I Wish I Was A Dog

By Benjamin Epstein


I wish that I was a dog.


If I was a dog then I would sneak into my owners fridge and eat all of their bananas. All of them. I would keep doing it, over and over again. They would have to start keeping their bananas in secure places, but I would always find them. They could put the bananas in a locked safe and store it on the highest shelf, but somehow I would still manage to get those bananas into my big dog mouth. They would probably take me to the vet and ask the vet “Why does our dog keep on eating bananas?” but the vet would have no answer. The bananas would not seem to be making me ill, in fact I would be healthier than ever. Despite being a Corgi, I would have the strength of a Rottweiler.


Eventually, they would just stop buying bananas. But that wouldn’t stop me. I would break into neighbors houses and steal their bananas. My hunger for bananas would consume my every thought, my every desire. I would grow and grow until I was twice the size of an English Mastiff (that’s large). Eventually, they would tie me to a stick like one of those naughty dogs but that wouldn’t stop me. I would still manage to break free, and then in a mad rage I would destroy the entirety of my owners' furniture.


My owners would have no choice but to take me to a pound. “It’s such a shame,” they would say. “He used to be such a good boy, but then he just got really into bananas for some reason.” But no pound would be able to hold me. I would escape, and run all of the way back to my owners' house. I would smash right through their door. The screams of my owners would be sharp and loud as I raged and dashed across their house. Then I would plant myself in the middle of the living room and growl like a giant Corgi-shaped storm. This Corgi-shaped storm hungers for bananas.


What could they do? They would rush off to the grocery store and grab as many bananas as they could. But that wouldn’t even be enough to satisfy me. They would have to start getting bananas in from the truckload, spending thousands of dollars in order to ship hundreds of bananas, just to feed my appetite. I would get bigger and bigger till I would be 5 feet tall. “Surely, he’ll get sick of them, “ they’d say, “either that, or he’ll die.” But I wouldn’t die, I would just consume and consume. Eventually, my owner's money would start running dry. They would have to sell their house and move out as my appetite grew. But I wouldn’t mind, all I wanted was bananas. Eventually, they wouldn’t be able to afford a home at all and they would have to move to a large junkyard where they would sleep by snuggling me for warmth. It was in this junkyard that I would spend the entirety of my days, consuming more and more bananas. I would grow and grow till I was 8 feet tall. Then 10 feet. Then 20 feet.


Eventually, my owners would run out of money. “Please,” they would say, “please Buttons” (Buttons would be my name, of course) “We can’t get you any more bananas, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” but that would not sway me, and in a fit of rage I would swallow my owners whole. Then, I would leave my home city of San Francisco and make my way South, stopping at grocery stores to get my fill of bananas. I would sleep seldomly, with my only stops being to consume more bananas. I would run and run till I arrive in Costa Rica.

Oh, what a sight that would be. A group of poor Costa Rican banana farmers would be toiling away, when suddenly, from the horizon appears a 25 foot tall Corgi. “!?Que Carajo?!” They would say. “!El perro es gigantesco!”


Then I would snarl and they would run away in fright and I would gorge myself on the bananas. I would gorge myself on all of the bananas that Costa Rica had to offer till I was 100 foot tall.


I would grow and grow. At first, the government would try to stop me, but then they would stop. Eventually, they would start to like me, and they would bring me bananas and in return I would increase tourism by 2,000%, greatly helping the prosperity and economy of Costa Rica.

People would come from all over the world to see me, but I wouldn’t care. All I would care about was bananas. When I would not be eating bananas, I would be sleeping or killing people who were trying to kill me. Sometimes I would eat them, but people wouldn’t taste as good as bananas.


Eventually, the banana companies would get annoyed that I was eating all of the bananas, so they would call the U.S. government and tell them to do something about me. The U.S. government would then decide that the best option would be to build a giant robotic mecha Corgi, a Cycorg if you will.


The Cycorg would be deployed, and me and this Cycorg would have the fight of the century- possible even the decade. We would pounce and fight and tear at each other's throats- and then- we would lock eyes and something would take over me. Something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Love. Then we would decide to get married. I would kidnap a priest and force him to pronounce us Corgi and Cycorg. Then, we would doggy paddle our way to Hawaii for a honeymoon. We would grow old together, just the two of us.


However, as a dog I wouldn’t be aware that in order for a marriage to be official, you need two witnesses. As such, I would not bring any witnesses to the wedding and our marriage would be null and void. I would never learn that truth because no one would ever bother to tell me.


Oh, how I wish I was a dog!