There’s a good reason dogs can’t talk

Somebody’s trying to teach my dog Kipper to talk and it’s got me worried.

I swear I’m not making this up. Hungarian scientists in Budapest are working on computer software that will, when perfected, analyze a dog’s bark and translate it into English. Or Budapestian. Or Hungarian. Whatever language they speak there.

The point is, software could be written to convert Kipper’s woofs and yawps into words anyone could understand.

Csaba Molnar, the head scientist working on the project, says it’s only a matter of time before a commercially available device is marketed that will allow for dog-human communication. I, for one, won’t be buying one.

Why not? you may ask. My reasons are twofold.

First off, not to be a species-ist, but I don’t think Kipper really has that much to say. I’ve had him for about 12 years, and in all that time he’s never shown much interest in anything other than food, the sofa and “marking” every tree and fire plug within walking distance.

If he could talk, I’m pretty sure those are the only things he would want to talk about. And really, how much time would you want to devote to a discussion on the finer points of tree-peeing? I’m guessing Kipper could talk about it for hours without getting bored. Not me. Ten minutes of chitchat on the merits of outdoor whizzing and I’m ready to move on to another topic.

Secondly, there’s the privacy factor. As things stand now, Kipper is the one person – or critter, to be more precise – to whom I can tell anything. When The Lovely Mrs. Taylor and I have one of our rare disagreements, Kipper is my confidante. The things I say to him about Mrs. T in those heated moments are not things I want repeated, especially to the missus.

Also, there’s stuff I do during the day while Mrs. Taylor’s at the office, that I wouldn’t want her to find out about. Nothing terrible, but things that qualify as marital transgressions just the same.

And the dog would rat me out, of this I have no doubt. Mrs. T is the one who feeds him. He knows where his loyalties lie.

I can picture the conversation:

MRS. T: (walking in the door) So, did everyone have a nice day?

ME: Yep.

KIPPER: Daddy sat his coffee on the end table without using a coaster. I barked at him about it, but what can I do? I would have moved it myself, but, well, you know, no opposable thumbs… It left a ring.

MRS. T: Really…

ME: Gimme a break. I’ve had a long day.

KIPPER: You call sitting in an easy chair in your underwear writing your stupid column a “hard day?”

ME: I wasn’t in my underwear!

KIPPER: You were until noon.

ME: (removing Kipper’s “translation collar”) Bad dog!

KIPPER: Bark, bark, yap, yap, bark!

ME: That’s more like it.

I’m hoping the scientists in Budapest come to their senses before they take their research any further. Some of them must have dogs and wives of their own, right?

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or other breaking science news, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at http://realitycheck.shoutpost.com.