Dogs Talk In My Head

I have always loved the line from the movie The Sixth Sense, "I see dead people". So few words, yet it says so much. For myself, I would have to say "Dogs talk in my head", not so dramatic, but much less scary.

I think the first time it hit me was a day I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a chocolate coated marshmallow cookie. B., my favourite dog (of the pack of four) plunked herself down next to my chair and said very loudly in my head, "Give me that cookie!". I was so surprised that I gave her the rest of the cookie. Thinking back on it, I don't suppose she really spoke such good English. She probably shouted "Cookie!" and that's how my brain interpreted the command.

All the dogs I know talk in my head, some of them more clearly than others. And every now and then, a message comes over with bell-like clarity. Each dog has a different voice and sends different kinds of messages. J. grunts single words in a Neanderthal way. H. conveys quite complex and subtle messages. Messages that aren't so clear feel like an urge that has not quite become explicit - it's like a tickly, buzzy feeling in your head. Clear messages get translated from pictures into words.

I visited a friend's home for the first time, and one of the household dogs who was old and blind came up to the front entrance and said, "Who are you? I can see you." I sat on the step and introduced myself, and she wandered away, her question answered.

Dogs see me, because they know I see them. And they talk in my head because they think I might be able to understand. And sometimes I do.