They were all over the place during that trip to Portland, OR — talkative pets! I was surrounded by them at pet-friendly restaurants (yes, dogs allowed in some) and just about everywhere I'd walk or hang out. Friendly Portland = Friendly Pets.
I was browsing downtown the other day when I ALMOST passed a young gal, perched on the retaining wall bordering Pioneer Square Park. I say 'almost' passed, because her big ‘ole HUUUGE drooling husky wouldn’t let me pass by without transmitting a very loud message:
“HEY!” I heard, the pup’s thoughts entering my head and overriding my own. “HEY!” the dog persisted. I’d been walking briskly, so you know the dog’s telepathic telegraphy (my word) had to be pretty loud and powerful to have stopped me so abruptly, right there on the crowded sidewalk.
As I approached the wall, the dog leapt from a few feet behind the owner, to right there beside her, nearly knocking her over sideways.
"Hi there,” I said to the girl, "sweet dog! Say, I'm one who often interprets for pets, nature, and people who can’t communicate.” (My intro’s getting shorter these days, as people are becoming more multidimensionally savvy — YAY!)
“COOL!” said the girl. “My dog's name is Sheila. What’s she saying to you?”
Okay, here goes (I thought), “She’s proud of being so protective of you and...” — “OH ,YES!” the girl interrupted, “she’s VERRRY protective of me, and of younger dogs and children at the dog park as well. It makes pet owners (and parents) kinda nervous...”
“Right!” I said, reaching over to pat Sheila the Dog's head from above, so as to miss her steady stream of drool, and then I added, “she also really really really LOVES…CHRISTMAS!”
“RIGHT ON!” the girl replied. “We just celebrated an early Christmas this past July! Sheila was SO excited. She LUUUVS Christmas.”
“Great,” I said, continuing to pet the lovable, furry, drooling, pooch. I smiled at them both, said goodbye, and then continued on my way.
I stayed where my host and hostess have a cutie-pie little pup named ‘Roxy.’ Everyone loves Roxy. She has a fetish about socks, and absolutely adores my toes – probably as much as (or more than) Sheila loves Christmas.
Whenever I came in through the front door and Roxy's all barking, excited ’n all — it was as though she was saying to me, “YOUR TOES CAN COME IN. YOU — STAY!”
I’m not crazy about having my toes licked, and as much as Roxy loves being loved, she really dislikes anyone picking her up.
SO — Roxy and I reached an understanding, thanks to the wonders of telepathic communication:
The moment Roxy would make a mad dash to lick my toes, I'd telepathize to her a scene of me grabbing her cute little self and picking her up for a cuddle!
I could almost hear the sound — SCREEECH! — the second Roxy received my transmission. She'd stop dead in her tracks, set herself down and smile (the way you know pets are doing that when they do…)
I look forward to visiting Roxy and her lovely owners again in the future, perhaps in colder weather when I’m wearing close-toed shoes.