Dog Damn It

           Wait, where am I and why is everything so big? I'm in a big box with chihuahua puppies, but all the chihuahua puppies are the same size as me, which doesn't make sense. I'm Ralph. I have an MBA from Princeton University, I have three dogs of my own, none of which are Chihuahuas, because Chichuahuas are loud and violent. Why would I be the size of a Chihuahua puppy? Doesn't make sense. . . I am able to peak above the box and I see a middle-aged Caucasion man, who's adipose, sitting in a computer chair, typing on his black laptop. Why would I be small and be in a box? 

           Then, I look down at my foot, but it isn't a foot; it's a small peach-colored paw with nails like my dog used to have. Wait? I'm a dog? No, this doesn't make sense. I have a job on Wallstreet where I keep track of NASDAQ, why would I be a dog and a Chihuahua or all things? So, I decide I'll talk to my fellow human and ask him to get me out of this box, but as I go to make the words, “Excuse me,” soft barking comes out of my mouth. I stop making the sound of barking and feel a confused look on my face. This can't be. I was just on Wallstreet. So, I think and I put all my energy into toppling the box on its side so I can call up my wife, our kids, the office I work at, etc. I crawl backward and run forward, but my tiny body can't move the box. So, I do the next logical or illogical thing; I talk to the other puppies, because maybe they're humans transferred into dog bodies, too.

           “Hello. My name is Ralph and who are you?” I ask one of the fellow Chihuahua pups. The pup looks at me with a blank look, then wags his tail, starts growling, and tries playing Ring-Around-The Rosie with me, which I not interested in doing. 

           “Do you understand what I'm speaking?” Again, I hear barks coming out of my mouth. The pup walks away as if he's bored and wants to find another playmate. If only I could find a keyboard. Then, I look back up at the middle-aged man on the laptop and my tail wags. Damn it. I don't want a tail. I want to smile again. Then, after fifteen minutes, the middle-aged man gets up, opens the bathroom door and closes it. This is my chance to prove to him I'm human. So, I growl and, somehow, am able to herd to other puppies to one side and the box topples over and the other puppies go in different directions, but I head for the business chair and the laptop. I see the other puppies sniffing around, barking, gnawing on things they shouldn't and trying to eat non-food things like hamburger wrappers. But, I run to the chair and I see the laptop. I look at the screen and this man's on Ebay and I see pictures of us pups. He's trying to sell us on Ebay. Makes sense. But, I'm not a dog, I'm a human. I speak, I type, I read. I'm human. So, I get to the chair and I try to jump on it, but it's too high. So, I look around. There's a step stool by the bookcase on the wall. So, I run to the bookcase and start pushing the step stool to the laptop and I'm almost there when I hear it; The toilet flushing. I hear this man washing his hands, so I know I need to move quick. I have the step stool in front of the chair and I jump and I make it. Then, I jump onto the chair and almost fall off, but save myself. Then, I put my little paws on the keyboard as this man is coming out of the Jon and I hear him say, “Ah, shit. What now? How'd you all get out? And he starts collecting the other Chihuahua puppies one by one, so I look at the screen and it's on Ebay's website. So, I type in the area to search for items (with my nose, because I don't have an opposable thumb). My name is Ralph. I'm a human caught in a dog's body. I have an MBA. Then, I feel this man picking me up by the chest and hear him say, “How the hell'd you get up here?” and then he sets up the box again and puts us back in the box. Then, he goes back to his computer and asks, “What the hell?”

           Then, this middle-aged man gets up and walks back to our box and he stares at us like a squirrel in the headlights before it's squished. Then, he says, “If one of you wrote something on my computer, raise your right paw, your left paw, and your right paw again.” I sat down and did this slow so this middle-aged man would undersand I understood. Then, he picked me up and brought me back to his computer and said, “Where do you live?” and he stepped aside and I typed my address before I became a Chihuahua. He went to wp.com and looked it up and it said Bob Hugh lived there. Who's Bob Hugh? Then, the fat man asked me, “Ok. What's your telephone number?” and I typed it on the computer. He called it and asked if anyone named Ralph lived there. I couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but this fat man said, “Oh.  Ok. Thank you”. Then, this man had the squirrel in the headlights look again, but came to and asked me, “What year is it?” and I wrote down 2022 on the screen. 

           “See. That's why. It's not that one of us is crazy, it's that you're from the past, which is even more crazy. Did you write any books, have any articles written about you, or is there anywhere I could find references about you?” I thought. Then, I remembered I was employee of the month for my company last September and I wrote that on the computer and my business's telephone number. The fat man called this number and said: “I know this'll sound strange, but do you know who was employee of the month in September, 2021?” There was a beat. Then, “Ralph? Ralph who?” Then, the fat man said, “Thank you”. He then turned on the TV during the day and wrote down websites of talk shows. Great. I don't want to be on a talk show. I just want to go back home to my wife, kids, and dogs and be human. Go to work. Keep living the American dream. Not go on a talk show. But, life throws monkey wrenches sometimes. But wait. If my phone number didn't work and my address wasn't right, is my wife dead? Are my kids ok? The dogs? I gotta look it up on the internet and ask the fat man if I can and he says, “No. We'll get to that, but let me think first. Let me think.”