latent genius that flits awake in rare, and inexplicable occasions.
This dog can sneeze on purpose. Like… what? How are we supposed to comprehend that?
These Scotties somehow form a synchronized pinwheel while eating, as if they’re linked to the gravitational pull of the earth in a way that is beyond human understanding.
They can take business calls even though there is no reason they should even know how phones work. If there was no way for me to learn what a phone, I’d think there were a tiny witch who wants me to shout into her weird-looking house.
They can grow human arms and teach themselves to jet ski:
They have mastered what I’ve been trying to do since I learned how to walk:
Their ability to pantomime is unparalleled:
Their spazzy exteriors are merely fronts to their laser-focus:
Which comes in handy when life gives you too many choices. Dogs are like, no problem. I have the emotional maturity to know what I want and self-actualize those desires.
They have rhythm:
They can type and listen to you at the same time:
And most importantly, they just get it: