Salvador (at 3:00am): Space! The final frontier! These are the voyages of the starship Doggyprize.
Me: Sal, it’s the middle of the night. Hush.
Salvador: I want you to go on an away mission with me.
Salvador: To planet Kitchen.
Me: Go to sleep.
Salvador: I suspect the Borg are assimilating it even as we speak.
Me: There are no Borg in the kitchen.
Salvador: Then how do you explain the Borg Cubeship?
Me: You mean the refrigerator, Sal?
Salvador: Maybe it’s a refrigerator. Or maybe they’re assimilating OUR bacon as we speak.
Me: Goodnight, Sal.
Salvador: We ought to at least try to save the bacon.
Salvador: I’ve noticed you give Dahlia more food than me.
Me: That’s right, Sal. She’s a bigger dog than you.
Salvador: I want to be the bigger dog. Give me more food.
Me: It doesn’t work that way, buddy.
Salvador: Why not?
Salvador: You’re just making that up.
Me: No, Sal. It’s science.
Salvador: I don’t believe in science.
Me: Doesn’t matter what you believe, Sal. A fact’s a fact.
Salvador: Don’t you try to force your science on me!
The. Oven. Caught. On. Fire.
On the positive side, Salvador will let me know about a fire a full minute before the smoke alarm.
On the negative side… the pizza is probably totaled.
Me: Huh. Look at that, Buddy. Netflix wants to know if we’re still watching Star Trek.
Salvador: Press the button. You know we are.
Me: I dunno. You’ve spent an awful lot of time laying on the couch, lately.
Salvador: What are you trying to say?
Me: I think somebody needs a Fitbit for Christmas.
Salvador: Don’t make me show you “bit.” Just press the button, monkey thumbs.
Salvador: Red Alert!!! Red Alert!!!
Me: What’s the matter, Sal?
Salvador: I’m detecting a surge in nutrino radiation in the resonance coil of the Gravynator.
Me: Come again?
Salvador: She’s gonna blow, captain! Run for your life! The gravy boat cannot stand the strain.
Me: Salvador… You’re watching too much Star Trek.
Salvador: Hey. I get excited about turkey sandwiches on Thanksgiving. With gravy. Sue me.
Me: How about you just beam me over another slice of that pumpkin pie and we’ll forget the whole thing.
Salvador: I want to go on a quest.
Me: Really? What kind?
Salvador: The best kind! Salvador and the Dogonauts!
Me: Going in search of the Golden Fleas?
Salvador: Not funny.
Me: Yeah. Yeah… it really was.
Salvador: Fine, then. Secret Agent Salvador, Double-O-Woof.
Me: And your signature liver martini? Shaken… not stirred?
Salvador: Watch it. I have a license to bite.
(At the late-night drive-through window, as dinner is delivered.)
Salvador: Hello, Nice Lady. Thank you. I love French fries. And I love you, because you hand us food out a window.
(Window slams closed.)
Me: Sal, I think you freaked her out just a bit.
Nice Lady (Muffled, through the window): That guy in the drive through said he LOVES me.
Me: Great, Sal. She thought I said that.
Salvador: Isn’t it your Christian duty to love everyone?
Me: Yeah… But not to declare it at the drive-through window.
Nice Lady (Still through the window): He’s crazy. We should call the police.
Me: Did you hear that, Sal?!
Salvador: Does this mean we aren’t getting our drinks?
Me: Salvador, sit!
Me: Good sit. Okay, Sal. Shake!
Me: Good shake, buddy! Good shake. Okay… Ready? Play dead!
Salvador: Inna gadda da vita, honey, Don’t you know that I’m lovin’ you.
Me: Dude. That’s totally Iron Butterfly.
Salvador: In Dogfleet, we are governed by one chief principle: The Prime Rib Directive.
Me: I see. And what, pray tell, is the Prime Rib Directive?
Salvador: When you see prime rib, eat it. Directly.
Me: You didn’t even really try with that one, Sal. Do you think you can just phone it in?
Salvador: Set phasers to fun, my friend. Set phasers to fun.
Salvador: How come Captain Picard hates Christmas?
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Salvador: I just saw Captain Picard call Christmas a humbug.
Me: Buddy, were you maybe watching “A Christmas Carol” with Patrick Stewart?
Salvador: No. I was watching Captain Picard on the holodeck talking to ghosts.
Me: Sal, you do realize that Star Trek is just actors telling a story, don’t you? Sometimes those actors play other parts.
Salvador: Horsefeathers. Next you’ll be telling me there’s no such thing as Santa Claus.
Me: Wouldn’t dream of it, buddy. Not in a million years.
Salvador: So…. Santa Claus brings toys to good dogs, right?
Salvador: But he totally stiffs bad dogs?
Me: That’s one way of putting it.
Salvador: But I’m a good boy?
Me: You’re a very good boy.
Salvador: And if I do something according to instinct, I’m still a good boy?
Me: You are.
Salvador: So, an anti-aircraft gun in the back yard is okay, then.
Me: What? WHAT?!?
Salvador: It is my instinct to eat other creatures… And I am totally bringing down those flying reindeer.
Me: Sal… There’s no way that qualifies as “instinct.”
Salvador: Rumpity-Rump-Roast, Rumpity-Rump-Roast, look at Rudolph go…
Me: Sal, I think you can expect to be on the “stiffed” list this Christmas.
Salvador: Do you think I have an overdeveloped sense of entitlement?
Salvador: Why is there egg nog coming out of you nose?
Salvador (at 3:00 am): BANZAI!!!!!!!!
Me: Sal! What are you doing?!? Quit waving that bottle around! What is that?!
Salvador: It’s schnake! Would you like a schnort?!?
Me: Are you DRUNK?!
Salvador: No. <giggles> Yes.
Me: Where did you get sake?
Salvador: From sake-dot-com, of course. On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog!
Me: Sal… give me that bottle.
Salvador: It may be rice wine to you, but it’s still sake to me!
Salvador (at 3:00am): FIIIIVE GOLDEN RIIIIINNNNGGGSS!!!!
Me: Sal… hush!
Salvador: Tell me the story of the doggie saints of Christmas.
Me: I don’t think there are dog saints, Sal.
Salvador: Fat lot you know. What about Saint Ralphonzo? The dog with the Wise Men. He brought Pampers.
Salvador: Dogs are nothing if not practical. And what about Saint Bivvens the Short? Huh? He was the chihuahua who chased all of the mice out of the manger.
Me: I’ve never heard of Saint Bivvens the Short.
Salvador: Saint Bowser? Saint Mister Wiggles? Saint Roger the Rat Terrier? You’re telling me you’ve never heard of any of them.
Me: No, Sal. Because you’re making them all up.
Salvador: Tell me you’ve at least heard of Saint Bernard.
Me: Not a real saint.
Salvador: I find your lack of faith… disturbing.
Salvador (slightly before sunrise this morning): FLEAS NOT-ON-DOG! Fuh-LEAS NOT-ON-DOG! I wanna wish you a hairy Christmas! I wanna wish you a hairy Christmas! I wanna wish you a hairy Christmas from the bottom… of my HEART!
Me: Sal! Please. How long do you plan to keep this up?
Salvador: All the way to Epiphany, my friend. All the way to Epiphany.