[ WP ] scientists have invented a serum that allows animals to speak . Your dog was recently given the serum , but it appears the treatment has not worked . Your cousin , whom you have n't seen since your youth , comes to town to visit . As the door opens , your dog suddenly whispers in your ear : `` run . ''

`` Gibbon, come here boy!'' 
 
 My black and white Sheltie came bounding out of the living room, jumping up at my knees and pawing affectionately. I ruffled his fur before he skipped away, returning with his leash. Somehow he *knew* that I'd planned for us to take a walk. 
 
 It had been almost a month since the drug YX-217 had entered Phase 2 clinical trials. Millions of people had'volunteered' their dogs for it, and I been one of the fortunate few thousand selected. I had n't been worried - Phase 1 had observed no side effects in any of the pooches, with a remarkable 85 % gaining some form of verbal communicative ability. Though it seemed I was in the 15 % minority, I swore that Gibbon had become brighter and more responsive - it was as if he could anticipate my thoughts. 
 
 `` Alright, hold on boy! I'm going to get...'' I took two steps before Gibbon bolted to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water clutched between his teeth. I took it gingerly, kneeling down and staring at my Sheltie's wide, piercing black eyes. `` Gibbon, how did you know?'' I asked him. 
 
 In response, he barked softly and licked my face. I shook my head a bit, as much to clear it as to avoid drowning in saliva. Attaching the leash, I patted Gibbon affectionately. `` Come on, you furry Nostradamus,'' I chided. `` Let's get you some exercise.'' 
 
 The day was warm and sunny, with a cool breeze nipping the air in just the right spots. Gibbon lead the way from our duplex's yard, down the sloping cul de sac and into the main thoroughfare. We took a right, heading toward Princess Park half a kilometer away. I chuckled to myself, enjoying the feeling that I was perhaps the one being taken for a walk. 
 
 I nodded at a few passerby, while Gibbon bounded ahead heedless of their presence. As we approached the split trail leading from the sidewalk to the park's entrance, Gibbon stopped abruptly, staring ahead. I followed his gaze, but could make out only a few distant figures. `` Come on, boy,'' I said, tugging slightly at his leash. 
 
 He let out a long, menacing howl, unlike anything I've heard or would have thought capable of a Sheltie. It stretched and wailed in the air for what seemed like minutes, before Gibbon jerked his head and began pulling me with an extraordinary strength in the opposite direction. `` Gibbon! What's wrong champ?'' I yelped, trying to control his leash yet finding myself slowly pulled away. 
 
 Gibbon stopped and turned to me, his eyes glowing, I swear, *glowing* with a pink hue that bordered on possession. He barked madly, angrily, nipping at the air in front of us. *Shit, * I thought, *maybe this drug does have side effects*. I berated myself for allowing my best friend to be a guinea pig, `` It's okay boy,'' I said, taking a knee, frustrated enough to be largely indifferent to perhaps having my face bitten off. `` Let's get you home, buddy.'' 
 
 Gibbon whined loudly before breaking free and bolting back toward the park. I turned around and saw a dozen dogs all running toward us, their owners in various states of pursuit. An image unfolded of an army of canines, perched respectfully on their haunches in a loose semi-circle around Gibbon, panting while he let out another shorter, but no less severe howl. 
 
 And then they took off, out of the park and across various streets, oblivious to oncoming traffic and only occasionally looking back and barking at the empty-leashed horde running after them, as if to say, `` Are you coming, or what?'' 
 
 Gibbon was then at my side, biting my ankles and circling in a tizzy, barking madly and beckoning me forward. As if in a lifelike dream I followed, walking briskly and keeping behind, only to graduate to a jog and then finally a full blown marathon-like sprint as Gibbon sped ahead, turning and barking every few seconds to confirm my presence. 
 
 We reached the bottom of our cul de sac and I held my knees, glancing up at our duplex and watching Gibbon. He had stopped now, and seemed to have relaxed. Our eyes locked, and he gingerly gripped my shirt sleeve, leading me up the slight hill. As we reached the top, I took a knee and met his gaze. `` Gibbon, I...'' 
 
 A loud thud hammered in the distance, localized from where we had come. I looked over and could see clouds of grey smoke billowing and then fading into the air. Turning back, I noticed Gibbon was laying prone on the asphalt, his muzzle buried in his paws and tears matting his furry cheek. I had never seen a sadder face.
