The Conversation of The Dog
- mikeshiplack
- Jan 27, 2025
- 25 min read
Originally written by Miguel De Cervantes. Retold by Mike Shiplack
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INTRODUCTION
At first he thought it was a ghost, but ghosts don’t use crutches. It’s been a lifetime since Perry last saw Alfred. Quickly walking up to his old friend he offers him a shoulder to help bear life’s burden. The two were just down the road from Perry’s café. He asks his old friend if he would like a hot meal and a cold drink. All Alfred does is nod his head and shuffle along.
Along the way they pass a dog sitting idly on the side of the road. Perry barely recognizes his friend’s voice. “You’re a good dog,” Alfred says to the dog.
Perry is confused. It was more than a decade ago that he could remember his dear friend slamming the oak of the bar, regaling the regulars and — let’s face it — anyone who would listen about the weird and strange tales of women and wonder from other worlds. Then Perry remembers the direction his friend staggers from: the National Institute of Mental Health. It was a few kilometers away, but close enough that Alfred wasn’t the first man to wander aimlessly towards the café.
Did the war take his mind, like it had countless others? Or is he now another casualty of the many mental illnesses that continue to plague the nation? Although knowing Alfred, it likely had something to do with love, lust, pride, or a combination of sins.
Inside the café Alfred doesn’t seem any better than before. Pushing aside the empty plate, Alfred reaches inside his jacket pocket to pull out a large notebook. For the first time since their fated reunion, Alfred looks at Perry right in the eye — much like how he looked at the dog in the street — like that of a sane man. Perry couldn’t believe what he heard next.
“The dogs speak,” Alfred says in a clear and steady tone.
Opening the notebook, Perry begins to read a conversation date from last night. It was a conversation between two dogs.
I know that I am not a great man, and lately I’ve questioned my apt of being a sane one, but what I heard last night is real. Two dogs, Scipio and Berganza, spoke at length outside my bedroom window last night. At first I thought it was two men.
Peering from my window all I saw was a fat basset hound and an old mastiff laying on scraps of carpet. I thought I was crazy, and considering my current circumstance that could very well be true, but the dogs were just as surprised as I was.
With only my pen and this notebook I did my best to record as much of the conversation as possible. The story tells the history of the Mastiff named Berganza. The fat Basset Hound, Scipio, kept the conversation true.
Scipio: Let’s skip work tonight. These mats are way too comfortable.
Berganza: Scipio! You can talk.
Scipio: I can what?
Berganza: You can talk.
Scipio: You heard what I was thinking?
Berganza: No! I heard what you were saying.
Scipio: Berganza! You can talk!
Berganza: I know, right!?
Scipio: Do I smell different to you? Maybe we woke up with a soul? Although, you don’t smell any different.
Berganza: How do you know what a soul smells like, Scipio! The closest thing I’ve ever sniffed out are lies. Though, all my life I have heard others speak and thought how fortunate they were to have reason and principles translated into character. Maybe it’s the end of the world, and we’re finally granted one last gift before an enormous vehicle slams into the earth?
Scipio: Ha! With two massive headlights no doubt! Well then, let us not worry about sniffing around this asylum, and instead let’s focus on what this is! These words! Sit, and tell me anything!
Berganza: You’re right! Tonight is a gift, and we better use it. No longer will our thoughts simply lie here like an old bone, becoming old and stale until it is forgotten.
Scipio: Then will you do me the honour of sharing your life’s story with me? I feel that for us to truly honour this gift one must speak and the other listen. And if we are lucky enough to continue our conversation tomorrow, I will then tell you how I wound up on this stale carpet.
Berganza: Brilliant idea! But do you think anyone else can hear us?
Scipio: Relax. There is no one around except a man who is so heartbroken that he is either fast asleep or wallows in so much self-‐pity he only notices his reflection.
Berganza: Okay then. Where should I start?
Scipio: At the beginning, of course.
Berganza: I was born under the table in a dark corner of a slaughterhouse outside of Dallas, Texas. I was only a litter of one, and my mother did not long survive my coming into the world. She lived just long enough to give me my first name, Berganza.
There I lived with a few other strays. Our pack leader was a young Pugnose named Nicholas. He taught me and the other whelps how to be useful so we would not be thrown out into the street, or ground into something far worse. It was Nicholas who taught me the value of obedience and loyalty. I grew up quickly and was the largest in the pack, so it was my job to keep the livestock in line. The young bulls were the worst, and would escape frequently. The trick is to pull them down by their ears.
This is where I earned my first of many names: The Golden Eagle.
Scipio: Okay, whoa. Back up. Taking down bulls by the ear? I asked for your life story, not some tall-‐tale of a Mastiff Matador named Golden Eagle.
Berganza: I promise you on my dead mother, Scipio. Everything I say tonight is true. You asked for my life story, and this is how it begins. Now, the one thing you have to realize about slaughterhouses is that the people are the real animals. We would watch them toil away at blood, flesh and bone until there was nothing left but plastic wrap and foam. It was awful, almost as if they have no conscience for the kill and no respect for life.
Scipio: I don’t disagree, but they do have language. And we both know that comes with a degree of benevolence.
Berganza: Benevolence? Those butchers were barbaric with no fear and respect for a pack leader, nor did they live by any one code or creed. Pack justice is limited to what they stole or who they could manipulate. Some men are like carrion birds and they treat other men, and especially women as prey. At night you can hear some of them out by the dumpsters humping like dogs.
Scipio: Whoa. Now you’re just mixing your metaphors, Berganza. And there’s nothing wrong with doggie-‐style.
Berganza: You’re right. My apologies, Scipio. But I’ve seen people show-‐up on the days when the animal flesh was traded for green paper. They would come begging for their choice cuts of meat, and I had to stand on guard to ensure no one would take a package and run. Like I said, I kept the animals in line.
Scipio: Blood shed has become an art in the hands of men. It’s hard to believe they have the gift of speech as well! It’s almost like they haven’t heard of diplomacy.
Berganza: Unfortunately, friend Scipio, not a day would pass without brawls, bloodshed, and there was even a murder once.
Scipio: Blood for blood is our way too. Maybe they are not so different from us after all?
Berganza: Yes, but we at least live by one code to govern us all.
Scipio: And we might only have one night to talk. So if you are going to discuss the folly of man then you had best hope that we are granted this gift of speech for a few lifetimes to come. I have seen the true value of a man, and it can be something worth cherishing. But tonight I want to hear your life story, Berganza — not your thoughts.
Berganza: Okay, where did I leave off? Ah! I will never forget the day that I was trampled by a large black bull. Soon after, Nicolas the Pugnose taught me how to carry a basket in my mouth — and more importantly how to defend myself with it. As I slowly recovered, my new job was to travel from the slaughterhouse to a row of small houses just outside the main gate where the workers slept and sometimes kept a few visitors.
Twice a week I would deliver packages of meat to one particular back door. Until one day I was called by name from a window I never paid much attention to. A beautiful woman approached from the doorway, knelt down and petted my mangy fur, and called me Golden Eagle. Then she offered me a treat, and like a dumb dog I dropped the basket for just a second. That was all it took for her to replace the meat inside with an old cog.
Scipio: Clever woman, and brave to assume that you would give up your duty so willingly.
Berganza: True. But I was young and treated well enough that there was no way I could have damaged such a delicate hand.
Scipio: Even a dog knows true beauty.
Berganza: You are correct, Scipio. So I quickly went back with the old cog inside my basket. It didn't take long for the butcher to find the cog inside the basket. He was so mad that he threw a butcher knife right at me. Had I not once been the Golden Eagle of the slaughterhouse, I might not be here today to tell you this story. I was over the hills and far away before nightfall.
I awoke to find myself among a flock of sheep. I could not believe my luck. As you are well aware, herding sheep is one of the most reputable and long-‐standing profession of our kind. Seeing my size, stature, and pleasant demeanor the farmer called me over. I took up my new vocation well, and vowed to defend the lowly and weak without question or permission.
It also helped to remember some of Nicholas’ lessons. I walked towards him with my head down and tail wagging to show him I was no threat. He rubbed his hand along my back, checked my teeth, and noticed how young I was.
“Good dog,” he said.
Scipio: Oh! I love it when they say that.
Berganza: It’s the best, right?! And just like that I was given a collar and a day's worth of food. They called me, Barcino, and I worked hard for my second master. He was a good man, much better than the butcher and his string of backdoor mistresses.
I loved my days as Barcino: guardian of the flock! As I rested by day, I was put to work the hardest at night. The coyotes were relentless, but they were nothing compared to a raging bull. But steadily and sneakily under the veil of night they always returned. Then one day, and almost every other morning after that a lamb or ewe was found dead in the pasture. All the dogs were punished for it — even I was at fault.
So I devised a plan to try and catch the wily coyote who continued to evade me. Hiding behind a riverbank, I ordered the other dogs to create a perimeter on one side of the flock, forcing the intruder to pass by me. And you would not believe what I saw that night, Scipio.
Scipio: What!? What did you see?
Berganza: Two farmers from another field. After carving out the best parts of a choice lamb, they made the rest look as if a pack of coyotes had eaten it.
Scipio: So what did you do?
Berganza: There was nothing I could do. This was the work of man, and I could not speak true like I can now. Any alarm I tried to raise would make them see me as a threat. So I continued to take the beatings for my failure to protect the herd. Not long after that I decided to walk away. And for the second time in my life I was in search of a new master. This time it turned out to be a very rich merchant.
Scipio: You lucky dog. How did you do it?
Berganza: Nicholas taught me that humility is the base of all virtues. It makes friends of enemies, tempers wrath, and keeps the arrogance of pride at bay. It is the mother of modesty, and it allows one access to any home that likes dogs.
Scipio: Oh come on! If I were wearing a chain, you’d be pulling it right now.
Berganza: Sit by a door long enough and you will soon learn who belongs and who doesn’t. When a stranger arrives bark and growl, and when the master of the house arrives wag your tail and lick his shoes. A hearty meal won’t be far behind.
Scipio: Where were you in my younger days?
Berganza: Good behaviour and humility opened many doors for me, but something always chased me away. That’s how I wound up here.
Scipio: I know that road as well, and it is what has led me to this place too. Based on what you just told me of your behaviour, I wonder if dogs can actually read people’s thoughts of what is right and what is wrong.
Berganza: Or at least sniff out their intentions with obedience and loyalty.
Scipio: I’m just glad that cats haven’t figured that out yet. But please, continue.
Berganza: Eventually I found my way back to Dallas. It didn’t take long to find a warm stoop that belonged to a wealthy oil tycoon. It also didn’t take me long to flush out a man hiding in the bushes inside his property walls. The man stunk of patchouli and was armed with a can of spray paint. After that night I was tasked as the night watch dog, and even wore a proud patch of green paint on my muzzle as a reminder of the encounter. Unfortunately I was tied up by day, and only let loose at night.
Though I loved every minute of it. Eventually I was protecting the entire neighbourhood. They gave me bones right off the dining room table! Soon enough I had earned my freedom, and my master demanded that I be left untied both day and night.
Scipio: Now that is living the dream, my friend.
Berganza: That it was. Though it was not meant to last. My new master had two sons, and both of them attended university. One day the youngest left his notebook at home, and being a good dog I followed after him with it in my mouth. It wasn’t that hard, I had plenty of practice with the baskets at the slaughterhouse. And there was really only one bus, and the boy’s cologne was easy to follow.
So I showed up at the University, a little too proud of my accomplishment. Boasting with pride I made sure not to take it to him directly, but to my master. That day he was also at the university as a guest speaker. So I walked past all the students in the lecture hall and I placed his son’s book down right in front of him. My how the other students laughed. The family was so pleased with my actions that my new task was to carry books to class.
It didn’t take long before I became a permanent fixture on campus. The students would bring me food, and even feed me almonds so they could see me crack them open with my teeth. A student once even made me a salad, which I ate sitting on a picnic table like a good human. But instead of clapping or laughing they kept waving these little flashing boxes at me. You have likely seen them talking to them…
Scipio: And walking into things at the same time. Did you ever figure out what those are? The way they hold them to their face, or stare at them blankly is really weird.
Berganza: Apparently it’s for a thing called, U-‐Tube. But I don’t really know for sure. However, what I did learn was a lesson in humility. The students were so distracted by my abilities that some of their studies began slipping. It wasn’t long after that one of the professors had me banned from the campus.
Scipio: Men and their ivory towers, please! People who choose a life of leisure seldom have room for fun. It’s no wonder they take the world so seriously.
Berganza: Agreed, friend Scipio. Agreed. And just like them, it was my prideful arrogance that led to my fall from grace. I worked so hard to convince myself that I wasn’t just a dog that I had forgotten where I came from. I often wished that I had been born with that chain around my neck. Freedom is overrated.
Scipio: Don’t ever do that again!
Berganza: Do what?
Scipio: Sarcasm. Language is a gift, Berganza. Don’t sully it by sounding like an idiot. I’ve only truly known you for an evening, and already I know what’s in your soul. Don’t waste it with sarcasm.
Berganza: You are right, and I apologize. Shall I continue?
Scipio: Only if it’s the truth or from the heart, my friend.
Berganza: No longer was I the master of my domain, and once more I was chained and waiting for scraps like back at the slaughterhouse. Although this time the scraps did not come as often, and it left me mean and barking at anyone who walked by me. What you see before you as a great Mastiff was whittled down to a mere Grey Hound. Instead of feeling betrayed due to my confinement, I had to remember what it was like to be an honest dog again. To serve a master dutifully.
Scipio: Well at least you learned some philosophy while attending college. Tell me Berganza, while you were busy playing with those students under that tree of knowledge, what else did you learn? And don’t skimp on the details!
Berganza: Very little, I’m afraid.
Scipio: Did you know that the word philosophy is compounded of two Greek words: philo (love), and sophia (wisdom). So it literally means love of wisdom, and that a philosopher is actually a lover of wisdom.
Berganza: Ha! Well, well, well Scipio first you speak English and now Greek? This truly is a night of wonder.
Scipio: I have an educated history not unlike your own, just different. Besides, just because I know a few words does not mean I know Greek.
Berganza: Where were you when I was roaming the university halls, Scipio? That is a lesson that could have been taught to countless “lovers of languages”, both students and teachers alike.
Scipio: It just goes to show there is a difference between saying one thing and doing another. Have you ever noticed that we seem to live in an age where laws only apply to those who are subject to it? Despite my view from the gutters, I have seen far too many men of wealth and title change the laws to suit their needs.
Berganza: Yes, but why not strive to be that man? The better man!
Scipio: If you were that better man, Beganza, you would be nothing more than a hypocrite. You’ve sat begging for your freedom, and yet when given the freedom of speech you ply sarcasm.
Berganza: When presented with such an ephemeral gift such as life, it’s important to take what you can, and as much of it as you can carry. Why do you think I have not been, as you say, “skimping on the details.”
Scipio: Then you best continue.
Berganza: Having been confined to one place, I began to watch and study the paid staff around me. Eventually I smelt a thief, and they tried to buy my silence through bread, meat, and cheese. It was then that I learned that all gifts have power.
Scipio: Just like at the slaughterhouse.
Berganza: Exactly. Do you know what habet bovem in lingua means?
Scipio: Of course not! I’m a dog who only knows a little Greek. Did you forget about what we just talked about? English, Berganza! Use it!
Berganza: It means, “He has the ox on his tongue.”
Scipio: And I have pork on my breath. All that means is my dinner was better than yours.
Berganza: You speak truth without even knowing it. And next time you best share. Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, thousands of years ago the Athenians stamped an ox on their coin, and they would whisper habet bovem in lingua about judges who choose corruption over justice. Much like them, these gifts of meat kept me from barking the truth.
Eventually my better nature surfaced, and I retaliated the only way I could. I began to silently and methodically surprise the person who was stealing from my master. As I regained moments of freedom I would hide in plain sight and then bark aggressively when they slipped sliver into their pockets. Though I soon realized this was not a battle I could win. My rations became less, and they even threw a sponge soaked in grease.
Scipio: A cruel fate worse than death. That sponge would have swelled in your stomach and you would have died from your own shit.
Berganza: Not the best way to put it, but the outcome would have remained the same. A few weeks later I was let off my chain and allowed to once again protect the garden. I wasted no time in leaving that life behind. If only I had the gift of speech I could have told my master of the rats under his roof.
Being back on the streets of Dallas, it didn’t take long before I ran into an old familiar face. From an alley I heard my first name, Berganza! It was none other than Nicolas Pugnose.
Scipio: The one who taught you how to carry baskets and sit at the doorway of rich merchants?
Berganza: The one and the same. “This is a famous Golden Eagle!” He boldly told the small pack of dogs that surrounded him. And as if no time had passed, he immediately welcomed me in. And his fortune had turned too. No longer was he at the beck and call of a butcher, but he now worked with a lawyer who played a rather clever game.
As a pug, Nicholas could make friends with women very easily. So he spent his days wandering the streets of well-known whorehouses. Sure enough, a lady of the evening would scoop him up, call him the cutest thing they’ve ever seen and take him inside. From there Nicholas would wait in judgment of the men who came to visit. When a notable politician or businessman would stop by for some company he would dash out to the nearby pub where the lawyer was waiting. Being a man of the law, he also knew how to bend it and hold it over the heads of others. Rarely did the men he caught with their pants down ever see the inside of a jail cell, but they did leave with bare wallets. My job was to ensure they did not outrun the lawyer.
Scipio: Ha! The Golden Eagle returns! So what did you find worse: the greed of the lawyer, or the lust of a man?
Berganza: They are one in the same: sin is sin. The humans have at least gotten that part right. But it’s the why that’s the most interesting. One day, we busted in on a rich oil engineer whose pants, at the time, were far below his ankles. So we quickly escort him to the nearby jail cell. The lawyer had paid-‐off some guards to help persuade the men to part with their money, or their one phone call would be used to call their wives. Normally the bribe couldn’t come quick enough, but in our haste to part him from his money we did not realize that this particular man left his pants beside his dignity on the brothel’s floor.
So I returned to the scene of the crime to hopefully deliver his pants and pocket book. What I found under the bed of that whorehouse was absolutely delicious.
Scipio: Okay. That is just plain gross — even for a dog. Berganza: It as fresh prosciutto.
Scipio: Prosciutto?
Berganza: Yup. The man had kept fresh slices of pork in his pants pocket, for some reason.
Scipio: And you ate it like a glutton?
Berganza: Of course I did. I walked past the deli that made it for weeks dreaming of one day finding just a sliver, let along a whole stick. It was so delicious that I forgot what my task was and returned to the jail cell. Apparently the man confessed to having hundreds of dollars in his pants pocket.
Scipio: Along with the prosciutto that you ate.
Berganza: It was worth it. When we all returned for his pants a second time they were gone.
Scipio: So you ate them along with the hundreds of dollars? That’s one unbelievably expensive slice of pork.
Berganza: I am a dog with few regrets, Scipio. But you think that’s unbelievable, just wait until what happens next. It may seem like something from those moving picture boxes inside living rooms, but I hold true to my promise to tell no lies tonight.
Scipio: Out with it then, and don’t skimp on the details.
Berganza: One day, while the lawyer was waiting for Nicholas to arrive with word of a new mark, he got into a fight with six men at the bar. Apparently his reputation of holding a man’s name for ransom had finally caught up with him. For a man who represents justice, the lawyer took every cheap shot he could afford.
Smashing a bottle over the head of one man, biting the nose of the other, and a swift kick to the manhood of the third evened the score quickly. Grabbing a novelty saber off the wall, he managed to send the other attackers running.
Seeing the spectacle without knowing the true nature of the conflict, the bartender opened a tab in honour of the lawyer’s pyrrhic victory.
Needless to say, the lawyer was no longer concerned with Nicholas when he arrived with tales of a notable advertising man attempting to penetrate the local market. No. There was my master, the lawyer standing triumphantly on the bar with saber in hand and wine in fist.
Scipio: Let me guess, pride came before the fall?
Berganza: As always. News of my master’s victory was the talk of the town. Not soon after, a case hit his desk regarding the settling of a debt. As it turns out, two men had stolen a vintage white Mustang and in order to sell it for profit one thief put forth a claim that his partner owed him a great deal of money, which he then gave a signed contract as proof. Not being able to pay the sum, the other thief offered the stolen Mustang as payment. The court accepted the offer without doing the proper background checks and it was put up for auction.
Scipio: Laundering theft through the courts? Now that is a bold move.
Berganza: Had my master known, he would have charged them more for their genius. Instead, he fell in love with the car so when it came up for auction he bought it for thousands less than it was worth. The thieves got their money, and my master received an albatross in the form of an iron steed.
Scipio: How so?
Berganza: Pride, Scipio. Pride. He was quick to show-‐off his newfound fortune. It was a magnificent Mustang for little more than the price of an El Camino. It wasn’t long until the true owners recognized what was stolen from them.
Providing proof of what had happened, along with several witnesses that agreed that the car was recently stolen, my master could do nothing but give his prize away. The thieves had vanished as quickly as they came so he was left with nothing. Due to his arrogance it seemed as if the whole town celebrated his loss.
Later that night, my master decided that enough was enough and tried to take back the money he had given the courts. He had spent significant time in the courthouse and knew exactly where his money was being kept. When they heard the break-‐in and saw the culprit fleeing the scene they sent me chasing after him. I obeyed, but my Golden Eagle days were far behind me. My master was quick enough to turn and beat me down with the club he used to break the window.
Scipio: There is nothing worse than having a master beat down a loyal dog. It is unforgivable. The sad part is this story is now not as far-fetched as I first thought.
Berganza: Oh, it gets better. Once again, I ran away that very night from another master. I did not stop until I saw the dawn break over the hills. That very morning I came across a group of musicians. One of the men, a drummer who also used to be in the circus, thought it would be funny to teach me a few new tricks. The band was travelling to Austin, Texas, and the drummer thought he could add a bit more coin to his pocket by teaching me how to dance.
Scipio: Wait a second. Let me get this straight: a dog who takes bulls down by the ear, attends the second finest university in Texas, and helped shake down rich businessmen for money also danced in the streets of Austin?
Berganza: And I did it better than most men, friend Scipio. My star shined bright, and quickly word spread of my skills. Not only did I dance, but I jumped hoops with a little puppet who sat upon a saddle on my back.
Scipio: Ha, hah, ha! There are no words, Berganza. I beg you to continue — if only you continue to speak truth.
Berganza: I’ve only told one lie tonight, and you caught me in it. In fact, you’d be surprised to learn that I wasn’t even born a dog, but a man who was transformed into a dog.
Scipio: We talked about this, Berganza. Do not sully our gift of speech tonight.
Berganza: I have no intention. Allow me to continue and I will not, as you say, “skimp on the details”. Word spread of our amazing act and soon my new master was asked to perform at festivals and even a few charity events.
One evening, while performing at a hospital in Austin City, I was accused of being a man. There I was with a puppet on my back, when a woman from the back row began to shout, “Montel! Montel, my son!” Bursting through the crowd she dropped to her knees and began kissing my muzzle.
Scipio: Now that’s gross. I hate it when humans do that.
Berganza: I know. Their breath is the worst! Like old cheese and rotting meat. Blah.
Now, some kids thought this was part of the act. As it turns out, she had lost her mind after losing her son. The grief was so bad that she was convinced her young boy was turned into a dog. This poor woman also came from a very wealthy family. My master, never missing an opportunity, forced me to play along. It wasn’t long after that I was sold to this woman for a sizable sum. The next day I saw my master drive away with a brand new set of drums in his brand new car.
Scipio: That’s the thing I don’t get about humans. They don’t understand the value. The loyalty you offered is priceless. You even wore a puppet on your back!
Berganza: Don’t I know it, Scipio. And so, once more I was living in a cold room, chained to a bed that now housed an insane woman who believed that I was her long lost son returned.
Scipio: Have you stopped to consider there might be truth in her words? Do you not hear your very words? Just last night, we were but two dogs walking the grounds of a mental institute, sniffing out those brave enough or crazy enough to leave their beds. And now we are discussing in great detail and wit about the story of your incredible life. Maybe she was not so crazy after all?
Berganza: I might have agreed with you, Scipio, but she was certifiable. When we were not at the hospital, we were locked inside her bedroom. No matter where we went I wore a thick chain around my neck.
One night, as I was chained to the foot of her bed at home, she decided to try and resurrect her son from the spell that binds him to my canine form. You see this scar that runs along my belly? That’s where she tried to cut her son out of this beastly shape.
Scipio: Yeah… I stand corrected. She is certifiable. My apologies.
Berganza: Now I’ve bit my fair share of humans before. I know the taste of blood, but never had I forced myself to drink so deep. That night I fought for my life like a rabid beast. It didn’t take long for one of the housemaids to find us both in a puddle of blood. I remember them prying my jaws off her arm as it held that wet, red scalpel. Playing dead, I waited until they removed the chain around my next. In that moment of freedom I leapt to my feet and ran as quickly as I could out of that accursed place. And, once more, I found myself running towards dawn and not looking back.
Scipio: Speaking of which, dawn is drawing near. And so is our time.
Berganza: Then I might as well jump ahead to the time I roamed the southern
U.S.A with band of travelling gypsies.
Scipio: Even in this day and age, every good story always ends with a gypsy.
Berganza: It’s because they know how to throw a party, and every good story should end on a high note.
Many people are surprised to learn that the true trade of the gypsy is in metallurgy. How they acquire the metal is the art form. From birth they wash their children in cold water to acclimatize them for any type of weather. Just when you think the world has lost its nomadic history, a gypsy will appear with a tune and a trinket to sell. They will also be the first to tell you a tall tale that you want to believe. Not so after you’ll begin to question the sanctity of your wallet, watch, and jewel. Despite their conning nature, they are one of the most honest people I’ve ever met. The lies they create for the art of the grift makes up for their ability to be honest with themselves. Never have I heard more honest speech in all my life.
Scipio: Not even during your time at the university?
Berganza: Now there’s the biggest con in American history! There is no more substance in those ivory towers than its paper veneer can afford. And it doesn’t take a math genius or doctor of economics to understand the true cost of an education.
Success can be learned on a street corner or in a classroom. It is found in the value of the student and the teacher, not the administration.
It would take months to tell you all that I had learned while with the gypsies. However, I could tell you everything I learned at the university in a day. Gypsies understand true value. They can stretch a dollar into pennies and then turn those pennies back into dollars. All a university understands is how to teach people willing to spend whatever it takes to succeed — not save to succeed. If only gypsies were to discover the value of birth control then they would be one of the wealthiest people on earth.
Scipio: Now that's what I call truth, Berganza.
Berganza: Although food with the gypsies was often scarce I was free! Free to wander as I pleased. And because the gypsy caravan travelled as often as it camped, I was able to see much of this great country. Then one day we traveled back to Austin. Knowing the opportunity that lay within this concrete jungle I was excited to try and ply all the new skills that I had learned.
It didn’t take long before I found a man writing furiously into his journal, only stopping to either gaze into the clouds or curse the very book he was so intently focused on. Smelling sweet bread in his bag, I decided to make friends. As the days went by, my new writer friend began to offer me more and more charity. It got to the point where he complained about spending the little money he had on a dog he was not responsible for.
One day, after scribbling furiously for hours, he leapt to his feet and begged me to follow him to a theatre down the road. As it turns out, my new writer friend was a playwright for one of the theatre companies in town. Intrigued, I stayed to watch some of the performance.
Scipio: And, how was it? Did your newfound writer spin gold with his pen?
Berganza: You couldn’t be further from the truth. It was as if Satan himself took hold of that play. One thing that did surprise me though was the quality of actors.
Throughout my long, adventurous life I have seen many men play the hero, the villain, and the fool but never have I seen acting so well crafted before. Like most learned animals, I fell in love with the stage.
Scipio: And, what of the gypsies that granted you freedom and truth with their very words? You simply abandoned them? What kind of dog is not loyal to its master?
Berganza: One who loves the arts, I guess. Besides, I was free to do as I pleased. If only there was time tonight to provide you with the three acts required to become obsessed with story and the stage. Though, I am sure you’ve heard better by authors other than I.
Scipio: Don’t be so modest. I’ve heard many stories from playwrights, poets, and authors during my time here. We do live in a house of the insane, after all.
Berganza: Ah, yes, then I am sure you’ve heard the ramblings of the very poet that brought me here?
Scipio: You mean the one who scribbles in the park, and shouts profanity at the sky?
Berganza: The very one. And speaking of the sky, Scipio, dawn is beginning to break its way past the horizon. I guess this is as good a place as any to wraps up my story. Do you think we’ll be fortunate enough to continue this conversation sometime tomorrow? I would very much like to know the virtuous path that led you here.
Scipio: If I learned anything about tonight, it is that virtue is what separates us from them. And my story strays far from that path.
Berganza: Then I guess this is where we say, good night.
Scipio: Not at all, my friend! This is where we say…
And just as the light of dawn broke, this conversation between two dogs stopped as suddenly as it began.
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Back at the cafe.
Perry simply stares in bewilderment as his friend reaches the end of a very long conversation between the two dogs. Of course Perry did not believe a word of it. Although the story had enough truth to make him feel that remnants of his old friend’s creative genius still remain.
“Your story is beautiful, old friend.”
As if finally rationalizing his thoughts for the first in a long time, Alfred looks up and smiles back, “Thank you and good night.”