When I was a kid, I used to write stories. When I was ten or eleven, I began one called Bailly School Horrors; an honest to god written-by-a-kid story with talking animals that centered around a dog going to training school, or something. I never got far enough into it to actually have my main character attend the title school.

The dog introduces herself: “My name is Ally. I’m a nice cocker spaniel with white, curly hair. Unfortunately, to keep it white, I have to take a bath every Sunday and Wednesday. Oh well. No one ever said life would be fair. I like how jaded my character is. She’s that drunk in the bar who tries to talk to anyone who’ll listen.

Then there’s was this bit of dialogue between Ally her friend Tammy, who is a cat:

               ‘Oh, Tammy, it’s you.’

               ‘I thought you were supposed to keep clean.’

               ‘I slipped.’

               ‘Typical.’

               ‘What do you know? You’re just a cat.’

               ‘You’re just a dog.’ And at that point we both started laughing.”

And I started laughing too, because it was the most painfully horrible dialogue I’ve encountered, ever. I guess it’s just one of God’s little mercies that animals don’t talk, after all *rim shot*.

 Cont. in First Attempts, part two: Olivia

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