It's Not What You Say, It's How You Say It

There's a tradition that on Christmas Eve animals can speak, from midnight until the dawn of Christmas Morning. I know that several times I stayed up and waited for our family dog and cat to start talking but they never did. Maybe they just didn't know how to start the conversational ball rolling, seeing as how inexperienced they were at it. Maybe they just didn't think I would be interested in how funny people look when you're staring up at them, or have your snout in their crotch.
   I was never really interested so much in what the animals might say, though, as what they might sound like when they did talk. When I was a kid I thought our dog Tina, a miniature schnauzer/miniature poodle mix, might sound like Mary Hart, very enthusiastic without anything of substance to say. I thought Puff, our white cat (a boy), might sound like Richard Nixon, an idea that still makes me laugh to this day. "I did not knock over the trash can. I did not pee on your shoes."
   My sister and her family had a Brittany Spaniel, Hank, who I always imagined would sound like Paul Lynde.
   My mother's horrible, vicious cat Smokey - she claims he's just misunderstood - would sound like Joe Pesci. From Goodfellas, not from My Cousin Vinny.
   My friend Marna has an American bulldog Tex, who I absolutely know would sound like Jeff Bridges as The Dude. "So I'm Tex, that's what you call me. Or his Texness, or Tex-er, or El Texerino, if you're not into the whole brevity thing."

I'll bet you can't look at your pets now without imagining what their human voices would sound like. Go on, just try it, you can't.