Road Apples by Tim Sanders
Sept. 6, 2010

What your average dog thinks

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I recently read some information about dogs, generously provided by the U.S. Humane Society. By which I mean the information was provided by the Humane Society, not the dogs themselves. Here are two meaningful dog statistics:


• There are approximately 77.5 million owned dogs in the United States

• On average, owners have almost two dogs (1.7)


This information gave me the opportunity to use the popular bullet (•) symbol, which I recently learned how to make using my Alt. key and a series of keyboard numbers. It also made me wonder why I’d never met an “average” dog owner; you know, one with 1.7 dogs. Our dog Maggie is just one dog, with no fractions added.
The information also made me wonder what Maggie would think if she saw a dog and seven-tenths attempting to line dance his way across the backyard, which in turn made me wonder just how often Maggie entertains serious thoughts. Here are some things I’ve noticed about Maggie’s thought process:


• Maggie, unlike our cat Sylvia, is indeed capable of thought.

• A dog does not, however, think like a man thinks. Maggie could probably never figure out how to make the bullet (•) symbol.

• Then again, being a dachshund, she cannot reach our computer keyboard. And since she does not have a lap, a laptop is not a viable option.

• A recent survey by the National Pet Owners Association reveals that if you were to scrawl William Wordsworth’s famous poem, “Daffodils,” on a napkin and start reading it to your average dog owner, he would leave the room immediately. Your average “owned dog,” however, would show a lot of interest and wag its tail; especially if the napkin were soaked in bacon grease and sprinkled with bread crumbs. Under the proper conditions, dogs do appreciate poetry.

• To test the poetry theory myself, I recited a short poem to Maggie, It was the Ogden Nash “Purple Cow” poem, and as soon as she heard that first “I never saw a purple cow” line, I had her full attention. She even tilted her head, in order to fully understand the zoological implications of purple bovines. When she left she took with her some valuable literary imagery, and also the dog biscuit I’d held in my hand while reciting that poem.

• I don’t know about other dogs, but Maggie clearly understands the concept of property rights. When she spies something unfamiliar on her property (which is what she considers anything within a mile of our house) she barks until that thing leaves. She barks at cars, trucks, mailmen, cats, horses, birds, garbage cans, falling leaves, and mosquitos. I’ve watched her sleeping by the sliding glass door, and long before I’m aware of anything suspicious going on, her ears begin to twitch and soon her head pops up and she barks. If, by chance, the culprit happens to be someone on horseback riding down the old airport runway behind the house, she barks very loudly, reasoning that when you see a dog large enough for a grown man to sit on, half-hearted barking won’t do the trick.

• On the other hand, when we drive to the vet’s for her regular oil change and tire rotation, Maggie understands that she is in someone else’s territory and never emits a single, solitary bark. The waiting room may be full of cats and dogs and goats and gerbils of all political persuasions–a crew that would incite a violent BARKORAMA if they were skulking around in HER backyard–but at the vet’s she remains silent.

• Like most dogs, Maggie prefers human food to dog food. I’ve tasted dog food before (don’t ask why) and it’s obvious to me that her little mind can differentiate between fine cuisine (week old hamburger) and really bad food (Kibble). She will eat almost anything we will eat, except for brussels sprouts. She also likes cheese, and if you were to open a package of cheese a block away, she would hear it, recognize the brand, and rush to your side to make sure that if you accidentally dropped any you wouldn’t have time to pick it up.

• Maggie is very perceptive. Behind the house, she uses all of her finely tuned senses as she explores the yard, square foot by square foot. Often she will stop, sniff, and scamper to a spot which looks like any other spot to me, but which contains something she treasures, a worm carcass. Maggie loves to roll on dead worms, which she firmly believes will mask her own smell if she should ever try to sneak up on ... oh, let’s say, a water buffalo or a mailman.

• And finally, Maggie understands true loyalty. When I retire to the restroom to ... to rest, she often accompanies me. I explain to her what I’m about to do, and offer her the option of leaving while she has the chance, but she stands silently near the bathtub until I’m seated. When she was a very young puppy, I think the sound of the toilet flushing convinced her I was about to be eaten by the porcelain monster, so now she stays to keep me safe. She always scratches a bath towel from the side of the tub and carefully arranges it near my feet. The towel serves the double purpose of providing a comfortable bed, and giving her something to bury her nose in if the going gets rough. Oh sure, there may be those rare times when she raises her little snout, sneezes, trots to the door and scratches, but those are the exception rather than the rule.

Say what you will about dogs and their much maligned thought processes, but you’d never get that kind of loyalty from your cat. And if you for a moment think your wife would happily curl up on a towel at your feet while you were sitting on the commode, just to guard against some unfortunate toilet accident, think again.