In the ancient myths, disembodied heads discovered in unusual places always have a lot to say for themselves. They really enjoy the sound of their own foreboding, portentous voices: on and on they drone about the various dooms which will befall their audience if specific instructions are not obeyed and certain tasks are not completed.
So I was suitably concerned when Lola came upon a disembodied fish head on the beach, since nothing looks more gloomily portentous than the frowning face of a disembodied fish head. If a disembodied fish head is speaking, you can bet your last bottom-feeding sand-dollar that its message is going to be unpleasant.
Fortunately, this particular disembodied fish head remained silent during the encounter with Lola.
Since such heads are endowed with supernatural powers, it probably knew that Lola only understands two words: 'chewy treat' and 'squeaky toy,' neither of which commonly appear in grim prophecies or baleful prognostications from the netherworld.
Consequently it must have decided that any attempt to converse with the dog was bound to fail. 'Not wasting my ectoplasmic breath on the stupid mutt,' the disembodied fish head probably muttered to itself. 'It will only pee in my empty eye socket.'
A reasonable conclusion in the circumstances. Still, it could at least have said hello.