Transfer of Information is Complete

I've finished The Wonderful World of Dogs! I said. Hoorah! Now I can wrap it up.

So what was your final impression? asked Pliny. Did you find it to be meritorious?

Oh very meritorious, I said. And I have a third favourite story.

What is it? asked Pliny.

It's the story of Corky, I answered. And it is quite spooky. Corky was very old and collapsed one day in the kitchen He was taken to the vet's where he was pronounced untreatable. The owner and her husband agreed that he should be put down. The vet said it would be done in twenty minutes. They said their goodbyes and went home.

Why didn't they stay? asked Pliny.

If they had, I said the following would not have happened. At home the owner turned on her computer to search for some photos of Corky. As she was searching she got an alert message and heard a voice say, "Transfer of information is complete". She'd never had a message like that before. It was very clear and quite deep. Then she got a call from the vet to say that Corky had died. The time of death was exactly the time of the voice message. Her husband thought it must be a God thing, and that "Transfer of information is complete" was a message to say that Corky was already in heaven.

Did she think so too? asked Pliny.

She said she would like to think so. She said the voice had not been mechanical, but had sounded quite human.

Then clearly it could not have been God, said Pliny.

She didn't say it was, I replied. She said a God thing. She didn't even say it herself. She said her husband said it.

This is a confusing story, said Pliny. I don't know why you liked it.

Fork Off

How is it funny advice? asked Pliny the Elder.

Well, you know, even if heaven is smiling and so on, it's a bad idea to press on before the lights turn green, I answered.

Oh I see, he said. Is that the way it works? You must only cross when the light turns green? I go whenever I see the little red or green walking man.

Then heaven must certainly be smiling on you, I said.

Yes, I shall revise my practice, said Pliny. As to the advice on the church poster, apart from its inappropriateness in the vicinity of traffic lights, what do you suppose it to mean? You said you liked it.

Well, I said, although I thought heaven and the angels were a bit over the top, I really liked Press on. It's such an encouraging exhortation for anyone whose resolve is faltering.

I agree with that, said Pliny. I do not like heaven and the angels either. If heaven and the angels are smiling and rejoicing over you, why in the name of all the gods would you want to press on? Surely you would do well to remain exactly where you were.

I hadn't thought of that, I said, but you are quite right. Church posters often do say funny things. Today we drove past one which said, If you come to a fork in the road, take it.

Strange advice, agreed Pliny.

Strangely appropriate for us as it happened, I said. We were about to take the first road on the right. But as a general piece of advice, I found it wanting. It doesn't tell you which fork to take. It's fine if you're on a main road and another road forks off. But what if you're on a road that forks in two directions?

In that case, said Pliny, it would pay to have some idea of where you were going, and press on.

Press On

Pliny and Nostradamus went to the Lunch Hour Concert today. Pliny's mum is in Ballina enjoying wind, rain and storms.

In Adelaide it is a beautiful day. The sky is blue and interlaced with yellow autumn leaves. At the lights on Frome Street near the Church of Christ Scientist is a poster that reads: Heaven smiles on you. Angels rejoice in you. Press on.

Pliny likes this. But she thinks it is funny advice to place at traffic lights.