I used to think prank calls were a thing of the past—something that died out with landlines and caller ID. That was before my dog prank called me. Yes, my dog. And no, I am not emotionally prepared to talk about it, but here we are.
It happened on an otherwise normal afternoon. I was at work, knee-deep in emails, when my phone buzzed with an unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered.
All I heard was heavy breathing.
At first, I assumed it was a wrong number. Then I heard a familiar sound. A soft whuff. A sniff. A rhythmic pant that I had heard approximately ten thousand times before.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
Silence. Then a sudden clang, like something metal hitting the floor. In the background, a faint jingle. A tag. My dog’s tag.
My heart dropped.
I hung up immediately and called home. No answer. I called again. Straight to voicemail. That’s when the panic set in. Was my dog hurt? Was someone in my house? Had he somehow learned how to use a phone?
My phone buzzed again. Same number.
This time, I stayed quiet. The breathing returned, louder now. Then a single bark exploded through the speaker, so sudden and so violent I nearly launched my phone across the room. The call ended instantly.
I stared at my screen in disbelief.
I rushed home in record time, rehearsing worst-case scenarios and possible explanations that didn’t involve my dog committing a felony. When I burst through the front door, everything was calm. Too calm.
There he was—my dog—lying on the couch, tail wagging, eyes innocent. The phone sat beside him on the cushion. My phone. Which I was absolutely certain I had left on the counter that morning.
I checked my call log. Two missed calls. One answered. All from my number.
That’s when I noticed the screen smeared with nose prints.
Apparently, while chasing a fly, my dog had knocked my phone off the counter. In the process, he somehow activated voice assist and called the most recent contact. Me.
But the timing. The breathing. The bark.
That wasn’t an accident. That was commitment to the bit.
He watched me calmly as I processed the betrayal. Then he rolled onto his back and waited for belly rubs, fully confident that I could not prove intent.
I gave him the belly rubs.
Because that’s the real punchline. My dog prank called me, nearly caused a cardiac event, and still walked away as the winner. And now, every time my phone rings, I hesitate—wondering if it’s a telemarketer… or my dog, calling to mess with me again.
