(Have you ever met someone who thought their dog could talk?)

My phone rang and woke me up from a very good sleep. Unfortunately, it dissolved with the mist and disappeared (the dream, not the phone). It was lost forever in the ether, like the good ideas you have when you go to sleep. You promise yourself you’ll remember it in the morning, but you never do. How that.

He was my brother John, my only brother, my great companion, my fishing partner, my lifelong friend.

“What the hell are you doing calling me at this hour?” I demanded angrily. “And we have Saturday to start!”

“I have something amazing to show you,” he said.

“Can’t you wait until the sun comes up? It’s not like it’s fishing season, John. Unless it’s fishing season, there’s no reason on earth to get up this early on a Saturday morning.”

“Just get here as fast as you can. This is an emergency,” he said and hung up before he could get any more information.

Twenty minutes later, I walked into his kitchen and was greeted by Georgia, his long-suffering wife. She was standing in the kitchen in her bathrobe, a long-suffering look on her face. She handed me a steaming cup of coffee and retreated into the living room. “Just remember,” she said over her shoulder, “I had nothing to do with this.”

John was sitting at the table, his dog Charlie sitting in a chair next to him. I guess at this point I should give a little more information about John. He loved the dogs and they loved him. He seemed to be able to communicate with the canines simply by using telepathy. He could make dogs do amazing things and he seemed to be on their wavelength. His dogs always seemed to be smarter than other dogs. Charlie was a good example. Charlie was a husky/German shepherd mix whom John had rescued from the shelter.

Charlie sat at the table and looked over my brother’s shoulder as he read the newspaper. In fact, every time we sat down at the kitchen table, Charlie would sit in a chair like a human being, with an intelligent look on his face, and he seemed to follow the conversation. He always looked at the speaker and seemed engrossed in the conversation, hanging on every word. I suspected that he wasn’t as smart as he seemed, but John said that he was smarter than he seemed and questioned my intelligence.

The first sip of coffee hit my brain and the steam seemed to revive me a bit too.

“Okay, what’s up?” I asked.

“It’s okay,” John said.

“You said it was an emergency,” I told him.

“It is, in a way. I need a witness,” he said.

“Who is suing you?”

“No one is suing me, Bill. Why do you assume someone is suing me?” he asked himself, irritated.

“You just said you need a witness,” I told him. “You said it was an emergency. Why else would you need a witness?”

He looked at Charlie and Charlie looked back at him in that knowing way. Charlie raised his eyebrows, well what passes for eyebrows on a dog. Charlie smiled. Did I mention that Charlie could smile? He did.

“You know,” I told him. “It’s bad enough that you dragged me out of bed at this hour by telling me there was an emergency, when there obviously isn’t, but if you and that dog are going to sit there with your little private joke on me, I’m out of here.” .”

“He’s always been like this in the morning,” John told Charlie. They exchanged more knowing glances.

“You should be honored that you’re the first person we’ve chosen to share this with,” John told me.

“What do you want to share?” I asked.

John’s face reads like the boy who just found the pony under the Christmas tree. “Are you ready for this!” he said, she paused for dramatic effect.

Wait.

“Charlie can talk!” She waited, watching my face for a reaction.

“I told you so,” Georgia called from the living room.

“Charlie can talk?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yeah.” John smiled at Charlie and then at me. Charlie smiled back.

I immediately thought of the classic cartoon about the guy who finds the frog that can sing and dance, only it won’t sing or dance when someone is around. It is one of my favorite cartoons.

“But he only does it when no one is around?” I asked suspiciously.

“No. He’ll speak in front of almost anyone,” John said.

I finished my cup of coffee and studied Charlie. He was a nice looking dog and a friendly dog. I liked Charlie most of the time, except when he got that smug look on his face from time to time. In our family, dogs are considered members of the family, but this was an exaggeration. Charlie didn’t have a coffee cup to empty. He just sat and studied me.

“Well, why didn’t you have Charlie call me with the good news this morning?” I asked and didn’t try to hide my sarcasm.

“She hasn’t learned to use the phone yet,” John said.

“Okay, John and Charlie,” I said, “Let’s hear it, talk kid.”

First Charlie looked at me and then he looked at John.

John said: “He’s a bit shy and needs a little help getting going sometimes. It’s better if I ask him questions.”

“Okay, sure, why not?” I said. I got up and refilled my coffee cup. That gave me an idea. Uncle Stan would come over sometimes in the morning and he and John would have Irish coffee together. Sometimes they drank a lot of Irish coffee together. I didn’t see a bottle of whiskey in sight, but you never know.

“Has Uncle Stan been here?” I asked. “Have you guys had Irish coffee again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sit down and watch this,” John said.

As they settled me into my seat, John said, “Okay, Charlie, how old are you?”

Charlie said, “Er-roo-roo.” Then she smiled and gasped.

“See,” John said and smiled at Charlie like a father who just watched his seven year old son play the Nutcracker Suite on the piano.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said five and a half, Bill,” John said, disappointment creeping into his voice.

“Sorry I missed it. It sounded like he said er-ru-ru to me,” I said.

John sighed. “Okay Charlie, tell Bill who the president of the United States is.”

Charlie said, “Er-roo-roo.” Then he looked at me and I swear he won.

“See?” Juan said.

“It still sounds like er-roo-roo to me,” I said.

“Geez, Bill, do you want to listen for God’s sake?” Juan said. “Sorry,” he told Charlie and rolled his eyes. “He’s alright kid, what’s five plus five?”

“Er-roo.”

“He was never very good at math,” John explained to me. “No,” he told Charlie, “it’s ten o’clock, but he was close.”

“John,” I said. “Everything he says sounds like er-roo-roo.”

“Well, Bill, he’s part German Shepherd. What do you expect?”

“Hey?” I asked, unable to understand.

“He has a bit of an accent,” John explained.

“Accent?”

“German,” said John. He has a bit of a German accent.

“John, why does a dog born and raised in the United States have a German accent?” I asked.

“Maybe he picked it up from his parents,” John said with a shrug.

“Well, greyhounds say roo roo,” I said. “He sounds more like a greyhound to me.”

Once again, John smiled proudly. He said, “Well, I never thought of that. You know what? I think you’re right, he’s bilingual too!”

“You really think your dog can talk, don’t you John?” I asked.

“What do you mean I believe it? Of course I do, you heard it yourself,” he said.

“I heard your dog making dog sounds,” I told him.

“You should listen to him do impersonations,” John said. Show him, Charlie.

Charlie said, “Er-roo-roo-roo-er.”

“Well, that was certainly different,” I said sarcastically. “Who was that, John Wayne?”

“Very funny,” John said and chuckled. “It was the poodle next door. You can’t understand it because you don’t want to believe that a dog can talk and could be as smart as you,” he said in exasperation.

Charlie said, “Er-roo-roo.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, Charlie,” John said.

“What did he say?” I asked suspiciously.

“It doesn’t matter, Bill,” said John.

“Did he just say that he was smarter than me?” I asked. “I didn’t like the tone of her voice.”

“Never mind. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Bill, he’s just getting frustrated, that’s all. But this proves one thing, doesn’t it?” Juan said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You got it that time, didn’t you?”

“Call me when the fishing season starts,” I told him and headed for the door.

Charlie said, “Er-roo-roo.”

“Same to you, Charlie,” I told him and left.