Son (to Father) - "Do you ever talk to our animals? Really talk to them? Mama has entire conversations with the dogs."
Father - "Do they talk back?"
In my own defense, I come by my
My mom came from a family of thirteen kids. When we were growing up, my sister and I loved hearing the stories of the animals that lived in and passed through her family home. We still beg to be told these stories and have begun to share them with my kids.
There was George, the budgie, who used to perch on my Grandfather's head (and who died when he came in for a landing, missed and ended up on a hot element).
There were many, many cats, including Fiona (the beautiful), Fluffy (who lost the tip of his tail) and Kelly (the favourite). There was Nicky, the dog that loved to ride on the my uncle's motorcycle. And there were the various animals my mother's oldest brother brought home (often rumoured to have been gambling winnings) - the rabbit (it arrived on Easter and my mother collected hundreds of little "raisins" that the rabbit kept "laying." Fortunately, she didn't try and eat any.), the monkey (banished after he started swinging from the curtains) and the chicken (that my Grandmother found tied to the table leg in her kitchen).
Really, compared to the way my mother grew up, my house with its dogs and cat is really very quiet.
And yes, I do talk to my animals. They are very sympathetic listeners.