Deliriously Happy

by Larry Doyle

  Rur rar roo roo roo rawr rawr awr raw rarp rarp rarp!—Means nothing; your dog has gone crazy.

  EXERCISES: Let’s start with a simple “hello.” While dogs prefer to say hello nonverbally, they are capable of a standard declarative greeting when actual contact is not possible. The dog word for “hello” is woof (pronounced wuf, wüf, and sometimes wrüf, depending on breed and regional dialect). Facing your dog, say woof in as energetically and friendly a way as possible (tone of voice is very important; the similar-sounding weuf means “Back off! This is my food!”). For maximum impact, place added emphasis on the w and f sounds (The f is actually more of a ph. Dogs have more space between their lips and teeth than humans do, which causes increased “lip flapping” when they speak and makes them particularly well-suited for consonantal diphthongs.) If you have said “hello” correctly, your dog will woof back, a bit louder and slightly higher in pitch. If your dog just stares at you, you have probably mispronounced the word. Try again. If repeated attempts to say hello fail, it may be because your dog feels you are making fun or trying to talk down to him. Try to sound more sincere. If you have a smaller dog, you also might want to try substituting the phrase yip yip yip.

  NOW THAT YOU AND YOUR DOG ARE ON SPEAKING TERMS: WHAT DO YOU TALK ABOUT?

  Like humans, dogs prefer to talk about what they know. This varies widely from dog to dog, but my experience with Flynn is probably typical.

  Flynn loves to talk about smells, all kinds of smells, even and especially smells humans consider impolite to discuss. You must try to give your dog some latitude in this regard. Remember, smells are your dog’s only colors.

  Flynn is also keenly interested in the environment, though his commitment wavers. During our trips to the city, for example, he will complain long and bitterly about the air quality, and yet, he plainly enjoys all the garbage.

  Among Flynn’s other favorite topics of conversation are: animals (all kinds), music (particularly opera), the weather, and the moon. Conversation stoppers for Flynn include: politics, religion, sports, clothing, the future, and money matters (about which he often displays an exasperating disinterest).

  Your dog will likely share some of Flynn’s interests; undoubtedly he will have several of his own. The important thing for you is to explore a full range of talking points with your dog, to discover what he wants to talk about. Any topic is fair game, although I would strongly warn you against broaching the subject of death. When I tried to explain this concept to Flynn, he began whimpering uncontrollably, then took off through the house, scooting along on his rear end and making a horrible mess.

  EXERCISES: Take your dog for a short, brisk walk around the block. When you arrive home, go into separate rooms and compose a list of all of the things you saw. (Since your dog cannot write, he will have to memorize his.) After about fifteen minutes (a time limit is important; your dog will otherwise spend hours pondering a single five-minute walk), get together and compare and contrast your lists.

  You will be amazed at how differently you and your dog look at the world.

  GETTING PAST THE SMALL TALK

  How much do you really know about your dog? To find out, it is not enough to talk to your dog: you must also listen. Only then will your true dog emerge, as Flynn has for me.

  For example, I never realized, until I took the time to listen, that Flynn has such a terrific sense of humor (albeit a bit immature). Before I mastered his language, one of Flynn’s favorite jokes was to spout a canine vulgarity of the lowest order whenever I commanded him to “speak.” He’s really quite a kidder.

  In getting Flynn to open up, I also discovered he has the heart of a poet (as I suspect most dogs do). He loves to recite his song poems (which resemble blues dirges) on clear evenings when there is a full moon. Here’s one (translated):

  My master is good

  and he gives me good food.

  When I am hungry,

  he brings me food then.

  Except sometimes,

  I remember one time in particular.

  But mostly,

  he is a good provider.

  Had I known this was what Flynn had been howling all along, I never would have yelled at him to shut up. Getting to know your dog can help you avoid similar misunderstandings.

  Be warned, however: it is possible you and your dog will get to know each other, only to realize you are totally incompatible. This happens rarely, but when it does, it is better to accept this fact, and take appropriate measures, than to go on living a lie.

  EXERCISES: If you and your dog have gotten this far, you are beyond structured exercises.

  HOW TO TALK TO A BAD DOG

  Being able to talk to your dog is wonderful, but should not be confused with true intimacy. Don’t find this out the hard way, as I had to.

  A few months ago, I came home from work and discovered Flynn had chewed up all the mail. He could not, or would not, give any explanation for his behavior. Furthermore, he did not seem the least bit contrite. I sternly lectured him on the importance of respecting the property of others (throwing in a few ominous references to U.S. Postal Inspectors) and thought that would be the end of the matter.

  But the next day, Flynn had done it again. He had also attempted to hide the results of his crime throughout the house.

  It didn’t take too long to figure out what was going on. Behind the bedroom toilet (where Flynn is not even supposed to go), I found the pulpy remains of my broadband bill; it was for nearly fifteen hundred dollars!

  A quick call to the company confirmed my worst suspicions: someone had ordered Beverly Hills Chihuahua more than three hundred times. (This is not quite the fantastic accomplishment it seems; the remote is quite intuitive.) Although a cable company supervisor said she would give me a one-time credit on the bill, I was absolutely furious. It wasn’t the money; it was that Flynn had deliberately lied to me, something I thought dogs were not even capable of.

  I lost control and lashed out at Flynn viciously.

  Harph! Harhh rrah gruh rau-hurr! I barked without thinking, and then went on to say a number of other things I immediately wished I could take back. But it was too late; Flynn had understood every word.

  In retrospect, I guess I should have just taken a rolled-up newspaper and rapped Flynn across the snout. I thought we had gotten beyond that kind of thing, but I’ve since come to realize that words hurt far more when they are spoken in anger than when they appear on the printed page.

  WHEN YOUR DOG IS NO LONGER TALKING TO YOU

  Flynn didn’t speak to me for a long time after the Chihuahua incident. I would try to initiate conversations, ask Flynn how his day was, but he would just mutter something unintelligible. When I would try to tell him how my day had gone, he would look straight into my eyes, and then rudely turn away to attend to an itch between his legs.

  After about three weeks of this, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got down on my knees and literally begged Flynn to talk to me again. I have re-created the resulting conversation below. It represented an important breakthrough for Flynn and me, and I think you’ll find it instructive.

  Me: C’mon, boy, speak to me! Speak!

  Flynn: Arph?

  Me: Arph? Because we need to talk about this. I’m going nuts with this.

  Flynn: Wuf wif.

  Me: I said I was sorry! You don’t know how sorry I am. Rü! But there’s something else going on here, isn’t there? You can tell me, boy. This is your best friend talking. Please. Roof.

  (long pause)

  Flynn (softly): Har hraugh rhuf whuf hrr.

  Me: What do you mean? I pay attention to you all the time!

  Flynn: Har hraugh rhuf whuf hrr.

  Me: Yeah, rhuf. We talk all the time, don’t we? Or at least we used to.

  Flynn: Rhuf … rhuf … hurr.

  Me: Oh my God. I am such an idiot.

  What I had only then realized was that when Flynn said to me, “You never pay attention to me anymore,” he was employing a euphem
ism! What he had meant was, “You never pet me anymore.” And I had completely missed it.

  I had gotten so wrapped up in the idea of being able to talk to Flynn, and so comfortable discussing matters with him as an equal, I had completely forgotten that, when you get right down to it, Flynn was just a dog—a dog with the same physical and emotional needs as any dog. Words count for very little to a dog; actions speak much louder.

  This is the most important lesson I can impart to you: it is not enough to talk to your dog; you must also communicate. I shudder to think that if Flynn had not opened up to me, I might have gone on hurting him indefinitely. Remember: your dog might not be as assertive.

  Flynn and I talk less than we did at the beginning, but that’s all right. We know that when we want to, or need to, we can. And it still comes in quite handy sometimes.

  But other times, like on hot, firefly nights, when the stars seem so close you can catch them in your mouth, and the old porch swing creaks rhythmically back and forth with the crickets adding chirpy syncopation, and the slow, thick air smells a deep, dark purple, well, words are meaningless. Flynn has taught me that.

  You can purchase the audiobook for your dog by sending $19.95 cash or money order plus $3.50 for postage and handling to: Talking Dog, P.O. 8745, Champaign, IL 61820. Flynn cautions that some of the growling on this tape may be too intense for younger dogs or more sensitive, miniature dogs.

  Acknowledgments

  There are more than fifty pieces in this book, originally published over a twenty-year period, requiring the support and services of dozens of kind and talented people. Acknowledging everyone by name, even just the ones I’m still friends with, would be prohibitively time-and-space consuming, and so I ask their indulgence as I identify them by first initial:

  A(3), B(2), C(3), D(9), G(2), I, J(6), K, M(2), P, R(4), S(3), T(2), and W.

  Thank you all, especially one of the J’s.

  Addendum to the Acknowledgments

  It has been brought to my attention that my previous acknowledgments might come off as seeming unprofessional, or “dickish.” Jesus. This is why I left them off the last book. Of course that didn’t stop my friend Randy Klimpert from complaining that I quoted lyrics he may or may not have written without permission. I mean, I quoted a lot of lyrics without permission, and I don’t hear Eric Clapton or David Bowie complaining.

  Anyway.

  This book would not have been possible if not for the tireless, brilliant, etc., efforts of my various editors, who were a joy to work with for the most part, and whose perceptive edits I have systematically reversed at my peril: Julia Just, Roger Angell, George Barkin, Diane Giddis, Sam Johnson, Chris Marcil, Ian Maxtone-Graham, David Kuhn, David Granger, Peter Griffin, Derek Haas, Cheston Knapp, and especially Susan Morrison, who edited the plurality of these pieces as she will many, many future ones, I hope. Abigail Holstein shepherded the collection itself, twisting and tweaking it into an actual book, and without her efforts there would be a lot more of a lot less. And Sarah Burnes, my brilliant agent, managed to sell the whole mess for an amount that will exceed its return by a goodly margin.

  A career this long, even one this modest, requires its fair share of promoters, cheerleaders, and muses, and I number among them: Judy McGuinn, Jane Flynn-Royko, Randy Cohen, Sandy Frazier, Joanne Gruber, Cara Stein, Ron Hauge, Greg McKnight, Mike Judge, Dany Levy, Dave Eggers, Rory Evans, Lisa Birnbach, Nancy Jo Sales, Jessica Anya Blau, and Ariel Kaminer.

  And since we’ve gone over onto the next page, it seems right to honor the New Yorker as an institution, for which I’ve always written, if not always published, and to thank the three editors who allowed me into their legacy—Robert Gottlieb, Tina Brown, and David Remnick, the last of whom I’ve actually met and who seems nice.

  And I might as well acknowledge the writers I’ve appropriated over the years and cobbled together into something approaching a style: Woody Allen, Robert Benchley, Donald Barthelme, Thomas Pynchon, Michael O’Donohue, Kurt Andersen, et al.

  And, finally, I’d like to thank my wife and children, whose adorable antics were the heart and soul of this book, before the edit.

  About the Author

  Larry Doyle is a freelance journalist living in Chicago. This is his first appearance in the magazine.

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  Larry Doyle is a freelance writer. His article “Eddie Varner Says ‘Yes!’(Can You Hear Him?)” appeared in our November issue.

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  Larry Doyle wrote “Cleveland Is Between Here and There,” which appeared in these pages last month.

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  “Minneapolis–St. Paul Are What You Would Call Fraternal Twins” and “Nobody Lives in Gary, Indiana, by Choice” are two recent pieces Larry Doyle wrote for this magazine. He has often been sighted in Chicago, where he lives.

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  Larry Doyle’s work appears frequently in the magazine. This piece is adapted from “Chicago: City on the Take Out,” from the literary dining guide Red Haute Chicago, available from the Garlic Press.

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  Larry Doyle’s travel pieces for this magazine have been collected into the volume Within a Day’s Drive: Short Trips from Home, available from Gulf and Western Press for $8.95, or 99 cents with a fill-up at participating stations.

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  Larry Doyle’s wry observations on the Midwest and the world can be heard on National Public Radio’s Frequent Modulations.

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  Larry Doyle is our Heartland Editor. “The Kane County Summerstock Massacre,” about his recent foray into playwriting, was awarded the Plimpton Prize.

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  Larry Doyle recently married and moved to Wisconsin. He is at work on a novel.

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  Larry Doyle, whose “Put Another Pecan Log on the Fire: Cheeseheads at Home” in March generated more mail than any article in this magazine’s history, reports that he has “returned to the relative civilization of Chicago.” He is at work on a novel.

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  Larry Doyle’s first novel, White Guys, Big Shoulders, will be published by Little Cat Feet Prints in February.

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  Excerpted from Larry Doyle’s first novel, Wise Guys, Big Shoulders, to be published by Polyhymn Press in October. It has been selected as an alternative selection of the Alternative Book of the Month Club.

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  Larry Doyle is a special senior contributing writer-at-large to the magazine. His first novel, Bright Guys, Big Shoulders, is reviewed in this issue.

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  Larry Doyle returns to these pages after a long absence. He is living in Los Angeles and working on a screenplay.

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  Larry Doyle is a Chicagoan in exile. “Milk Chocolate Blondes on Fire,” which appeared in this magazine last June, won the Mailer Award for Reportorial Excellence.

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  Larry Doyle is a misplaced midwesterner living in the land of fruit and nuts. The film Big Shoulders, starring Robert De Niro and Brad Pitt and scheduled for Christmas release, is based on his novel.

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  Larry Doyle’s most recent work for the magazine, “Lights! Camera! Ego!” appeared in November.

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  Bright Guys, starring Rob Schneider and Bruce the Wonder Moose, is available from World Premiere Video. The film is based on Larry Doyle’s fotonovella of the same name.

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  Guy Bright is a pseudonym for a well-known midwestern writer residing and earning a living on the West Coast. His wry observations on the film industry will appear from time to time in these pages.

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  Larry Doyle teaches creative writing at the Extension University of Indiana at Gary.

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  Larry Doyle, an associate professor of English, recently published his hypertextual second novel, Alice Up the Glass Tower, available in Lotus and Hypercard formats.

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  Alice Up the Glass Tower, Larry Doyle’s second novel, is currently in its ninth upgrade.
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  Larry Doyle has a new wife, a new home, and a new novel in the works in Connecticut.

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  Larry Doyle, a regular contributor to the magazine, is currently working on his third novel.

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  Larry Doyle’s third novel, currently in revisions, has been hailed as equal to his best work by those who have seen it.

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  Excerpted from Larry Doyle’s third novel, an as-yet-untitled work in progress.

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  Larry Doyle recently lost 480 pounds. This piece is adapted from his inspirational vlog, The Fat Gent Sings.

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  Longtime readers of this publication may recognize Larry Doyle’s byline. For the past seven years he has been working for the U.S. Postal Service, researching a novel.

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  Laurence Eugene Doyle wrote for the print version of this magazine, as well as a number of others. This is excerpted from Lights Out, Bright Guys! a novel he was working on at the time of his rampage.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Praise

  “[Doyle] is, as his credits suggest, wickedly funny.”

  —New York Times Book Review

  “If Earth ever needs an Interplanetary Humor Ambassador, Larry Doyle’s the guy.”

  —Washington Post

  Other Works

  Go, Mutants!

  I Love You, Beth Cooper

  Credits

  Cover design by Larry Doyle

  Copyright

  DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY. Copyright © 2011 by Larry Doyle. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.