i’ve got nothing against talking dogs per se


the moment the words are out of her mouth, she wishes she hadn’t said them.

they hang in the air, too heavy for their actual content, she particularly regrets the latin tag, what was she thinking of?

there is a pause, she sips her latte, extra shot, two sugars and wonders how to get this conversation back on track.

and now from no-where, she is actually impersonating the  talking pug from you tube

“iiiiaaaaaa wuubbbbb yooooouuuuu” – she even manages the little howl at the end.

there is another pause.

“i mean, – it’s not like they talk very well or anything”

her daughter stares at her – torn midway between horror and her default position of mild derision for the mother who never ever gets it.

they both look down at their cake plates.

the mother cannot stop herself – “it would be so much better is they said something interesting”

the daughter buries herself in her i-pod play list, she is prepared to give her mother half an ear, usually that’s enough to avoid accusations of rudeness, the litany about the youth of today, but also ensures that she doesn’t really have to pay any attention.

there is another pause, the mother says she wants to take the daughters’ photo, but the girl hides her face in her jacket, refuses to pose.

there is a longer pause and then defeated , she puts the camera away.

“when i get a dog, i’m going to teach it to say i love you” says the daughter defiantly.

fearing the answer, the mother is too afraid to ask why.

they stand up and leave the cafe together.

About cathi rae

50ish teacher & aspiring writer and parent of a stroppy teenager and carer for a confused bedlington terrier and a small selection of horses who fail to shar emy dressage ambitions. Interested in contemporary fiction but find myself returning to PG Wodehouse when the chips are down View all posts by cathi rae

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