A few months ago, I was telling my therapist a story about when Sebastian and I went to check the mailbox down the street. I explained to her that Seabass said to me, “hey, let’s go for a walk,” and so we walked along a trail less than a block over.
“How do you know he said that?” my therapist asked. “I just know what he’s saying,” I said.
Even without language, we can form communicative bonds with our animals. I’ve had Sebastian for five years now, so it’s become second nature to me.
I know that when Sebastian is looking off somewhere else, he wants to explore that area. I know that when he kicks his food dispenser over and looks at me, it’s time to feed him. I know that when he grabs a stuffed animal or a shoe that doesn’t belong to him and starts flinging it from side to side, pausing to look at me, that he really needs to go outside and he has tried all other outlets to grab my attention.
Other things I know my dog is saying:
My frog. Not yours.
I hate you.
Can someone let me in?
Mama Kaye is sick. I shall be her nurse.
I love you, Mommy.