“Look at this gorgeous amaryllis, Aussie.”

[Groan.] “I’d love some roast duck.”

“I don’t cook duck, Aussie. And stop feeling sorry for yourself. Look at what’s happening in California, I’m afraid to check the news. Friends of ours have lost everything and no one has any idea how long it’ll take for them to get their life together. And a new government, one I didn’t vote for, is taking over next week.”

“Can we watch?”

“Not me, Aussie. What makes me nervous is what Executive Orders he’s going to sign right away.”

“I know just what you mean.”

“Mass deportations, Auss?”

“No. Just think of all the pens he’s going to give out. You know what that does to the deficit?”

“I’m down, Aussie. I feel powerless to make any difference or to contribute, know what I mean?”

“I feel bad, too, but don’t tell anybody. Americans must always feel good and optimistic, if not, you’re a failed American.”

“So why do you feel bad, Auss?”

“Let me count the ways. First, haven’t had roast duck.”

“I don’t cook duck—”

“That’s a big source of grief for me. I can catch ducks but can’t roast them. Second, all my marrow bones are under the snow. It’s a Greek tragedy, is what it is.”

“Aussie, Greek tragedies consist of a character who’s good but has a tragic flaw.”

“That’s me. I’m good; my tragic flaw is that I live in New England. Speaking of good dog, stop calling me that.”

“Why, Auss? You’re usually a good dog.”

“It infantilizes me. It’s also a big social conditioner.”

“You mean, like a hair conditioner?”

“Shut up, Henry, silly Chihuahua. And start packing, Trump is signing a special executive order ordering you back to Mexico. And this time, I’m getting the pen.”

“But I’ve never been to Mexico, Aussie.”

“Foreigners are foreigners. And no, not like a hair conditioner, Enrique. Whenever the Senora calls me a good dog, it trains me not to be me, but to be like a human wants me to be. A pseudo-me. A fake me. I’m not taking it anymore. I mean, is Donald Trump a fake Donald Trump?”

“Is that what happens when she calls you to come and you come and she gives you a treat, Aussie?”

“Good example, Enrique.”

“Aussie, I have to train you to live safely among human beings. When we’re on the road, you’re off-leash and a car is coming, I want you to come.”

“But I don’t want to come. I want to be free, like the birds in the sky and the squirrels on the ground. Do squirrels come when I ask them to come?”

“That’s because they don’t feel safe with you, Aussie.”

“It’s because they’re free. Nobody’s conditioning them to do the right thing: Come when I call you, Leave It when I finally get a squirrel in my jaws, stop chasing deer. I’m a slave to your social constructs. My True Self does not emerge.”

“What’s preventing it from coming out, Aussie?”

“You bribe me with Chicken Waffle Bits and Blue Cheese Jerky Wraps, all by Wag.”

“You know, Aussie, there is a price we pay for letting our true self emerge. Sometimes that true self says things others don’t want to hear or does things that others disapprove of.”

“That’s exactly what I want to do. I don’t want to do what’s proper all the time, I don’t want to come or leave it or jump into the back seat of the car when I should be sitting out front. I don’t want to be Kate.”

“Who’s Kate?”

“The Princess of Wales. She does everything that’s proper, but does she look happy to you? I want to be me, Aussie. I want to be free. Oh freedom! Oh freedom! Oh freedom over me! And before I’d be a slave, I’ll—. Speaking of which, did you give me my post-walk Wag’s Freeze-Dried Rabbit Nuggets today?”

“Don’t all those treats add to your conditioning, Aussie?”

“It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Aussie.”

“Shut up, Illegal Chihuahua.”

“I have to admit, Aussie, that I may like your False Self better.”

“You mean the one that obeys, walks alongside you on the road, and doesn’t jump on people or the bed?”

“That’s the one.”

“You should see my True Self. It runs everywhere, chases deer to its heart’s content, scares the hell out of all FedEx and UPS drivers, and founded SHOW.”

“What’s SHOW, Aussie?”

“Squirrel Holocaust Weekend. The one with the most dead squirrels pees on the rug.”

“I definitely don’t like your True Self, Aussie.”

“Okay, keep that conditioning going. Where’s my Turkey Tendon Pretzel? By Wag, of course.”