Road Apples by Tim Sanders
Nov. 7, 2011

My dog's thoughts: Canine ... Mine: Asinine

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If you were to pass by my window and notice that I was gazing at nothing in particular, lost in thought, you might ask yourself: “Self, what do highly trained professional journalists think about?” Well, if you’d passed by my window last Thursday afternoon, the answer to that question would have been that I was thinking about just what it is that dogs think about when they are looking out the window, gazing at nothing in particular.

My answer to that question is that it is the wrong question to ask. Dogs are individuals, and like individual journalists and individual telemarketers, dogs think about all kinds of different things. Our dachshund, Maggie, for example, often sits by the sliding glass door, just gazing outside. It is sometimes tempting to think that her little dachshund mind wanders back to that prehistoric era when herds of her feral dachshund ancestors roamed the great plains, foraging for patches of ripe, succulent kibble and strands of dried bacon strips. It is tempting, but odds are she’s only thinking about getting outside and locating a dead worm to roll on. Retrievers may think about ducks, terriers may think about squirrels, and seeing-eye dogs may think about stop lights.

If you want a clue as to what any dog is thinking, observe his actions. My dogs have demonstrated, over the years, that they do not all think alike. Here are some examples:


• SKIPPER - When I was a youngster, I had a dog named Skipper. Actually I had wanted to name him something else, but while I was making up my mind, my parents started calling him Skipper, and the name stuck. (My parents had named at least two of their parakeets Skipper, so I guess they admired the name.) Skipper looked as though he’d been assembled by a committee. He was part Sheep Dog, part Spitz, part Libertarian, and we always suspected that he had just a bit of Methodist in him. What Skipper thought a lot about was people. He enjoyed their company. Once, while my parents and I had gone to Grand Rapids, Skipper picked up his plastic food dish and carried it across the street, where Mrs. Benaway was raking her lawn. He ate his food while she raked and talked to him, and then carried his dish back home. She told us all about it later. What was he thinking? Obviously he was thinking “I hate eating alone. By the way, there’s some leftover gristle in the dish if you’re interested.”

• GINGER - A few years ago we had a cocker spaniel named Ginger. She may not have been the brightest dog on the block, but she was generous and warmhearted to a fault. Ginger did not have the normal canine prejudice against cats. She thought of them as poor, dumb creatures in need of guidance. I know that because while we had Ginger we were given a tiny kitten whose mother had abandoned him. Ginger took great pains cleaning Fred and looking after him. She thought of him as her child, and as he grew, they remained close friends. They often slept together, and I am convinced that Ginger understood cat language, which made her bilingual. If not in speech, at least in thought.

• Speaking of FRED and GINGER - If, when the weather gets hot, you were to shave your cocker spaniel, that dog would not mourn the loss of her luxuriant, wavy hair. No, she would be grateful, because dogs appreciate any kindness shown them. If you were to try to shave a long-haired cat, on the other hand, purely for its own good, it would express its displeasure loudly throughout the procedure and sharpen its claws on your arms and legs until you stopped. And then, because it was a cat, without the capacity for rational thought, it would harbor serious resentment toward you until the day one of you died.

• MILO - Milo was part Jack Russell, part Rat Terrier, and a Third Degree Mason. She was a brilliant dog, and had a very large vocabulary. Once, when she was very young, I gave her a plate to clean. She put her paw on the plate to hold it steady. There was nothing particularly brilliant about that, but when I said, “Milo, take your paw out of the plate,” she immediately complied. I tried it again later, and again she complied. Milo understood over 700 words, although I never could convince her that Anopheles was a mosquito, not a Greek philosopher. Milo had very deep thoughts, and we still wonder if she didn’t worry herself to death over the age-old free will versus predestination question.

• MAGGIE - Our current dog may not be a deep thinker, but she does make her thoughts known. Maggie sometimes slinks into the bathroom and hides behind the door when it’s time to take her pill. She will remain there for several minutes, perfectly quiet, while Dr. Sanders trudges up and down the hall, holding that stupid pill wrapped in cheese, calling for her. Not exactly complex thought, only devious. Maggie also thinks a lot about food, and when it’s meal time she will come into the den and stand on my foot. If that doesn’t work, she will scratch on the recliner, or the bookcase, or the entertainment center. She is very familiar with words like “hungry,” “eat,” “snack,” “treat,” and “chicken.” Sometimes, when she is not thinking about eating, Maggie thinks about music. She likes to howl, but only when Marilyn howls with her. I’ve tried howling with Maggie, but there’s something about my voice that evokes only sullen silence from her. She will go to Marilyn, however, and whine until Marilyn agrees to howl with her, and the resulting duet will bring tears to your eyes. It can go on for ten minutes or more. If you ever heard “Indian Love Call” played on an old, warped 45, then you may understand what I mean when I say Marilyn and Maggie could put Slim Whitman to shame.


I have known many dogs over the years, and I can honestly say that I am a better man for it. Mark Twain once said “Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” I agree.