Max and I had always had a special relationship. Yeah, okay, that's putting it mildly: I can talk to my dog. Not that I've ever shared that titbit with anyone. Wouldn't exactly have made it past the psych evaluations needed to get me to the moon, if I did.

When I get back home, here's there waiting for me. His glossy, golden coat is threaded with a bit more grey now. His bright brown eyes have dulled slightly. But he still jumps madly at me, paws scratching at my chest.

"You're back! You're back! Oh my GOD, where did you go? You smell weird!"

"The moon, bud," I tell him, ruffling his ears. "I told you before I went, remember?"

"Don't remember," I hear his voice in my head. "Too long ago. What's the moon?"

"It's kinda like...like visiting a totally new neighbourhood, you know? Everything smells fresh."

"Were there bitches?" he asks, his tongue lolling out.

"Not the type you mean. Well, there was one, but she didn't really want to talk to me."

"Well, were there steaks?" he whines at me.

"Nope, the food was terrible, to be honest."

"Then what was the point?" he huffs, snuffing my shoes.

"I don't know," I sigh, getting frustrated. I'd never make him understand. "Furthering scientific knowledge, I suppose."

At this, he sat back on his haunches, cocked his head and me and snorted with laughter.

"Don't you think being the only guy able to talk to his dog would make a better scientific paper than walking on the moon?" he asks me, his words surprisingly lucid and bitingly sarcastic.

"God, you humans. So stupid. Here I was, sitting right fucking here, and you go disappearing to the moon. And assume I'm too stupid to understand anything. You know, that's it. I deserve better than this."

I gaped after Max as he suddenly whirled around and ran out the open door, heading toward the streets.