“What’s he thinking about?”
“Maybe… about his treats.”
He throws a stone into the waves.
His dog licks at an itchy spot on his back.
Another stone. A gentle splash.
“Does he even understand a thing I’m saying?”
He pats the dog’s head lovingly.
“How do dogs pick up our language anyway?”
“Different people, different tongues — but somehow, they know what we mean.”
They look at each other.
Suddenly, the dog stands alert.
“What did he sense?”
“A rival’s pee nearby?”
“Dogs are funny — they think they own a streetlamp by peeing on it.”
“Barking over snacks that could be shared...”
“But at least mine defends himself first before defending the world.”
A kiss on the head. A soft sigh.
“Gotta take him to the vet tomorrow. Poor guy’s all mites.”
He pauses, watching the golden horizon.
“Wow, What a beautiful sunset! As if the red sun is taking a bath in the seabed!”
An alternative version of the human’s mind about his dog in the beach evening.
