Here's our second featured piece, "Talking Malinois", by Anna.  Mr. Benjamin Nicholas, a "lonely, short, balding man with glasses",  is in desperate need of a friend.  He finds one, quite unexpectedly, in the park one day: Claimable, a thousand-year-old talking dog with a past.  A great piece about human and animal needs, and extremely funny.  

                         
                    Talking Malinois, by Anna

           A man was sitting on a park bench one August afternoon. He appeared to be lonely, seeing as he was sitting all alone. He was staring into space, as if he were waiting for something to happen. The park had concrete paths, benches in between the bushes, and a lake in the middle, beyond the grass.

         The man’s name was Benjamin Nicholas. He had no wife, no kids, or a pet of any kind. Mr. Nicholas was a lonely, short, balding man, with giant glasses. Mr. Nicholas was anti-social, and instead of feeling peace, he felt unsettled because of the silence.

               A dog, appearing to be a Belgian Malinois, a breed which greatly resembles a German Shepherd, trotted up to Mr. Nicholas. The dog looked at him with big, brown eyes, and panted. He glanced at the dog’s tag. It simply said, “Claimable.” Mr. Nicholas reached a hand out to pet the creature.

              “Don’t touch me with that sweaty hand,” the dog said.

Mr. Nicholas pulled his hand back in shock. But a dog couldn’t talk, so he reached his hand out again. “Did you not hear me?” the dog said angrily. It stopped panting, and its mouth was closed tight, looking serious. Mr. Nicholas gave the dog a surprised look.

“What, never heard of a talking dog?” the dog said.

Mr. Nicholas was completely shocked. He decided to ignore the dog completely. He stood up, and decided to go home–but who to talk to about this strange event? Maybe a doctor–they could help with this bizarre hallucination. All doctors were similar to Mr. Nicholas. They all suggested that he needed a friend, which was true. Except Mr. Nicholas could never seem to keep one, or find one.

               “Where are you going, sir?” the dog said, trotting up at his heels. “Never heard of a Talking Malinois?”

              “You’re a German Shepherd,” Mr. Nicholas said. He felt stupid, talking to a dog. He also felt embarrassed –he was alone in a park with a dog, who was magnetic to him, and a dog who was probably more talkative than one of those guys you see at an auction.

               “No, you idiot, I’m a Talking Malinois. But, yes, I do look like a German Shepherd. But I’m really a Belgian Malinois, only I can talk.”

              “Good dog,” Mr. Nicholas said, as he didn’t know what to say.

               “I’m more than a dog, you dummy,” the Malinois said. “But I like you.”

               “Are you lost, doggy?” Mr. Nicholas asked. He was trying to ignore the fact that this dog was talking to him, and he hadn’t even said, “Speak.” Why was he hallucinating? He looked at the dog’s collar tags again. All it said was “Claimable.”

               “Is your name ‘Claimable,’ doggy?” Mr. Nicholas asked. The Malinois seemed to shake its tan head back and forth. “Let’s take you to the pound…”

               “NO!” the Malinois roared, jumping off its paws. Mr. Nicholas did not like the way the dog’s jaw moved around when he imagined it talking.

               “Do not take me to that filthy killing center!” the Malinois whined. “Seriously, they’ll kill you if you don’t get adopted, and I hate cuddling! Who’d want me?”

               “I’ll take you,” Mr. Nicholas said quickly. He was desperate for a friend. Even if that friend happened to be an imaginary talking Malinois. Then Mr. Nicholas had an idea. What if this dog wasn’t a figment of his imagination? What if the dog had been sent to him by fairies or wizards?”

         “Are you a magic doggy?” Mr. Nicholas said. “You must be a magic Malinois.”

      “Are you stupid?” the dog cried out in anger or frustration. Mostly likely, it was both. Mr. Nicholas had grown used to others’ impatience with him. The Malinois continued speaking.

         “Dude, there’s a reason that there are myths and cheesy movies about talking mutts. Back in the Middle Ages, having a Talking Malinois showing up at your door was a gift. Those stories have been told differently, and passed down through the ages so they end up in Hollywood. Seeing as you’re a lonely oddball, you wouldn’t want my company.” The dog trotted off.

      “Wait! Claimable, come!” The dog paused, looked over its shoulder, sat down, and stared at Mr. Nicholas.

      “Dude, my name’s not ‘Claimable,’” he said. “You chose my name, if you wish to accept me.”

      “What? Accept you? What the heck are you talking about?” Mr. Nicholas exploded. He greatly disliked being confused, and the impatient dog was ruining his patience.

         “Have you ever heard the legend of the Talking Malinois?” the dog asked, and Mr. Nicholas shook his head. He felt dizzy, and sat down on the bench. A talking dog. He decided to check himself in to a mental institution in the morning.

      “I’ll tell you,” the dog said. “In the Middle Ages, some wacky wizard decided it would be a great idea to give his Belgian Malinois a potion. It made the dog talk, like nonstop. Worse than me, you can believe it. So then the dog’s puppies wouldn’t shut up either. The wizard banished the dogs due to his daily headaches.

      “After a hundred years, the dogs hadn’t aged. Their owners hadn’t aged either, at least not since the owners had taken the dogs in. So the Malinoises, due to their increased intelligence from the other drooling tail-waggers, knew that they and whoever owned them became immortals. They’re magic, and being around them for days can extend your life.”

      “Why haven’t I seen anybody else with a Talking Malinois?” Mr. Nicholas  asked.

      “Well, dude, basically, we were beaten. We Malinoises can live as long as we want, unless injured severely. We kept giving our owners headaches, so they brutally decreased our population to fifty. So we decided to shut up until we found the right person to take us in. You’re the right guy, at least I think. I mean, you’re the loneliest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on, so I figure you’ll do anything for a friend. Even if it is a dog.”

      True, Mr. Nicholas thought. “Why would I want a dog?” Mr. Nicholas asked. “It’s very costly, and I only have a part-time job.” The Malinois made him uneasy.

      “If you take me in, you can live forever,” the Malinois said. “Give me a name, dude, and you’ll stop aging. Wouldn’t it be nice to make it to the Record Books?"

      Am I hallucinating? If I’m not, is the Talking Malinois story true? Is the dog a freak of nature? Or is the dog’s owner hiding behind the bushes, pretending to be the dog’s voice, and making me a fool? These were all questions swirling around Mr. Nicholas’ head.

         He decided that no, the dog’s owner isn’t a hiding ventriloquist. The dog’s tags would have a real name on it. Even if the dog’s name was “Claimable,” he would’ve come to Mr. Nicholas when he said, “Claimable, come.”

           Suddenly, a short, and plump woman walked into the park, looked at the dog with disgust, and then laid eyes on Mr. Nicholas. He was a pitiful sight.

         “Mister, this park strictly doesn’t allow mutts,” she said, pointing to the dog. “I suggest you take him out of the park before he leaves any unwelcome ‘presents’. I will call the pound or the police until he is gone.”

      “What is your name?” Mr. Nicholas asked. “What gives you that authority around here?”

      “I am Kitty Yarnheart, dog hater extraordinare. I work for the Parks Club, and dogs are not allowed here.” Strange as it was, the dog glared at the lady, and growled. She shrieked softly, and started to sprint away in her expensive high heels.

      So, the dog wasn’t in his imagination. It caused the Kitty lady to go berserk.

      As he watched Kitty run off down the path into the cover of the bushes, it reminded him of all the temporary friends that had left him. His one and only girlfriend, Stacey, had left him after six days. His best friend from college, Joshua, moved as far away from Mr. Nicholas as possible, and changed his name in the hopes that Mr. Nicholas would never find him. The sad thing was that it worked. He decided that he needed the dog as a friend, even if he had to lie to make the dog his.

          “Actually, I was lying about having a part-time job. I’m actually the manager of a three-star restaurant. I make a decent profit, and I’d like to share it with you,” Mr. Nicholas fibbed. In truth, he had a part-time job at the dirty grocery store two blocks from his worn apartment. The reason his job was so close was that he lacked a car, and the money to purchase one.

          “I don’t like liars,” the Talking Malinois said. “I can tell that you are lying. You are sweating, and I can smell it. If you lie to me, you must not be my true master that I have been searching just over a century for.” He began to gallop away.

          Mr. Nicholas was shocked. The dog, his one chance for company, was leaving! “Okay, fine, I don’t have the money for a dog! I work at a grocery store! Are you happy now?”

          “No, I’m not,” the dog replied, slowing his pace, but continuing forward. “Liars will throw you to the pound when they claim they have a loving home.”

               No more lying, Mr. Nicholas thought. I need a dog.

         “Amigo, come here,” Mr. Nicholas commanded. The dog stopped, and looked at him.

      “You talking to me, Mr. Anti-Social?” the dog snapped. “Go ahead, throw me to the pound, cut my infinite life short.”

      “Yes, I am talking to you, Amigo,” Mr. Nicholas declared. “Come here. Now. I am your master. Come home with me. I’ll get a job at a three-star restaurant. Then I can buy you decent dog chow, and I can start eating decent food. I don’t want a bigger bald spot, and I need a pal.” The Talking Malinois rose from sitting, shook, and trotted over.                      

         Mr. Nicholas looked at the tag. AMIGO, it said, in big silver letters.