He’s this man’s best friend

I have a year-and-a- half-old miniature Australian shepherd. He’s full of energy, quite handsome and fairly smart. He has great expressions. When in trouble, he grimaces in a way that looks as if he has a toothy grin. And his ears tell you exactly what he’s thinking.

Because of these tell-tale signs, I often get the distinct impression that he’s looking at me in either puzzlement or in total disbelief of what I’m doing. I’ve noticed lately, for example, that there are several concepts with which we are in total disagreement.

The most obvious one has to do with use of the toilet and is known by anyone who owns a dog tall enough to reach into it. I have seen so many cartoons and greeting cards based on this misunderstanding that it must be a universal truth. To a dog, a toilet is the “magical fountain,” the “source of free refills,” the “sacred goldfish burying ground.”

And don’t think that they don’t know. Dogs understand what we use the toilet for, and they are astounded – not disgusted, just astounded. If you don’t close the door, you can see it in their eyes. Never have I seen a dog that felt the need to relieve itself into water. It’s just not done. In fact, it’s counterproductive.

Dogs have anal glands, the sole purpose of which is to mark their poop with a signature odor. Sniffing poop, or the rear itself, tells a dog exactly who it’s dealing with. It’s the same as you wearing a “Hello, My Name Is” badge. So a dog wants that poop to stay there, not get flushed away. What a waste. Dogs must think that we wish to remain anonymous.

They do, however, have a wish for privacy. What else would explain the expression of complete humiliation written across the face of a dog caught in the act of squatting? Anything else, and I do mean anything, they’ll do in public, without shame.

Vomiting is one of those shameless things that dogs do so well. If I’m sick, I’d almost rather die than throw up. Not dogs. They eat things on purpose just to make themselves heave. And they can put on quite a show in the process. Of course it helps the effect to immediately eat back down whatever was just brought up.

My dog, Corey, has a hard time with the concept of a dishwasher, too. Never does he refuse an offer to clean a used dish or utensil. When the door’s open, the contents of the dishwasher always get a good going over to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. Yet he clearly understands the ideas of “before” and “after” because he never pays attention when it’s filled with cleaned articles.

When I close the dishwasher to run it, I get that look, as if I’ve just thrown a chunk of moldy cheese or an overripe piece of too-long refrigerated meat into the trash. “What a waste,” his eyes are saying. “I can’t believe you deprived me of that opportunity,” his ears are clearly indicating.

Another obvious conceptual misunderstanding with dogs is ownership. I have seen this codified in actual canine rules. If the dog had it first, it’s his; had it a little while ago, it’s his; or even saw it first, it’s his. If he can take it from you, it’s his; if he chewed it up, the pieces are his. Or maybe there is just one rule: “If I want it, it’s mine.” I think that dogs acquired these rules from kids.

A dog’s sense of justice is also a lot like that of a child. Forbidden things are really OK as long as you don’t get caught doing them. And to a dog, saying with their eyes is the same as saying with a sob, “Don’t punish me now and I’ll never, ever do it again.” Dogs, however, cannot lie. In fact, before you know what they did, you know that they did something. Corey has blamed neither an animal nor a child for anything that he has ever done.

But sharing with fellow pets is certainly not within a dog’s moral grasp. There are certain foods, such as fruit and vegetables, that Corey does not relish. However, if one of his sibling birds should drop one of these items, he eats it, with or without relish. If a dog friend should visit while he has two or three toys out, he’ll figure out a way to put them all in his mouth, then wave the contents in the other dog’s face.

It’s amazing, really, how different our concepts of life are, yet how well we get along together. I guess that the important things in life have little to do with such differences. After all, I can’t think of a soul I’d rather spend time with than my dog.