The dogs were talking.
As usual, they were lying around the base of the old oak tree in the early evening.
There was Whitman, a Springer Spaniel, who having been named after an American poet affected an air of quiet superiority and tended to lead the discussion.
Anton, a Beagle, who rather fancied himself as Whitman's No.2.
Then came Pippa, an exuberant and irrepressible Boxer bitch; Butch, a down-to-earth Staffordshire terrier and Malcolm, a well-bred and quietly-spoken Red Setter.
Lastly there was Obi, a young Boxer, not long out of his puppy days.
As so often happened, the talk tended to food.
"So - " said Whitman, " - what did we all have for supper?"
"Kibble," said Anton.
"Kibble," said Butch, but quietly, since he always felt just a tiny bit awed in the presence of dogs with names like Whitman and Anton ('Butch! – for heaven's sake – what were his Owners thinking of?)
"Kibble," said Pippa, adding quickly, "I love kibble."
The other dogs rolled their eyes.
"What about you, Obi," asked Whitman, turning the group's most recent member, who for the most part remained respectfully silent, as was correct.
"I'm not entirely sure what the fuss is all about," said Obi, "Food..? Take it or leave it is my thinking."
The others said nothing, knowing that all Boxers – when it came down to it – were 'not quite like other dogs.'
"I had canned tonight," said Malcolm, a Red Setter
"Canned!!??" chorused the others, " - was it your birthday?"
"Canned?" said Pippa, "is that as good as Kibble?"
The others rolled their eyes.
YOU ARE READING
The Kibble Dialogues
הומורFor some while now, a group of Dogs has been meeting every evening, under the old oak tree, to talk about the issues that concern them. Food, not surprisingly, is a major topic. So, too, are cats. (Please note the small 'c'). But their discussions g...
