Speaking Dog

The author in his much younger days . . . Montana, around 1999

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Many years ago, while being interviewed for a feature article, I was asked a very wise question. “Why” said the writer, “does someone who lives as solo as you do align himself so completely with dogs, the animals with the greatest pack instinct?”

That inquiry has crossed my mind many times, for it was probably one of the few queries ever posed to me that I couldn’t answer outright and definitively. Unlike the feckless probings of many modern journalists, this fellow’s interrogatory went deep beneath the surface, and touched on areas I’d never thought to explore.

I’m still not sure I have the whole answer, but I do have part of it. The easy response would be that which is readily apparent but nonetheless true. Dogs are loyal and honest, and you generally know where they stand (or sit, or lie down). They don’t beat around the bush; they merely lift a leg on it. They are compassionate to the core, and if they do deceive or steal every so often, it is only in a playful, “ha! tricked you into giving me that piece of steak,” manner. Love them, and they return that love unconditionally and eternally. They are quick to forgive an affront, and only hold grudges against cats.

Dogs are so far above humans on the emotional evolutionary scale as to make our species seem as advanced as an amoeba. They know intrinsically if you’re happy, sad, hungry, or tired, and comport themselves accordingly. They are intelligent in their own way - not our way - but their hearts and souls could fill a stadium.

As I say, that’s the easy reply. To leave it with that would be to avoid the truth of deeper self-examination, something I view as a quest which should be constantly undertaken by all people. Such being the case, I’ve continued to ponder the question long and hard.

By way of explanation, I spend nearly 24 hours a day with dogs, and have done so for years. In this time, I’ve come to know their quirks and idiosyncrasies as well as they know mine. Dogs talk, maybe not with words, but with body language, sounds and behavior. The way they walk or run means one thing; the way they lie down means another. A raise of the chin, a tilt of the head, the flick of an ear, the speed of the tail wag (raised or lowered), and myriad other behavioral traits communicate their wants, needs, desires, and feelings.

But, as with most people, I’m ducking the question and dodging the answer. The real reason I hang with the pups is because of their blunt and forthright conduct. With the canine corps, actions not only speak louder than words, they are the words.

And this is the crux of my love for canines. Until I know a person implicitly, I judge their character solely on their actions. I’ve learned over the years that, until one has proven their honor and integrity, words are basically meaningless. Promises are often uttered and forgotten within the same breath. People mislead and obfuscate, depending on their mood of the moment. They can willingly lead you down the garden path, leaving you lost and stranded at the first glance of a shiny object that seems better, different, new, exciting, or (usually) unobtainable.

Dogs night engage in the latter excursion, but the difference between them and us is that they always come back. Unlike us, they know themselves and they know what they want. They know who and what is home, and do not give it up in the futile search for greener pastures. Our kind, on the other hand, will too often give up everything, leave on the breeze and regret our hasty and unthought decisions. Then we will rail at the gods over our bad fortune in losing that which we willing tossed away.

So, there’s the answer. I dance with dogs because, in their furry culture, and out of sheer necessity and purity of heart, actions always speak louder than words. No guessing, no second guessing, no fear that the words said today will be gone tomorrow, no suspicion that the happy lick to the face will transform into fangs through the jugular.

These days, as time marches on and I see a world so often lacking in commitment, honor, compassion, and integrity, I endeavor to behave more and more like a dog. I treasure those to whom I am close, will give them all that is within me, but I have zero hesitation in snapping and biting at those bereft of kindness or heart.

Oddly, it has always been a derogatory commentary in our society to say that a person has been treated like a dog. I suspect dogs have a similar saying. I’m sure they discuss this as they sprawl in the shade and consider the weighty matters of running, jumping and fetching.

“That poor fellow,” they say, “he’s been treated like a person.”