Saturday, February 28, 2009

Widdo Wegs


My name is Leslie, and I am a goofy dog talker. I’m not even reformed or in rehab! I can’t help myself. It’s just an addiction I can’t and don’t want to overcome.

I’ve explained before about my father, Dave Bullfrog (David Judson Bullock), and his way of making up names for things and people. Even my mother did that to some extent. I played basketball in high school with a girl who competed with me for playing time. She was even slower than I am. Mom nicknamed her “Lightning”.

So I come from a long line of people who played with words. So it’s not surprising baby talking pet language rolls off my tongue like lies from a gambling addict. Odie’s little legs become widdo wegs. I’ve even got Paul doing it some – now that he’s a single parent to the pets during the week.

Was it Mad Magazine (one of my teenage favorite reads) that had a “What You Say” vs. “What They Hear” feature? Maybe not, but Mad sure had some funny stuff – remember the page you had to accordion to see another picture of something funny out of another picture? And those spoofs on popular movies. “Poopside Down Adventure” for “Poseidon Adventure”. I loved the Spy vs. Spy cartoons in the margins.

Back to pet talking. I’m sure, to the pets; it’s like the Charlie Brown TV specials – when the parents speak all you hear is a tuba-like waa waa waa noise. It’s really the tone they pick up on. Paul just doesn’t have my alpha dog tone with Odie. Or he’s just a big pushover.

At least I don’t treat dogs like babies. Odie doesn’t sit on my lap while I eat. I don’t dress her up in little clothes (she’s hardly worn her little coat all year). She sleeps on the bed, but down by our feet, most of the time. Maybe I do treat her a widdo wike a kid.

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