Listening to a Dog

They call me Homer. (I have no idea why.) I come to the Bacon (love bacon) once a week. When told to "Sit!" I sit and do my best to look interested. It's a great gig. I love the kids, but some of the stories they read to me are pretty silly. It's time for people to update their opinions on dog intelligence. I can see as well as they do; I hear much better and smell leagues better. (I mean, I can smell things they can't, but rolling in a dead fish does make me more beguiling than sliding around in the contents of a spilled bottle of cologne.) Also, I know another dog when I see one, regardless of size, color, or country of origin, while they often seem to have difficulty recognizing another human. Oh, well, maybe things will improve when they perfect this artificial intelligence they have been talking about.   

The Bacon Library isn't very big. Kate has let me walk around unsupervised a couple of times. It's pretty interesting; mostly, it smells old, but thousands of people have been in the building over the years, and the books they have handled all still have their scent. The most fun was a tuna fish sandwich that someone had left in a drawer for weeks. The librarian was very pleased when I pointed out the location. There have also been some other dogs in the building; some of them smell like they would be fun to meet.  

I haven't been able to spend much time downstairs. I was able to sprint down the stairs once when Kate was talking to one of the parents about my lineage. It really smelled old downstairs, and there was a bird in one of the cases that looked interesting, but my appearance was met with some hysteria, and Kate had to apologize. I felt bad about that.

There is one more part of the building that may be the most interesting of all: There appears to be another floor above where I sit and listen to the kids. It must be full of secrets because no one seems to be allowed up there. There is even a gate in front of the stairs that go up. Someone left the gate open one day, and I had managed a few steps before Kate grabbed me. She rarely says, "Bad dog!" but she did that time.  

The upstairs room seems to have a glass floor, and sometimes, when the light is right, it looks like a giant snake, or maybe an octopus, coiled on the glass. And sometimes I hear squeaking and shuffling about, maybe squirrels. I love squirrels.  

People don't understand what motivates dogs, but we love to solve mysteries, and sooner or later, I will find out what is in that upper room.