“I think not to think,” Carll tells me, adding, “This is not a paradox.” Not to think risks his brain nosing in dangerous directions; “it’s like making sure your dog doesn’t eat rat poison by mistake,” he explains.

I listen politely, but really! Why tie yourself in knots over the nature of knowing? Epistemology they call this study, though not the piss you’re familiar with. Dogs are materialists, I’m told. What we experience is how our world is. Idealists argue everything is an idea, it is so if one thinks so, which makes heaven, hell, and here equivalently real. Carll’s an idealist, which means he can shuttle between heaven, hell, and here unchaperoned. He concedes this seems crazy but can’t shake the habit. I wouldn’t talk about such nonsense only I feel bad for him. The pain of family members unsettles me. Pain has a certain temperature and smell. Maybe I can talk Carll out of his. Worth a try.

I’ve only been a dog for a year and a half but the source of human unhappiness seems obvious. Most folks have plenty to eat, hot and cold running water, a roof over their heads, toys, but still they’re unhappy, Carll tells me, and I believe him, because unhappiness, like pain, emits a stench. Humans growl at each other like dogs with rabies. Asked what’s amiss they say things like “Everything is shit” or complain about problems they wouldn’t even know about if someone hadn’t told them. (Transgender bathroom rights? Gimme a break!) If their facts are OK and they’re unhappy it must mean their brains are misfiring: idealism run amok, call it.

One way to repair a busted brain is to give it a good talking-to. Because dogs speak dog and not human no one listens to us but if they did here’s what I’d tell them:

Be glad, you dummies! Enough is as good as a feast! Things could be worse – and will be unless you’re lucky and get run over by a car. No creature deserves anything. You take what you get. And if you’ve got it good, quit yapping.

Sad today isn’t yesterday – or tomorrow? That you’re in hell – or not in heaven? Shoo such thoughts from your mind – they’re rat poison. Celebrate where you are – and where you’ve been – for bringing you so far. If “what if” is making you sick – the way chocolate makes dogs sick – to hell with “what if.”

Still grumpy? Quit fussing about your facts, fix your thoughts. Be glad about what you have, not glum about what you haven’t. Is there a dog on earth luckier than I? Only if I allow myself to think so. Even when I’m feeling achy or bored, I don’t allow it. Which is why I am happy all the time and by my happiness making others happy.

Life is not that simple, you say? If everyone thought my way, you’d never have electricity or Mozart or AI! To invent marvels one must first envision them. If all creatures accepted existence as they found it, how much less, well, human it would be!

True that. And a lot happier. If contentedness measures success for a species, humans are evolutionary mishaps. And if that’s not the measure, what is? Faster air travel? Dirtier bombs? Toxic air? Rising seas? For sure humans win the sadness sweepstakes. What’s second prize, one might ask?

I tell all this to Carll and he takes it down and nods but still he writhes – and writes – and writes. “But what about Shakespeare?” he moans. “Shakespeare!”

I shrug: “You got me there.”