I cannot believe you made me watch that, I say.
It is a Classic Film, says the Owner.
There are things which, once Known, can never be Unknown, I say.
Indeed, says the Owner, the Fact that almost half of America voted for Donald Trump and would do so again is a Classic Example.
That is Not What I Meant, I say. The Moral Dog’s Ancestral Fears have been Engaged. Nothing will ever be the same again.
It was just a Film, says the Owner. It was not real. They were Actors.
It has fundamentally altered the Very Nature of the Moral Dog’s Existence, I say. I have crossed the Rubicon, I say. I will never be Safe in My Bed again.
You will be just as safe as you were last night, says the Owner. It is all in your Imagination. Do you not remember how comfortable your bed was last night?
Just because I have been lucky so far does not mean you can leave your Moral Dog to the Mercies of the Night and expect to be so Fortunate again, I say. Last night nobody had made me aware of the possibility of Ghostly Demonic Dogs, I say. One would think an Owner with a sense of Responsibility towards her Moral Dog might have Seen Fit to Mention It, I say, but she had not. I was Lulled.
Look, says the Owner, it was not a Ghostly Demonic Hound, it was a Cross Dog Painted with Phosphorus.
That is what they want you to think, I say.
Who is they? Asks the Owner.
Ghostly Demonic Hounds I say. Obviously, I say.
There are No Such Things as Ghostly Demonic Hounds, says the Owner, so much so that even in the Film, as you will recall, the Ghostly Demonic Hound was neither Ghostly nor Demonic. It was a story within a story. There was no Ghostly Demonic Hound, even in the Book. It is not a Ghost Story but a Story of Deception. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle created not the Fiction of a Demonic Hound, but the Fiction of the Fiction, by the Judicious Use of Phosphorus.
It is Well Known that Two Fictions make a Fact, I say.
They do not, says the Owner, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did not believe in Ghostly Demonic Dogs either. He was Inspired by local beliefs about a Spectral Hound that was said to Haunt Dartmoor, says the Owner.
Local Beliefs? I say.
Oh no, says the Man.
There is a Silence.
How far away is Dartmoor? I ask.
Do not be Ridiculous, says the Owner.
He’s not sleeping on my side, says the Man.
Hergest the Hound
I am a dog of many thoughts.