Don't wait for the translation.

So, my mom finally browbeat me into letting her try out that dog translator device she bought. We were sitting by the pool, after a delightful lunch of barbecued meats and fancy cupcakes on Father's Day, and she was talking about how obnoxious Audrey becomes when I'm around. It's true. She spent two weeks with my parents while I was in New York and starting my new job, and she was apparently quite nice to them. And then I come around, and she turns into a little monster again. So Sarah and my mom put the batteries in the thing, and I attached it to Audrey's collar. The device transmits to a handheld walkie-talkie-looking receiver that is supposed to tell you what your dog is "really" saying. And when my mom first pitched it to me, I rolled my eyes and assured her that it would not reveal any of the nuance she was probably aspiring to. On the outer packaging, the word "Bow-lingual" appears. So you see.

Now, I have to be honest. When Sarah started programming the thing, it wanted to know Audrey's name and what breed of dog she is and a number of other details that made me wonder if maybe this thing might actually be legit. But then my mom began antagonizing Audrey in an attempt to get her to start barking, and when Audrey barked -- viciously -- the receiver said, "I want to see the world!" And a little smiley dog face appeared. Then, when Audrey got so violent in her barking that she unintentionally bit my arm (P.S. It hurt like a son of a gun.), Sarah laughed and announced that it said, "I'm happy!" Touché, pet marketing industry. Touché.