The Owner and I step out of the Door. The Sounds of the Park are enticing, and on the Breeze comes a Faint smell of Cheese Sandwiches. Let us go to the Park, I say.
No, says the Owner, we are not going to the Park, we are going to the Heath in the Car. There are too many Picnics in the Park.
That is not Fair, I say, I want to go to the Park.
It is My Turn to Decide, says the Owner, and we are going to the Heath.
Then it is my Turn to Drive, I say.
The Moral Dog does not have a Turn, says the Owner. The Moral Dog has a seat in the Back.
That sounds like Oppression to me, I say. Why do I have to Sit in the Back, I say.
Because, says the Owner, the Space in the Back is designed for Dogs.
The Space in the back was Oppressively Designed for Dogs only in order to Put Dogs in the Space in the Back, I say.
The Back has a Dog Cushion, and a Dog Toy, says the Owner, and a Dog Guard to prevent Humans from Encroaching.
Do not play the Slippery Eel with me, I say. It is entirely clear that the Dog Cushion and the Dog Toy and could move to the front of the Car, whilst the Dog Guard would function Equally Effectively if we were to Swap Sides, I say.
If we Swap Sides, says the Owner, then I would be in the back and the Moral Dog would have to Drive.
Exactly, I say.
But, says the Owner. The Moral Dog cannot Drive.
There you go again, I say, Oppressing the Moral Dog, I say. You have never asked me, I say. Given that yourself and the Man are such Terrible Drivers, I say, I can hardly do worse, I say.
The Man and I are not Terrible Drivers, says the Owner.
Hahahahaha, I say.
What is that supposed to mean? Asks the Owner.
The Moral Dog may be Incarcerated behind a Dog Guard, Fobbed off with a Cushion and a Toy, I say, but he still hears Every Word of the Helpful Advice that the Man and Yourself Offer to One Another when Driving.
What is wrong with Offering Helpful Advice? Asks the Owner.
It is clear to the Moral Dog that you Both have Much to Learn about Driving, I say. The Man, I understand, should Set Out Earlier, should remember at All Times how many Points are on his License and Generally seems to Regard Orange Lights Inappropriately as not a Warning but an Invitation. You, on the Other Hand, should Set out Later, should Just For Once go the Quickest Way, and seem to think that having no Penalty Points gives you some kind of Moral Superiority when refusing to Overtake a Morris Minor.
I suppose the Moral Dog thinks he can Do a Better Job, says the Owner.
That is also More or Less what you say to the Man, I say.
Fine, says the Owner, heaving the Moral Dog’s Bottom onto the Driving Seat with Ill Grace. Off we Go.
You are not yet Properly in the Back, I say.
Fine, says the Owner, clambering in.
I hope you are not Sitting on my Cushion, I say.
I am not, says the Owner. It is Too Hairy for my Tastes.
Or Playing with my Toy, I say.
There is a Certain amount of Grumbling from the Back. There, says the Owner. Your Toy and your Cushion are now in the Front. Let us depart lest we are still here when All Life on Earth Ceases to be and all that remains os a Cold Lonely Planet Spinning Round and Exhausted Star.
I think you may be Exaggerating, I say. I look at the Controls.
You have not Started the Car, says the Owner.
That is Hardly Surprising, I say. I cannot reach the Pedals, I say, and my Paws do not sit Comfortably at the Ten to Two Position. The Rear View Mirror is Somewhat inadequate given my Forward Vision, and my Reading Skills do not extend to Numbers. The Sat Nav does not appear to have a Scent Function and none of the Radio Stations are Tuned to Barking. I cannot Possibly Drive this Car.
My Point Exactly, says the Owner. Moral Dogs cannot Drive Cars, says the Owner.
I have not Finished, I say. I cannot Possibly Drive this Car, I say, because it has been Inadequately Designed for the Driving Skills of the Moral Dog, I say. It is not the design of the Moral Dog that is unsuited for the Car, but the design of the Car that is Unsuited for the Moral Dog, I say. The Car expresses the Generally Low Esteem in which the Moral Dog’s Driving Capabilities are Viewed, I say. The only reason that a Moral Dog cannot Drive this car is that it has been Designed to Exclude him. This is also Oppression, I say.
I see, says the Owner. We seem to have a Stalemate, says the Owner. I suggest we go to the Park instead, says the Owner. This would seem to resolve the Impasse, says the Owner.
Excellent, I say. Let me out, I say.
This is what you wanted a=All Along, says the Owner.
It is a shame I had to be Oppressed in order to get it, I say.
Hergest the Hound
I am a dog of many thoughts.