How To Be A Dog

" Yo, Juno. What do I do to get inside? I forget."

Shane doesn’t know how to ask for things, so he’s not really a dog. Dogs know how to get the things they want by various means that include barking at the door or at a box of dog biscuits; looking sad by drooping the eyes or staring at the floor; looking cute by perhaps cocking the head or lifting one ear or just staring politely at a human while said human is eating—the cute factor, by the way, is the most powerful of all—looking enormously intelligent by following a piece of food as it goes from a plate into a human mouth or sitting when told to do so.

It’s really easy, but Shane doesn’t get it. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Take our neighbor, Buddy. Now Buddy knows how to get one, two, or even three biscuits a day from Joan. He simply stands on his hind legs by the back hedge and barks. Joan says, “Okay Buddy; here’s your treat.” And he gets a treat. (You can read more about Buddy by clicking here.)

It’s the same way for every other dog who hangs around the fence. Joan says, “Hi Doggie. Would you like a biscuit?” And she hands over a biscuit.

Now, when Shane is outside and wants to go inside, he sits and stares at the door. So, if you go by our house when Shane and I are both outside, you’ll see me staring at all the neighborhood activity, and you’ll see Shane staring at the front door. He doesn’t know he’s supposed to bark to get in. By now, it’s been hundreds of times that he’s witnessed the getting-inside process. I go to the door and bark; Joan opens the door; we go inside. But, he never does it. I have to do all his barking for him.

That’s why I’m not so sure he’s a real dog. Sure, he smells like one; he’s got four legs and dog breath; but that’s where the canine qualities begin to ebb. Yet, whatever he is, he’s pretty nice to me, and I’m nice to him. I guess that’s more important than fitting into a neat category. Besides, dogs aren’t very good at categorizing. That’s more of a human urge.

Best wishes, Juno