Hank With Tongue
This is Hank with her George Bush chewtoy. Hank is now hopping on three legs, like an Everready bunny rabbit. Never mind that she has sprained something in one of her front legs when she crashed into another Lab while playing, and never mind that she can barely walk. She's still trying to hop and jump and leap and barge into other dogs. That's brains for you.
She's going to be on an anti-inflammatory drug for ten days, and if that doesn't work then the Dreaded Dog Hospital looms. We are all worried except for Hank. Hank doesn't know the word "worried". Nor any other word, actually. When I give her a command she gets Henrietta (my other dog) to come over and translate.
Henrietta, on the other hand, knows about 20,000 words. It's extremely discombobulating to try to have a telephone conversation with someone and to suddenly notice that your dog is making notes of the conversation, for the future purpose of blackmailing you if you ever become a Really Famous Blogger. On the other hand, Henrietta's brains come in handy when I need reminding about something that I've forgotten. Like now; she just told me that I had no dog blogging on Friday or Saturday, and that I need to get some in before it is too late. Too late for what, I asked her. She looked at me with that pitying expression she often gets when communicating with us less endowed with intelligence.