My kitty is part Maine Coon. She’s quite the chatty one. She doesn’t so much meow as chirp and trill, like some weird bird.
“Seriously, Tulip, WTF?”
Puckers, do you:
…wanna go outside? <Puckers runs to the door.>
…wanna cookie? <Ears perk and he plants his butt like a good boy.>
…want some Beneful? <Runs to the kitchen.>
…wanna go to bed? <Runs to bedroom and stands at the door waiting for me.>
Puckers, are you mama’s boy?
<Stands on hind legs next to my chair because he knows kisses are forthcoming.>
Can I have a kiss?
<Licks his lips waiting for me to put my face close to his or licks me on the face if he can reach.>
Can you dance for mama? <Stands on hind legs and twirls around. Followed by cookie treat.>
The keywords for all these phrases are obviously: outside, kisses, cookie, bed, Beneful, dance, mama. He also knows daddy, sit, stay, crate, hungry, thirsty, leave it, get it, and drop it. I think he knows “bad” as well, but it may be tone he responds to.
So why wouldn’t I ask him questions? He’s not a moron. It’s not like I’m asking him to explain the Pythagorean theorem to me.
Is this a trainer for working dogs or pet dogs?
Seriously, you can buy robots these days, you don’t have to breed them, and the robots don’t have poop accidents in the house.
I have pets for the companionship and because I like 'em to be what they are: dogs being dogs, cats being cats, birds being birds… I’m not buying houseslaves!
Besides, I’ve yet to have an animal that couldn’t distinguish the TONE that differentiates chatter from command.
And, like Brown Eyed Girl said, my pets aren’t morons. They do understand much of what I say. Why shouldn’t I talk to them? After all, they make noises at me when they want something.
Especially since you’re just going to throw it right back up.
I discovered by accident that my goldfish can’t see the laser pointer I have for the cats. It scares the hell out of him and makes him swim into the tank walls. I don’t use it near the tank any more.
Heh, so they throw it up. The next cat that comes by will just eat it.
EWWWWWW! 
“Chloe, you are in the same spot and position on the bed as when I left 10 hours ago…could you please explain why?”
“If you must sleep in the laundry baskets, Angel, why can’t you sleep on the dirty clothes instead of the clean?”
“Izzums Tweak the world’s cutest kitty today? Did you make all the other kitties behave?”
“Why do you have to sit on my chest? Why can’t you just lay next to me?”
Today, while we were playing golf, a shepherd was in her back yard having a hissy fit about people being too close to her turf. On the one hand, I felt sorry for a territorial dog having to live that close to a tee box on a busy course. On the other, she fucked up 3 drives with her erratically hysterical barking.
So, being the evil person I am, and having heard her person yell her name, when it was my turn to tee off, I hollered, in a happy tone, “Shasta! Do you want a bath?”
Shasta promptly hid. Quietly. She’s a smart girl, oh yes she is!
DIES 
God I wish ferrets were allowed in Hawaii. I want one as a pet very badly.
Hee-hee-hee - I’ve done things like that, too!
I ask Horatio Lord Nelson questions that I know he knows the answer to, and then get indignant when he doesn’t answer me.
“Who’s my fuzzy butt? Who’s my fuzzy butt-kins? Who’s my kitty bear? Why won’t you tell me?” Picking him up, shaking him. “WHY WON’T YOU TELL ME? WHO PUT YOU UP TO THIS? TELL ME WHO MY FUZZY BUTT IS!”
He doesn’t find it nearly as amusing as I do.
The other thing I ask him a lot is, “Jesus fucking Christ, cat, what was that for?” as I lie bleeding on the ground.
Heh. Good thinking, Shasta.
If I raise my voice and say my dog’s name, he will either go hide in a corner or go sit in his crate looking guilty.
Often heard in my household: the owner call-and-response song.
Who’s the best doggy?
(falsetto): Sascha!
Who’s the best girl?
Sascha is!
Who is so smart?
My girl Sascha!
I have to go on asking because they never answer me.
twickster, that is the most frequently asked question, only I tend to phrase it, “Where’s your stupid brother?” Cats thrive on a bit of verbal abuse, I’ve found.
Shasta the Tee-Box Barker was inside today. 
Back at home, Bat-cat the Brat-cat pretended to not know who the hell horked on my freakin’ pillow, why she felt the need to attack my ankle, or the whereabouts of That Other Cat. Of course, I already know the answers, and she knows I know. (Both of us. Because it was there. Unfortunately, not on Mars.)
She is a talker, but doesn’t deign to answer boring questions.
Dogs OTOH are gigantic babies. They clearly thrive on baby talk and falsetto voice.
“Who’s da mama’s boy?”
“Is Puckers da mama’s boy?”
“Of course, he is! Mama lovin’!!!”
I’m sure there’s a ferret grey market there. I’ve met a handful of ferret owners here, where it’s also illegal.
Of course, now that I think about it, it’s probably a little more difficult to get them to Hawaii from a place where they’re legal…
Why are ferrets illegal in so many places anyway?