Why Am I Reasoning With A DOG?!

In the grander scheme of all that matters in life, some things amaze and delight. Others mostly annoy or frustrate. Dogs are uniquely constructed to provide both extremes – often at the same time. At least, my dog Blue is.

I love my dog. She’s family. Then again, she’s a dog.

IQ? Dog.

So, why on earth do I find it necessary to attempt to argue and/or reason with her . . or to pay the slightest bit of attention to her “opinion” on the sorts of matters that seem to matter most only to her (i.e., scratching, the sniffing of things and places that are totally unattached to higher brain function . . other dogs‘ back sides, and so on) particularly given the fact that little or no reciprocity seems to come from her corner?

After all, she’s a dog. I’m a human.

Humans rule, right?

Humans do rule, right?

That’s what I used to think too, back in my pre-dog days. But that was then. I’ve since learned it’s all a matter of will and physical strength – hers versus mine.

Let’s just say I don’t often win. Or, if I do, it isn’t a pretty picture. After all, she’s just a sweet  innocent old dog.

In such matters as these, I come off looking like the bully. She, on the other hand, is the perpetual innocent. It’s a charade, of course. But it works well for her. And she knows it. And she  knows how to use it.

Lately, there’s a new game in town. Blue outgrew her collar. How can a 12 year old dog outgrow her collar? Muscles. She primes those babies while I’m sleeping.

Her 22 inch collar – which we haven’t had all that long – has been looking way too tight on her. (Okay, so she’s puffing up her neck to make me think the collar’s too tight. I’m only human. Gullibility and guilt are inborn.)

A few days ago, we got a new collar. I have to admit, as collars go, it’s quite lovely. Soft doe skin on the inside . . tough cowhide on the out. And it’s 24 inches long. Not even Blue can puff up that big!

So last evening, we took a walk . . Me, Blue, the new collar. Other dogs drooled as we passed. Even humans recognized that something had changed. Maybe a shift in the balance of power? Wouldn’t I hope?

As we were heading down the home stretch, we passed a yard in which was blooming a bush I’d never before noticed. It held lovely bright yellow flowers. I was curious to know what it was. Unfortunately for me, the curiosity didn’t strike a crescendo till we’d moved a couple houses farther down the street. That meant turning around. No problem.

Problem.

About that control thing

Blue was heading for home. Turning around . . not in her game plan. Dogs don’t turn around unless a new smell sneaks up from behind. Anything else is retreat. Forward momentum, once begun, is not willingly undone.

Being the human that I am, however, I took control of the matter. I, after all, wanted to check out that flowering bush. My priority obviously trumped hers. So, we turned around.

Correction: I turned around. Blue just stood her ground and looked at me. What part of heading for home didn’t I realize? Had I lost my way? More to the point, had I lost my mind?!

So I did what any human would do in a showdown of this sort. I commanded her to sit. She sat.

Then I commanded her to heel. She sat.

Thinking she hadn’t understood, I once again commanded her to heel – this time with an added tone of force and intention to my voice. She continued to sit. Her upper doggy lip started to curl in a knowing smile. Generations of dogs before and after her were counting on her to sit her ground. And she did, most nobly.

So, since she was sitting and I obviously had her attention, I got down to her level to discuss the matter. Okay, I’m human. I don’t like confrontation. It’s far better to talk out an issue than to rely on brute force.

I talked. I explained. I reasoned . . with a hefty suggestion of doggy cookies thrown into the conversation. I even argued just a bit.

Blue seemed to take it all in without difficulty. (I did mention that she’s a brilliant dog, didn’t I?)

Then once again, I told her to heel. Once again, she didn’t budge.

Okay, enough with the talk. I’m only human. Even I have limits.

“Blue, heel!”

On the word, “heel”, I stepped off with my left foot. And with every bit of upper body strength I possess – Okay, not that much – I reached in and yanked on the leash. As I did, the new collar effortlessly slid off over her head and dangled from the end of the lead.

She knowingly looked right into my eyes. Point made.

Blue stayed right where she was. She’d won. There was no need to flaunt it.

After all, I’m just a human. She, on the other hand, is a dog.

The flowering bush isn’t going anywhere. I can see it another time.

I slipped the new collar back over her head, and we headed for home – just as she’d intended all along.

Strange, isn’t it? Dogs let us assume we rule the world. (Cats don’t even let us assume.) It makes you wonder who the “chosen ones” really are. Then again . .

. . . . .

Do you have a dog? And, do you attempt to reason with your dog? How does that work for you? Share your stories. Maybe you could teach me a new trick. Maybe I could throw Blue off her guard – even if just temporarily. I don’t mind losing. Just not all the time. Help a fellow human. Please.

Keep growing my friend,
Gail

Tagged as: control, dog, humans rule, reason