lost in translation

it happens every day.  more than once.  too many times to count, really.

i wish my pup spoke english.

i would tell his sad eyes that yes, i promise i will be home at the end of the day.  i'm not leaving forever.  and he would understand.

i would calm his terrified nerves at the groomers.  no, they will not cut off your ears.  no, you will not leave missing additional boy-parts.  yes, you are absolutely guaranteed a treat when you come home.

he would understand that the food he begs for, the food on my plate, will only serve to make him puke.  he would better appreciate his organic dog food.

i would tell him how happy he makes me, and he would be proud.

i look into his big brown eye (he is half blind) and wonder what he's thinking.

i do realize i'm giving him the benefit of the doubt here.  perhaps he does, indeed, understand, and prefers to torture me.  reaps the benefit of playing dumb.

until i have confirmation:  i wish my dog spoke english.