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When you think of all the hot air we waste
trying to communicate, you'd think we'd know better than to claim superiority over
animals that don't appear to talk. Why should they?
They sniff, engage in a little body language, and resort to "Woof-woof!" or
"Grrrrrrrrr!" only when necessary. The language of most animals is clear, it
seems, to every other species except us. We fail miserably in our attempts to translate
the sounds they make into intelligible human syllables.
"What does the doggy say?" we prod our children. The French expect their
offspring to reply, "Waf-waf!" Spanish parents train their little niños to
answer, "Guau-guau!" In Germany the kinder say, "Bau-wau!" The
Chinese, "Won-won!" In Romania it's, "Ham-ham!" The cacophony goes on
and on.
Now, you'd expect people from different cultures to look at a tree
and call it all sorts of things. But a rooster crows pretty much the same way, no matter
where he sees the sunrise. And yet, what's "Cock-doodle-doo!" over here, the
Dutch pronounce, "kukeluku!" And the Germans, "kikeriki!"
While we humans struggle with some 200 languages--and 200 versions of
"He-haw!"--dogs, cats and all manner of beast manage to communicate very well
with one, universal language. Before we attempt to teach Rover to
speak, maybe we should at least agree on what he's saying.
Maybe if we all agreed to use Esperanto. Now wouldn't that be "the cat's meow."
I don't know, maybe I'm "barking up the wrong tree." The more I think about it,
you probably don't "give a hoot."
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