"DUUUUUDE! YOU'RE BACK! I'm so happy to see you! Hey! Hey! Hey! Dude! Hey!"
"Yeah Bode, I see you too." I replied and knelt down to give him a big hug.
Of all the dogs I'd known, Bode was the friendliest, but also the stupidest. He's my third dog, and yeah, I love him, but he's an idiot. Sometimes his constant yammering gets a little annoying.. But that's what I get for that wish.
"How was your day at work, dude? I missed you all day! I just kinda sat around. I saw a squirrel today! And a chipmunk too! I tried talking to them but they ran away," Bode continued. "...hey, could you let me outside? I want to go pee on that tree. And then the bush. And then the other tree."
"Yeah Bode, sure thing bud. Give me a second." I went to let Bode out the door, and as I watched that giant, magnificent, white wolf-like dog bound around in my backyard I thought how silly it was that I could actually talk to him.
When I was six years old, I'd gotten my first dog. His name was Buddy, I'd named him that because he would be my best buddy. One night, I was looking up at the stars with him in a field, when I saw a shooting star, and in the moment, I wished that I could talk to dogs. Neither of us said a word for what just have been half an hour, just content to sit there as I pet his thick coat. Then we got up and Buddy looked at me: "are we going home now? I'm getting sleepy." He asked me. "Did you.. Just talk?" I replied, unable to even process his question.
"Yeah, I talked. I do it all the time. Don't you understand me?"
"Well, I do now. You've been talking to me this whole time?"
"What do you think I'm doing when I look at you and make noises with my mouth? Humans..."
Buddy was without a doubt the smartest dog I'd known. By that I don't mean he knew a lot, he wasn't educated (no dog is), but he was clever and emotionally intelligent. He always knew when something was bothering me. "Hey Henry.. You can always talk to me. What's wrong?" He would say, gently nudging his nose under my hand, forcing me to feel the soft fur on the top of his head and behind his ears.
He helped me through middle school, the time when kids were most cruel. He helped me the first time I really liked a girl, to become bold enough to ask her out. "You're a great human, if she likes you, great, but if not, don't worry, it won't be the end of the world."
"Wow, that's wise for someone without balls." I joked. He really was wise, though, for a nine year old.
"Hey!" He'd growl, "no shots below the belt!"
"But you don't even wear a belt!" And we'd both end up bursting into laughter. Yeah, dogs do laugh. Some of them have great senses of humor.
(If everyone could understand them like I do, comedy clubs would be filled with dogs. In my experience, the funniest ones are the little ones- pugs especially. Pugs have to have a sense of humor- "I mean, look at me. My human has to clean the folds on my face and I had to be born by C-section because my ugly head is too big for my body," would be a common joke from Otis, my friend's pug. Self deprecating humor is the best kind.)
Back to Buddy: he really was my best friend. Unfortunately, that just made it worse when he died. He'd been getting really sick, and we didn't know what was wrong with him. Turned out he was full of cancer. Before he went into surgery to see what was wrong with him, I remember squeezing his paw and telling him everything would be okay. Those were the last words I ever said to him. They said they couldn't in good conscience take him off anesthesia, and they had to put him down. I lost my best friend.
Now, 20 years later, I operate a shelter for dogs: stray, abused, et cetera. I find them homes. But I'm the best at it. When nobody is around (which is pretty often), I talk to them. I help them deal with their past and problems, I listen to their needs. Often they leave much happier than they came in. Based on what I know of them, I find families who would be a good fit for them and send them off to happier lives. People call me the "new dog whisperer" (Cesar Milan retired a long time ago). I don't want any dog training TV show or attention or anything like that, though. I'm just content to call my shelter "Buddy's Place". When I lost my best friend, I decided I'd dedicate my life to making dogs happy, just like he'd dedicated his to making me happy.