Good Dog

Mira sat on the sofa, her tiny legs not quite reaching the edge. On the floor in front of her, the dog sat, large brown eyes staring.

Mira turned the page. “Now, doggie, here’s where it gets interesting. You see, Sam doesn’t actually want the green eggs, or the ham, for himself. But the offer stands. So Sam has to refuse, because he doesn’t like them or maybe is allergic or something. We don’t know. And the refusal is meant to be comedic. But what if Sam is a scientist with problems with GMOs? Which, since the eggs and ham are green, is clearly a concern. Or what if Sam knows something about the eggs and ham? Maybe his interlocutor is a tyrannical despot, and Sam is the last line of defense trying to stop him. Maybe Sam is a sociopathic serial killer, we really can’t know, Mr. Dog.”

The dog cocked his head to the side, then licked his lips.

“My thoughts too, pups. My thoughts too. Shall we switch gears? I have an existential discussion on the nature of fish, if you like.”

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