Penelope's Peculiar Predicament

In the peculiar parish of Bogshire, where the rain fell upside-down and the mayor was a man with three chins (all called Derek), there lived a lady called Penelope Pettigrew.

Penelope was forty-seven and a quarter years old, had hair the colour of disappointed carrots, and worked as the town's official button counter. It wasn't a well-paying job, but someone had to do it, especially on Tuesdays.

One particularly unparticular Wednesday morning, Penelope was cycling to the Button Museum on her bicycle, which was called Henry and had mood issues. The birds were singing songs from the hit parade of 1983, and the trees were doing their best impressions of trees.

"Good morning, world!" shouted Penelope to nobody in particular. Nobody in particular did not reply, which was just as well as Penelope wasn't listening.

It was at precisely eleven minutes past nine (though her watch insisted it was half-past an elephant) when disaster struck. A wayward hedgehog named Bartholomew, who was late for his appointment with the dentist, dashed across the road.

"Great suffering teacups!" exclaimed Penelope as she swerved to avoid Bartholomew. Henry the bicycle, being of a nervous disposition, promptly fainted, sending Penelope headfirst into Mrs. Wobblethwaite's prize-winning begonias.

THUNK went Penelope's head.
THUNK echoed the world.
"Thunk," said Mrs. Wobblethwaite's begonias, who were now considerably less prize-winning.

When Penelope awoke, she found herself surrounded by concerned faces. Most of them belonged to people. Three of them belonged to dogs.

"She's awake," said a woman with eyebrows that seemed to be trying to escape her face.

"About time," said a small brown terrier with a Scottish accent. "I've got biscuits waiting at home that won't eat themselves."

Penelope blinked. "Did that dog just speak?"

"Of course I spoke," said the terrier. "Been speaking all my life. You lot just never listen."

A large sheepdog nodded sagely. "Humans are remarkably unobservant creatures," he said in what sounded like a posh Oxford accent. "Always talking about the weather and taxes and never once asking us about our thoughts on existentialism."

The third dog, a tiny Chihuahua with enormous ears, trembled violently. "I CAN SMELL COLOURS!" it shrieked. "THE POSTMAN IS COMING! IN SEVENTEEN HOURS! PANIC! PANIC!"

Penelope sat up, her head spinning like a political promise. "I can understand dogs," she whispered. "I've gone completely bonkers."

"Join the club," said the terrier. "I've been living with Mrs. Fimblesnatch for seven years, and she still thinks my name is 'Poopsie.' It's Malcolm. MALCOLM!"

Over the following days, Penelope discovered the surprising truth about dogs: they were, for the most part, incredibly good conversationalists, if not a bit odd. 

The sheepdog, Barnaby, would discuss classical literature and the declining standards of sheep quality. Malcolm the terrier had strong opinions about squirrels (against), postal workers (extremely against), and the proper way to arrange cushions before sitting on them (alphabetically). The Chihuahua, whose name was apparently Sir Reginald Yappington III, just screamed about everything constantly.

Nevertheless, Penelope's new ability made her the talk of Bogshire. She opened a dog-human translation service in her garden shed, charging five pounds and a digestive biscuit per session.

"My human keeps throwing the ball," complained one Labrador. "I bring it back, and what does she do? Throws it away again! Is she dense? Does she not want the ball? Why give it to me if she doesn't want it? It's psychological warfare, I tell you."

"Tell Rex that I love him very much," said the Labrador's owner. "And ask if he wants a treat."

Penelope sighed. "He says your continuous disposal of the ball suggests deep-seated commitment issues, possibly stemming from childhood trauma... and yes, he would like a treat."

Business was booming until the unfortunate incident at the Bogshire Annual Flower Show, when Sir Reginald Yappington III revealed to Penelope that Mr. Higglebottom, the head judge, had been accepting bribes in the form of exotic sausages. The resulting scandal involved three fire engines, a helicopter, and seventeen pounds of compost being distributed in a highly unconventional manner.

Penelope awoke the next morning to find her ability gone, just as suddenly as it had arrived.

"Woof," said Malcolm when she visited him. Just "woof."

"How disappointing," Penelope told her bicycle Henry, who remained characteristically silent.

She never regained her ability to talk to dogs, though she did discover a week later that she could understand goldfish. Unfortunately, as it turned out, goldfish have nothing whatsoever to say.

And in Bogshire, life went on, just as peculiarly as before.