A friend of my housemates died. They were sad. You could smell it. When I tell Carll moods smell, he smiles in disbelief. “You’re so cute,” he coos irrelevantly. This is the problem faced by starlets: they’re so gorgeous no one hears what they’re saying. “Nice problem to have,” you roll your eyes? Not if it’s your problem. How would Carll like it if nobody listened to his words because his form bewitched? (No chance of that.)

Why sad, I wanted to know. I conveyed my question with a cock of head and wide gaze which unmistakably connote curiosity (and are adorable, gotta say). Dogs don’t do sad, not for long. We do wounded, aggrieved, grumpy, but then shake it off. Why pollute the pleasantness with pouting? Gloom, like hatred, anger, resentment, all the negative vibes, are hostile, antisocial, sneak attacks on communal cheer and unsubtle ways of commandeering attention. “Turn that frown upside down, you ninny!” But do they even try? The Nameless One, whom Carll keeps nattering about, wears his fury as mufti – he is never happy – believing, one must surmise, this enhances his appeal. What a sourpuss! What a puss (and I don’t mean cats)! He really stinks – a Pantagruelian eructation, a FAT F*RT – yet, amazingly, his clingers-on don’t flee, so avid are they for his treats.

Carll explains his sadness this way. He and Jane miss their friend. He was here and now he’s gone.

Here? I query, with my condoling head-cock; I never met him, and I’ve been here two-plus human years.

Maybe not in person, Carll explains, but here in spirit. He’d moved away – to a warmer climate – for his health. But they used to see a lot of each other.

Not to quarrel with anyone who smells sad but really! “Here in spirit?” In my experience you’re either here or not. And if you’re not – the way Jane and Carll sometimes aren’t for a day or three – you’re not and not coming back, until you do. Like a light switch – the light’s either on or off, not on “in spirit.”

I’m coming to see imagination as the human defect. They’re always comparing – what is to what isn’t but might be or was. Comparisons lead to preferences, which, if you find yourself in the less desirable location, lead to regrets, which may lead to resentments, recriminations, that some evil force is preventing you from being where you prefer. This whiny cycle feeds on itself. Jane and Carll sigh they don’t like this winter weather – c’mon, pals, it’s the only weather we have! Miami Beach with its ocean is notional if you’re not there. Notional means non-existent. Why begrime the day with your groans!

This perception is so essential – and obvious! – it grieves me I lack the language to help poor humans comprehend and must depend on Carll as my translator from Dog. Not to be Messianic, but if Carll were a competent translator, humans would be convinced and we’d be back in Eden, pre-apple. Take the world as you find it, ye my brethren, and you’ll be happy as long as you’re fed. Isn’t life preferable to death? Then rejoice! Or if it isn’t, bid existence goodbye with a grateful heart. Quit stinking up the joint with your bellyaching!

I wouldn’t be so fervent about this if I didn’t fear humans might mess up existence altogether with their disagreeable disgruntlements. That would be bad for dogs. Dogs don’t do self-sufficient, haven’t since we were wolves. We’re dependent, companionable, decorative – in my case, very – which is why I keep striving to be heard.