Something I Wrote 20 Years Ago When I Was Supposed To Be Writing A Paper For Psych 303

"Yeah boss, here dat beef chunk." Said Freddy, the small black servant. He thought the man was crazy. Who cares if you can make the dogs salivate with a bell?

"Don't let them see it yet, you fool!" Shouted Pavlov. "I must prepare the apparatus first."

Freddy involuntarily swung the steak behind his back, to hide it. He shook his finger at the dogs, who were watching him hungrily. "Yo dogs did'n see dat beef did ya? No sir, yo dogs are hungry tho sho nuff. Yo wan this beef chunk, but cain have it 'til da boss hooks dem wires up in yo mouths." Freddy then addressed his employer: "Yo goin' to be shockin' they mouth? They aint' goin' to be eatin' they chunk if you be shockin' they own mouth..."

"Shut up Freddy!" Screamed the scientist while kneeling by a caged dog, fiddling in it's mouth with a sensor. Pavlov stood up up and began to explain for the untillionth time. "How many times do I have to tell you?? I am not SHOCKING the dogs. I am RECORDING the salivation process. THIS: (as he yanked a wire out of the nearest dogs mouth) is a sensor. A SEN-sor. It SENSES. This is not a live wire, not a shock-producing unit. A sensor!" Fuming now, the doctor glared at Freddy for a good 45 seconds, until his underling was shuffling rather uncomfortably, and finally satisfied he put the wire back into the dog's mouth.

Freddy watched the man in the white lab coat insert the wire again, still holding the steak away from the dogs. What a Triflin' Fool, thought Freddy. He was going to give this good meat to those dogs. Why, Freddy had half a mind to just walk out. Just walk right on out of this barn and down to his little shack, and just fry this meat right on up. Yeah, wouldn't that be tasty? This here meat and some potatoes, maybe some greens? yessir! Ol Doc here wouldn' like DAT, no. Freddy continued to watch as this white devil was fiddling with the big machine that all those wires were going to. Man, this was crazy.

"Cut up the steak, Freddy." Ordered Pavlov over his shoulder. "Into 8 equal portions. Remember, Don't let the dogs see it yet."

'Yessir, ain't gonna' show nuthin' to nobody' Freddy quietly complained as he sat down on the wood floor his back to dogs and Doc, took out his pocket knife, and began to divvy up the meat.

Pavlov was at the master recorder. All 8 channels were working fine. There were 8 dials on the front of the big, black box, about the size of a refrigerator, which Pavlov didn't know about yet, it being 1887 and all, so let's say about the size of several stacks of encyclopedias which Pavlov knew plenty about.

"Yes, yes." He was muttering under his breath. Conditioning. He would CONDITION the dogs to salivate. He would CONTROL them. This was just the tip of the iceberg! They all laughed at him back at the pub only a few days ago. "Make 'em start droolin' at a bell?? Ha ha ha ha!! Get out of here you crazy old coot! Hahaha - Droolin' at a bell..." The local neanderthals and imbeciles chided, as usual. He had stormed out, white lab coat snapping at his legs as he ran the entire 3/10ths of a mile to his manor here on the hill. He swore he'd prove them all wrong. They would see! They would be forced to reckon with his genius one way or another! He swore to himself, as Freddy mentally notarized the oath secretly from behind a cage and dog he was teasing before the doctor had burst into the room, thus surprising him.

But now, it was finally time. It had been storming all night. The lantern - lit room was whistling as the wind blew through the cracks in the walls.

A bolt of lightning flashed, lighting up every gap and breach in the modest barn, and caught, shimmering, on a shiny object on top of the big black box. The professor looked at this object for a moment, and thought that he himself may begin to salivate. As his hands closed around the silver, cold metal bell, thunder tore through the sky. He shuddered with all the power he felt clutched in his sweaty grip. His eyes closed as he relished this, his moment of near victory.

Freddy, growing impatient with all this nonsense, finally asked "Hey boss, whatca' goin' ta do? Fiddle around over they all nite? These dogs goin' right ta sleep."

With a terrible roar, Pavlov threw a lever on the black recorder, and the machine began to spit out a stream of paper, 8 needles scratching away in a frenzy on the sheet.