Marking Territory & Dog Imperialism

Here's Max. He came to visit us this morning. I remember when he was a puppy, and now look how he’s all grown up and regal with his straight shoulders and fluffy black mane. Even Shane was impressed into silent curiosity—he didn't make a sound, not even when Joan gave Max a biscuit. Wow. There’s a first. But, Max did a great deal of territory marking around the entire perimeter of our fence. God, that's such a very male thing to do.

I don’t get it, though, because he lives two blocks from here, so it’s kind of imperialistic of him to come all this way to claim my yard; also, we’ve walked past his yard maybe three or four hundred times, and we’ve never marked territory there. Shane and I are like, say, Switzerland; we mind our own business. Taking over territory is such a human thing; I guess the activity was bound to rub off on dogs, especially the male dogs.

Well, it’s Christmas Eve, so I’ll try to be more accepting of such behavior. It’s a sunny day. The house smells of cookies and ironing and shampoo. Joan’s thinking of giving me a bath, which would be a bit too much work for her, don’t you think? Later on, we’ll take a walk past Max’s house. I want to sniff out some of his neighbors’ yards to see if he’s got his eye on their places as well as ours. Males. They want it all.

Wishing the world a Merry Christmas. And, just in case wishes actually come true, I wish for peace in the world—of course, before that happens, everyone will have to give up the marking of territory.
Juno