The secret and unspoken language of a pet
One of the great joys of sharing your life with a dog is learning the unspoken language of your pet. From the tiniest eyebrow raise when pup sees you reaching for the peanut butter jar to the giddy hip-wiggle when pooch presumes you’re putting your boots on with the sole intent of taking him on a walk around the block, dogs are a four-footed study in overt emotion.
Our dog Frankie has become so good at the latter that I now actually do take him on a walk nearly every time I pull my boots on. He has, in fact, trained me to respond to his reaction to my own routine.
I used to just pull on my clod kickers and simply get on with life. Now I must lace up, grab the leash and stuff a soon-to-be-repurposed plastic grocery bag in my pocket to spend 10 minutes walking, waiting and eventually scoping poo out of someone’s tree lawn half a block away before I can get on with the day. I’m convinced if I decline this basic courtesy, Frankie will resent me forever and grow into an angst-filled teenager with black fingernails, thick black eyeliner and a penchant for pushing boundaries. (Wait, he already has the fingernails, heavily accented eye lines and a tendency to stick his entire head dangerously down occupied groundhog holes. It might be too late!)
While I often make him out to be a perfect pup, Frankie’s no angel. A slave to his own nose, it leads him into trouble fairly regularly. He’s been known to steal cookies — whole trays of them — and he once downed an entire stick of butter he’d swiped off the kitchen table when I’d gotten up to grab another ear of sweetcorn.
But don’t be fooled into thinking it’s a sweet tooth that drives this dog’s mischief; Frankie also has a thing for truly nasty stuff. Our own cat’s litter box is a favorite hunting ground, and with a platoon of feral cats running in our end of town, every walk around the block has the potential to provide additional “treats.”
Back to that unspoken language I mentioned at the beginning of this piece. Although the dog scoops up contraband with the stealth of a Dickensian pick-pocket, he has a subtle “tell” that lets us know he’s got something in his mouth. Under normal conditions, the dog’s muzzle is nearly always on the ground with his nose and generous hound dog jowls constantly working in concert, snorting and flapping. When he encounters an item of interest, it is absorbed into his mouth almost osmotically. He doesn’t even break stride.
My wife and I are now quick to recognize that when the “huff and puff” is absent, the mutt is actually concealing a new prize in his mouth, which he will commence to chew once he believes we are appropriately distracted. If we remain alert and are quick to act, we can sometimes pry his mouth open and extract the contraband before it hits his gullet. In this manner we have freed a wide variety of items from his grip: chicken bones, bottle caps, corn cobs, juice boxes, et cetera.
During last weekend’s walk in the woods, however, I snatched what would have been this wannabee coon dog’s ultimate find from his tightly clenched jaws — the entire front paw of a raccoon. Where it came from, how it got to the trail and, most importantly, what happened to the rest of the raccoon remain a mystery. Frank’s disappointment was palpable, as was our disgust. I took the opportunity, of course, to remind Kristin how much she enjoys Frankie’s kisses.
Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.