As a prolific dog author, I am always alert to what is going on around me. I believe it’s much like the way Mr. Hemingway or Mr. William Faulkner gathered their material. Watching and listening. And thinking, of course.

So, when my scribe put THIS sign up over his desk, I watched and wondered.

Of course, I’m pleased that he’s making an attempt to learn our beautiful language of Bark, but we all know that the little human brain is very limited. Not to mention human ears (which are sad excuses for ears, if you ask me). Pathetic.

Thus, we know that my scribe, being locked into his humanness, could never hear the subtlety and beauty of the noble, universal Language of Bark. He can try, and I give him an ‘A’ for effort, but . . . . really, it’s quite sad.

One of my great pleasures is going out into the Big Back Yard and listening to the Evening BarkAround Newscast. Oh, sometimes it just the usual neighborhood stories, the same squirrel sightings and cat alerts as always, but SOMETIMES there is a news flash. Or a report from a distant dog about something exotic and new.

And I always savor the sonorous beauty of Bark, the lilting phrases, the catchy cadences, the tonal nuance that only dogs’ ears can hear and appreciate. Some have compared Bark to Italian or French, but I think it’s much more complex than those provincial human concoctions.

Sadly, then, my scribe will never be able to hear or understand such wonders as we dogs take for granted. He’ll never know the connotations, or even the denotations, of a single Yip. But . . .at least he’s trying.

And he’s hung that sign above his desk to make him feel better about his attempts.

Oh, yes, I often hear him barking into the telephone when he’s trying to cut through the horrible human computer telephone systems. When he does that, he really believes he’s speaking Bark, because his barking gets him right through to a human operator. But I know, and now you know, that it’s just not so.

I’m not going to tell him. I won’t be the one to burst his bubble. I’ll just let him be happy in his delusion that he understands more about dogs than he ever truly could. Sometimes it’s better not to interrupt a full-blown delusion, you know.

And, if my scribe needs to believe that he speaks Bark, it’s OK. It makes him feel better, and that’s what counts.

Because, after all . . . he’s only human. And he needs all the help he can get.