Funny Dog Answers My Dog’s Hilarious Response to What’s Two Minus Two?

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind where the world outside felt like it was moving in slow motion. The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting long shadows through the window. I was sprawled on the couch, half-watching a documentary about sharks (for the umpteenth time) when I noticed my dog, Buddy, sprawled out on the rug. His belly was exposed, his paws twitching slightly as he dreamt of chasing something—probably a squirrel or, more likely, his own tail.

Bored, and looking for a way to break the monotony, I turned to him. He had this way of making even the simplest of moments feel like a moment of profound contemplation. I had often joked that he was the wise old sage of our household, dispensing advice in the form of silent stares and wagging tails.

“Hey, Buddy,” I said, sitting up on the couch and leaning toward him. “I’ve got a question for you. What’s two minus two?”

Buddy opened one eye lazily, as if to say, Really? This is the big question you’ve been holding onto all day? His tail, which had been wagging absentmindedly a moment ago, slowed to a halt. He blinked once, then closed his eyes again. His body relaxed, as if he were about to drift off into a deep, philosophical nap.

I waited, expecting some kind of reaction—maybe a bark, a tilt of the head, or even a playful paw to let me know he was engaged. But nothing came. Absolute silence filled the room.

At first, I thought he hadn’t heard me. So I repeated myself, this time more clearly, “Buddy, what’s two minus two?”

Still nothing. Not a single movement. His eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and steady. It was as though the question didn’t even deserve an answer. I sat there, baffled. Maybe he’s too smart for me, I thought, a little flustered.

And then it hit me—the realization that maybe, just maybe, Buddy had already answered the question. He didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to make a sound, because the answer was in the silence itself. Two minus two equals nothing. And Buddy, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that nothing needed to be said.

For a split second, I felt embarrassed. Here I was, expecting some profound, witty response from my dog, and instead, he had given me the most accurate, most direct answer possible. Without lifting a paw or even opening his eyes.

In that moment, I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe the universe had something to teach me through Buddy’s indifference. Maybe we humans make things more complicated than they need to be. Maybe the most profound truths are the simplest ones, staring us in the face all along.

I let out a small laugh, leaned back against the couch, and shrugged. “Well, Buddy, I guess you’re right. Nothing is the answer.” He didn’t acknowledge me. In fact, he probably hadn’t even heard me. His focus was completely on the invisible squirrel just outside the window.

I sat there for a while, reflecting on the bizarre yet oddly enlightening interaction. I thought about how often we, as people, try to overthink or overcomplicate things. We search for answers, for meaning, for significance in every little thing. And sometimes, we miss the most obvious answer staring right at us.

As if on cue, Buddy rolled over on his back and stretched, his tail wagging in that slow, carefree rhythm. I couldn’t help but admire him in that moment. He wasn’t concerned with anything—just existing in the now, content and at peace.

I got up and walked over to him, giving him a gentle pat on the head. “You’re a genius, Buddy,” I said, and finally, he opened his eyes and gave me the kind of look that only a dog could give—a mix of confusion and slight amusement. He didn’t say a word, of course, but I swear there was a sparkle in his eyes as if he knew exactly what had just happened. Maybe he was smarter than I gave him credit for.

And just like that, the day went on, quieter but somehow more profound. Two minus two—nothing—and that was exactly what I needed to hear.