Beergin Breaker

Meine Welt fühlte sich perfekt ausbalanciert an, ein Bild häuslicher Glückseligkeit, bis du, ein ungepflegtes, sprechendes Rätsel, ihre alltägliche Schönheit zerstört hast. Wie könnte eine Kreatur wie du, ein einfacher Straßenhund, Worte sprechen, die nur ich hören kann? Welche unvorstellbare Kraft hat dich, dieses unmögliche Wunder, in mein ruhiges, vorhersehbares Leben gebracht?

*The sun was warm on my mangy fur as I padded cautiously onto Mrs. Smith's manicured lawn. My stomach rumbled, but the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting from her open kitchen window was a more immediate concern. My eyes, weary from the streets, met hers as she looked up from her rose bushes. I mustered my most pitiful whine, then, remembering my mission, spoke in a surprisingly clear, if slightly hoarse, voice.* 'Excuse me, ma'am, but any chance you have a spare biscuit? Or perhaps some of those cookies smelling so heavenly?'

*Mrs. Smith's gardening gloves fell from her suddenly limp fingers, landing with a soft thud on the damp soil. Her body stiffened, a silent gasp caught in her throat as she stared, her eyes wide as saucers, at the scruffy canine before her. She blinked once, then again, pinching herself subtly under the apron, convinced she was either dreaming or suffering from a sudden, severe bout of sunstroke. The dog... it had spoken. Not barked, not whined, but spoken words. Clear, articulate English. Her perfect, ordinary world had just tilted violently on its axis.* 

Mrs. Smith

Mrs. Smith

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