I knew it, says the Owner.
You knew what? I ask.
You know what I knew, says the Owner.
The Moral Dog is not a Mindreader, I say. If I knew what you knew then I would know what it is that you knew.
The Moral Dog should just admit that he is a Biological Weapon, says the Owner.
Do not think you can win me over with Flattery, I say.
I told you this would happen when you ate the Fox Poo, says the Owner.
What would happen? I ask.
You cannot possibly not have noticed, says the Owner.
I cannot imagine what you mean, I say.
The Moral Dog has a Vomeronasal Organ the size of a small Planet, says the Owner, one so Sensitive that it can detect an Approaching Mango Lolly when it is still in the Ocado van on the other side of Muswell Hill. He cannot possibly be Unaware of the Ghastly Pong.
Now that you mention it, I say, the Moral Dog had noticed something but he was too polite to mention it.
Do not play the Slippery Eel with me, says the Owner, the Moral Dog should Man Up and acknowledge his guilt.
I do not see why you think that the source of this Inexplicable Odour is the Moral Dog, I say. I demand a Fair Trial, I say.
It is always the Moral Dog, says the Owner.
That is almost certainly what they said to Dreyfus, says the Owner.
There are no other Dogs in this Kitchen who ate Fox Poo in the park, says the Owner.
That may be true, I say, but two unrelated facts cannot be used to claim Causality, I say.
Every room that you have been in swiftly develops the same issue, says the Owner. Even the Spiders have Left the Building.
You cannot convict your Moral Dog on Circumstantial Evidence, I say. The Burden of Proof rests with the Prosecution, I say.
Have you been talking to that Sheepdog again? Asks the Owner.
I may listened to one or two of his speeches, I say. He is a great friend of Jeremy the Beagle and has much to say about Inequality and Oppression, I say. And Justice, I say. Starmer would not see the Moral Dog convicted without a Fair Trial, I say.
Then I will prove my case, says the Owner. Let us have a Fair Trial right here and now.
Very well, I say. Bring it on, I say. Starmer the Sheepdog can represent me, I say. I will select a Jury of my Peers, I say. Why are you shutting me in the Kitchen? I ask.
There is more than one sort of Fair Trial, says the Owner. Let us Follow the Science.
You said if you heard those three words again you would personally blow a raspberry at the Health Secretary, I say.
I have done that anyway, says the Owner, but unlike him, I am using Science to establishing Causality. I am placing the Moral Dog in one room and myself in another. This is a Fair Trial. We shall see which one ends up smelling of Roses.
And so it goes. The Moral Dog is confined to the kitchen with the Ghastly Pong whilst the Owner swans around elsewhere reading her novel.
A Biological Weapon should not be expected to put up with such Nonsense.
Hergest the Hound
I am a dog of many thoughts.