On Dogs

A dog lover, by definition, loves all dogs and generally treats them as well or better than human counterparts. By this I was never a dog lover, but not so my wife. I’ve often said if reincarnation is a viable option, try to come back as Lee’s dog.

From my earliest recollections we always had a dog, always a mutt, some random mixture of whatever roamed the neighborhood. I remember their names but didn’t have a close relationship with any. They were outside dogs, and when I think of them I go back to a hot summer day where as a boy of five or six I am crouched in the grass and focused on a serious project. There’s a dog’s face close to mine, fanning me with rancid breath and sharing a cloud of gnats. I do not feel a closeness.

Later in my teen years I realized dogs could be useful. I was a small game hunter so when offered a chance at a purported rabbit hound, I took it. Toby was a red tick beagle, beautifully marked with a great baritone voice. I can take you near the spot where more than 50 years ago on our first outing he brought around a rabbit which I shot, and I suddenly had a dog I wanted to kiss. He was a kennel dog, a working dog who earned his keep by helping put food on the table, and I saw value in dog ownership.

Around this same time I was spending every free moment with my grandpa. He always had dogs, one for loving and several for working. The loving dog was a boxer, Cocoa, the constant companion, the one I would hear grandpa talking to as I left the house in late evenings.  The working dogs were bluetick hounds, bred and trained to hunt raccoons, and among them was Katy, the queen of the lot. She was a silent tracker. While the other dogs were baying on a hot trail Katy ran in stealth mode, and when her mournful howl joined the chorus we knew the quarry was treed. She was immune to distraction from opossums or foxes or any manner of misguiding scents. Katy had a singleness of purpose, a focused confidence, and never disappointed.

There is some confusion in the literature of exactly when or from where dogs emerged in the evolutionary tree. The prevailing thought has them linked directly to wolves, but a more recent theory suggests they evolved along with, or even before, wolves. Regardless, both wolves and dogs have traits in common, among them the preference or outright need for social presence. They are pack animals, driven to not live or work alone. In the case of domesticated dogs, humans seem to satisfy the dog’s social needs, so by default dog owners become pack members.

All packs have a hierarchy. A dog in any respectable home soon recognizes its place, not as the alpha leader but as a subordinate, which carries duties nonetheless, oftentimes as first alert when anything out of the ordinary occurs. Dogs bark to warn and protect pack associates.  From my experience, dogs that bay at the moon for hours on end are always tied or kenneled,  separated from the pack, so this seemingly pointless behavior might indeed have a point.

I once had a pedigreed black lab that would howl at the moon, but Pete was a kenneled dog, a couple hundred feet from the house and alone in the world. He was my first real experience in training a dog from puppyhood and I did it by the books. Anytime he was out of the kennel he was under command. He lived for those 15 minutes a day and the results were both satisfying and impressive, but given a second chance I’d change the approach. I believe now I could make a disciplined retriever from a constant companion and we would both be happier for it.

I could go on summarizing my experiences with another half dozen dogs who spent their lives with us, dogs whom Lee loved and I tolerated, and it would lead us to today, to what is likely the latter years of a 75 pound bearded cur who responds to the name “Maisy”.  She has weaved her way into my heart like no other. Her ability to melt into the floor when she knows we’re leaving the house without her, or when she realizes her behavior I find disappointing, cannot go unnoticed. For whatever reason, I can see in her eyes and temperament a desperate want to please, a loyalty beyond measure, an intense desire to be worthy of inclusion in the pack. I now suspect those same traits were in all the dogs that came before, but she’s the first to break through to me. She’s also the first to make it onto our bed, and every night she lies there with neck outstretched, her head resting on my thigh, her eyes peering into mine, unflinching. “Stop staring”, I say, but she persists and I fall asleep.

The dog has helped me see what Lee’s been trying to say for nearly 45 years, that I’ve never given animals enough credit.  In his book, The Outermost House: A Year of Life On The Great Beach of Cape Cod, Henry Beston writes, “For the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with the extension of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear.”

In a race for survival where we both begin with absolutely nothing, dogs will certainly win.  And yet dogs, good dogs, offer all they have to us, unconditionally, looking only for acceptance, a place in the pack, a chance to learn, belong and contribute.  They’re not people and not deserving of the treatment given people in every situation, but they are neither responsible for making a mess of the planet, for poverty, famine or injustice. Their goal is only to find a pack where they are at home and with a purpose, and they look to us for that ultimate achievement.

If we are moved to grant their request we take on the financial costs and daily accommodations, the added housekeeping, the time required for training and discipline. In return we get unwavering loyalty, a lifelong companion who forgets or overlooks our faults, a comrade who teaches patience, and the chance to share the adventure of being part of the pack.