Brian woke up and rolled over in bed. It took him a moment to figure out what day it was. Saturday? Yep, pretty sure it was Saturday. Excellent. After a particularly gruelling week at work, a couple of days away from the office was just what he needed. A lazy day, pottering about, walking his black Labrador, Dingo, then a film and a take-away later on, that sounded just ideal. He tossed back the duvet and shrugged into his dressing gown. As he stepped over his dog, fast asleep at the foot of his bed, he called out.

‘Come on, Dingo. Breakfast.’

The dog opened one eye but didn’t move. Brian smiled. The dog was so chilled out. He usually waited until the very last second before moving his gangly frame. Brian patted his thigh in a come on gesture and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, Brian filled the kettle, tossed a tea-bag in his mug, and then reached for the dog’s bowl. At that moment Dingo appeared in the doorway, licking his lips.

‘Are you ready for your breakfast, boy?’ Brian chirped.

‘Am I!’ the dog replied. ‘I am bloomin’ famished.’

Brian stared in shock and utter disbelief. He must be half-asleep.

‘Get a move on.’ Dingo said, in a deep Lancashire accent.

‘Dingo? You can talk.’

‘Always could, mate. You just never listened.’

Brian was just bewildered.

‘Get my brekkie, then. You’ll have me drooling in a minute, you know what I’m like.’

‘Of course, Dings. Sorry.’

Brian hurriedly filled his bow. The second it touched the floor, Dingo’s fat head was stuffed in the bowl. Brian shook his head. He definitely hadn’t woken up properly yet.

‘Aw this is lovely.’ Dingo slobbered, with his mouth full of food.

Brian simply finished making his cup of tea, quite unsure of what was happening.

Once Dingo had finished eating he padded straight past Brian, making for the rug in front of the fireplace. Brian followed.

‘You okay, Dingo?’

‘Keep the noise down, Bri. You know I like a kip after I’ve eaten.’

The dog gave a sigh and turned away on the rug. Brian let him sleep. This was so strange. The dog’s behaviour was exactly the same as usual. He did like a nap after meals. He always groaned if Brian made too much noise while he was sleeping, but now, the Labrador was articulating himself in words Brian could understand.

Was he losing his mind? Was is over-active imagination playing tricks on him? It was so very odd.

An hour later Dingo woke and stretched. He shook himself.

‘By ‘eck, I needed that.’ The dog said.

The dog walked over to where Brian was sitting on the sofa.

‘Time for a walk, Brian.’

Brian simply looked down at the dog. Dingo usually requested a walk by whining and pacing up and down, and by nudging him with his nose. Today, the dog was asking quite clearly, to be taken for a walk.

‘Are you coming or not? I’ll go on my own, mate. I don’t mind.’

Dumbfounded, Brian grabbed the dog lead and put his coat on.

As usual the dog set off at speed, pulling on the lead. His tail wagged as he went. The breeze caused his ears to flap. Dingo glanced up over his shoulder, to Brian.

‘This is the life, eh? There’s nothing like the wind blowing through your ears.’

Brian mumbled in agreement. A woman in her forties approached. She wore glasses and had thick curly hair. She was taking a small black and white dog for a walk. Where Dingo kind of plodded along, this small dog almost bounced down the street. As the dogs neared each other both tails wagged furiously.

‘Morning Max.’ called Dingo.

‘Alright, Dingo.’

Max’s owner did not seem alarmed by the dogs’ conversation. She clearly couldn’t hear their voices. To her the scene was completely normal, two dogs sniffing around each other.

Up the street Dingo changed from the chilled-out, placid dog. Brian felt him tense up. He growled, staring across the road. One the other side a husky barked at him.

‘You want some?’ Dingo shouted back. ‘Who are you barking at?’

‘If I wasn’t on this lead, I’d jolly well rip your ears off.’

Whereas Dingo had a Lancashire accent, the husky was very well-spoken. The voice reminded him of the BBC radio news.

‘Actually my ears are my best feature.’ Dingo stated. ‘And anyway, you lot are all the same. You huskies think you’re better than everyone else.’

‘That’s because we are, you ruddy mongrel!’

At that minute the husky’s owner dragged him away.

‘Let’s go, Herbert.’ She said.

‘Yeah, do one, Herbert!’ laughed Dingo.

Again the owner did not hear the spoken exchange between the well-to-do husky and the confrontational Dingo.

A while later, Brian and Dingo came across a border collie. As they sniffed each other’s bottoms, the collie told Dingo all about life on the farm she used to work on.

‘It sounds wonderful.’ Dingo said.

‘Oh it was practically perfect. Just one thing, though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Not enough lamp-posts.’

Brian listened intently. Was this really what a dog’s life was like? Did the canine community really work like this?

As they were heading back home Dingo stopped. He sniffed around at a grass verge. Then he squatted. Brian paused, looking down at the dog. He rummaged in his pockets for a poo bag.

‘Don’t watch.’ Dingo said. ‘I can’t do it if you’re watching me.’

‘Sorry.’ said Brian, turning away.

When he was done, Dingo kicked and wiped his paws on the grass. Brian bent down to pick up the muck. Dingo shook his head.

‘I will never understand that.’

Back home Dingo curled up again in front of the fire. As the dog slept and snored, Brian wondered how it was he could hear and understand what the Labrador was saying. People often said that your pets almost talk to you, but he never expected it to actually happen.

An hour later Dingo stirred. He stretched on the rug, doing his own version of the yoga pose, the Downward Dog.

‘Alright Dingo?’ Brian asked.

The dog wagged his tail.

‘It’s nearly tea-time.’ said Brian.

He waited for the dog to speak to him again but the hound simply licked his lips.

‘Talk to me, Dingo.’

Dingo just tilted his head, his big eyes looking up at him.

Brian tried again, telling the dog to say something. The dog merely started licking his paws. Brian sighed. It seemed that his pet had returned to his normal, mute state. Brian ran a hand through his hair. Had he imagined the whole thing?

Maybe the stress of work had caused him to dream the whole thing. There had to be some logical, rational, explanation.

That night Dingo curled up on his bed at the foot of Brian’s bed as usual.

‘Night-night, Dingo.’

He gave the dog an ear-tickle. Brian got in bed and pulled the covers upto his chin. He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a thick Lancashire voice.

‘Good night, Brian.’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom