The Palisadian-Post presents an homage to Will Rogers’ column, “Will Rogers Says,” with a column by Palisadian Jimmy Dunne—on life in the “greatest town in America.”
Louis, Our Talking Dog
Dearest Palisadians, with everything we’re all going through, here’s a story that’s a little “recess … ”
———–
I’m kind of embarrassed to say it, but it’s true.
Our dog, Louis—he’s about a foot long—sleeps on the bed with us. He moves around the whole night, setting up camp in lots of different spots.
Sometimes, he likes to put his head right between the two of us. To kind of be one of us.
Puts his head on a pillow, lies on his back with his arms and legs sticking straight up.
When he’s doing this, you can’t tell if he’s just happy or dead.
In the middle of the night, the noises that come out of that one-foot thing are unimaginable.
From both ends of his body.
But, from the top end, he makes these moans, murmurs, mumbles and groans that I could swear he’s about an inch away from talking.
He’s dreaming about something, and he’s trying to talk—but he just can’t seem to get it out.
———–
Our morning routine is Catherine’s eyes open at about 5:15 a.m., and she pops out of bed like the Energizer Bunny.
She gets more accomplished in the next 15 minutes than I do all day. She pours her first of 17 cups of coffee, sets her chocolate croissant in the toaster and takes Louis out for a brisk walk to powder his nose.
In the family room, she sets up croissant camp and turns on the early morning news, happy as a clam.
Louis comes back in with me, and I lie there thinking about stuff until he steps on me enough that I have to get up.
This morning, he was walking on top of me, and I said to Louis, as I always do, “Louis, let’s go see Catherine.”
He looked at me right in the eyes and said, “Okay.”
Stunned, I said, “Louis, did you just talk? Can you talk?”
He said, “Little bit.”
“Louis, what’s your name?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot, thinking to himself, “You just said my name.”
“Louis.”
Excited, I said, “So, give me … the big picture. You happy? Do you like us as parents?”
“What are you talking about?” he said. “You two are the greatest.”
He had this raspy, mumbly, kind of Elvis accent kind of thing going on.
“Louis, what’s your favorite thing to do?”
“Walks,” he said without blinking. “Especially when you take me to the woods. There are like a zillion animals up there. It’s a smorgasbord. I don’t even know what I’m smelling.
“It’s the Galápagos Islands for dogs.”
He was just on the bed chatting away—like it was nothing.
Now I know how Wilbur Post must have felt in that barn with Mr. Ed.
“So what’s after this, Louis?” I asked. “Do you think there’s a doggy heaven?”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I just figure every day, I’m the luckiest dog in the world. Maybe that’s why I like cuddling up at night. Because I never know how long I got.
“And, I figure, if I go, it would be nice to go kind of cuddled up against both of you.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “Every day, you follow us around everywhere we go. Got any advice?”
“Since you’re asking, I’d put your phones down. Stop worrying so much. Just enjoy the ride.”
“That’s a good thought, Louis.”
I asked him if there was anything he needed to get off his chest.
He paused for a moment. “Well, I’m getting over it, but I’ve still got a lot of issues I’m sorting out with you, you know, neutering me.
“One day, I go into that room with the guy in the white coat, and I wake up, and my manlies are missing. I can’t imagine you’d do that to me.”
I looked away from him like he does to me when he knows he did something bad.
He was on a roll.
“And did you ever stop to think maybe I’d like to try a little of that wine at night? Get a little ‘happy’ on before I hop in the bed?”
I just looked at him. “No, I’m not giving you any wine.”
Catherine bounced in the room on coffee cup number seven.
“Catherine, watch this. Louis, say something.”
Louis barked at both of us, hoping for a lovely little morning scratch.
Louis never talked again.
———–
Well, Catherine thinks I’m nuts. I’m sure you do, too.
But Louis and I—we know what’s going on in there.
After Catherine left to go juice up on another cup, I looked right at Louis.
“Louis, I know you can hear me.”
He nodded.
“You’re not the lucky one, Louis. We are. We’ve got you in our lives.”
Jimmy Dunne is a modern-day Renaissance Man; a hit songwriter (28 million hit records), screenwriter/producer of hit television series, award-winning author, an entrepreneur—and a Palisadian “Citizen of the Year.” You can reach him at j@jimmydunne.com or jimmydunne.substack.com.