En route to the Metro this weekend, a woman and her dog passed us going the other way, the woman talking to her dog in that way we all talk to our dogs, undoubtedly telling Fídö or Rövér or whatever the generic name for Hungarian dogs is that he was a good dog, or to come back here, or to stop gnawing on the legs of passers-by.
We both had the same thought at the same time, and snickering, I gave it voice, “Hey, that is one smart dog! He knows Hungarian!” We laughed, but then Elizabeth said, “So, that means that dog is smarter than we are.”
(Picture is of Sara the Magnetic Wonder Dog. We’re missing her a bit, especially when we drop a bit of food in the kitchen. It’s been about 23 years since either of us has had to bend over to pick up something edible off our floors.)