The Dog That Whispered Read Online Free PDF

That’s it. That’s what happens.
    Wilson, perhaps taking after his mother, often addressed himself in the third person when talking to himself—as if he was simply an observer of the life that swirled around him.
    Yes, I know it sounds ludicrous. That’s what forty years of living alone will do to you.
    “I suspect you need to go outside.” It was a statement, not a question.
    Thurman jumped again, doing a delicate half-twist as he did, like a furry ballet dancer of a sort. A smiling, four-legged ballet dancer. With fur. And a very long, relaxed pink tongue.
    Wilson walked to the back door and Thurman followed at his side. Wilson had his hand on the doorknob, then turned to Thurman with a stern look.
    “There will be no swimming this morning. Understand? No water.”
    Thurman looked up with a look of disappointment.
    He growled.
    “I mean it. No swimming. Not this morning.”
    Thurman looked down at his paws for a moment, as if thinking that literally interpreting this statement might also mean that swimming would be allowed later in the day. It was obvious that he could abide by that rule.
    He smiled up at Wilson.
    “Okay. Out. Don’t sneak off. I’m going to make coffee. I will watch for you. Okay?”
    By the time Wilson was done making his pot of coffee, Thurman was sitting by the back door, staring in, dry and happy and smiling.
    I can’t believe it. He does understand English.

Chapter Six
    A FTER CLASS that afternoon, Wilson swallowed hard and mentally hitched up his thoughts.
    Two doors down from his faculty office on the twelfth floor—a small, cramped room that he kept agonizingly devoid of all decoration, as if thinking he might be forced to pack up at a moment’s notice—was the office of a Dr. Robert Limke, a small, wizened man who had some manner of doctorate in some area of psychology, a field that Wilson had long declared to be pure bunkum.
    Wilson had a nodding acquaintance with Dr. Limke and occasionally had been invited to his home for some tedious manner of faculty get-together. He had attended a few of them over the last few decades and found them barely tolerable.
    He assumed that Dr. Limke viewed these social obligations with the same disregard as he did.
    Perhaps it was because Dr. Limke had a perpetual scowl on his face.
    Wilson wondered if that was because of genetics or some sort of industrial accident.
    He saw the small, shadowy figure through the frosted glass.
    He tapped.
    “What?” came the barked reply.
    Wilson set his face to neutral and opened the door a crack, the thickness of a piece of toast.
    “You have a minute?” he asked.
    Dr. Limke stared at the small opening.
    “Dr. Steele? Yeah. Sure. A minute. Come on in. Or at least open the door a little more.”
    Wilson opened it enough so that he could stand halfway inside.
    “You coming to the faculty mixer this weekend?”
    Wilson had no knowledge of a faculty mixer, this weekend or otherwise.
    “Maybe.”
    Dr. Limke actually grinned after a moment.
    “Yeah. Neither am I. Stupid things. An excuse to drink. Like I need an excuse.”
    Wilson nodded.
    “So what do you want? Professional or personal?”
    Wilson looked a little surprised.
    “Advice,” Dr. Limke explained. “The only reason someone voluntarily talks to a head-shrinker is for advice. Like we have answers to anything.”
    “Uhhh…I guess personal.”
    “Shoot.”
    “Long story…about a dog, sort of. My mother is forcing me to take care of this mutt—which is something she’s really good at, I mean, forcing me to do things I don’t want to do and…well, I listen to this stupid animal growling, and for the life of me, it sounds like it’s trying to talk. That’s crazy, right? Like the dumb beast understands and is trying to form words. Crazy, right?”
    Dr. Limke leaned back and folded his hands together and placed two fingers under his chin, as if he had to supplement his neck muscles in supporting the weight of his oversized head.
    “Your mother,