It occurs to me that it’s probably a good thing that dogs don’t live as long as humans. Dogs are just too clever by half.
I know this because I have been owned by dogs most of my life. I currently have two Duck Tolling Retrievers, Ginger and Sasha. As a kid, we had two Brittany Spaniels, Taffy and Rusty. I miss them to this day.
Among other things, I have fond memories of their squirrel catching tactics.
First, they sat on the lawn watching for unsuspecting rodents to meander through. When one did, they waited, quivering, until it walked out into the middle of the yard. When they figured it was far enough from the trees and fencing, they ran at it. I think they must have had some sort of doggy telepathy because they always took off at the exact same moment. (“Ready? One, two, RUFF!”)
Anyway, they would split up, with Taffy running to the left, and Rusty to the right. The squirrel, suddenly aware of two pair of mobile fangs bearing down on it, would panic and run to the back of the yard and shinny up a cedar tree.
Rusty went under the tree and parked himself next to the trunk, and became absolutely still. Taffy, meanwhile, went absolutely bonkers, barking, jumping, yelping and so on.
But here’s the trick: Taffy, while making all that racket, would slowly move further and further from the tree. The squirrel, focussed completely on the noisemaker, forgot about Rusty, and start making escape calculations (home = run like crazy minus speed of fangs). When Taffy got far enough away, the squirrel would dart down the tree to make a break for it and bingo . . . squirrel pie.
Well, okay, not always. There are lots of neighbourhood squirrels that have survived this little trick, but they all have really, really short tails.
They were quite clever in other ways too. Brittany Spaniels are hunter/retrievers, and Rusty definitely believed in retrieving — your shoe, your car keys, the tv remote, the throw pillows on the couch, etc. Actually, his favourite thing to retrieve was somebody’s arm. He loved to grab your arm and pull you off the couch. But never mind the noble Lassie routine of “Timmy’s down the well, come help.” No sir. Rusty pulled you into the kitchen and looked meaningfully at the cookie jar.
Taffy meanwhile, had her own tricks. She was a terrible guard dog — she’d bark at intruders only from the safety of your lap — but she was very suspicious of people. She would trust no one until she’d had a chance to snuffle their face thoroughly. You’ve heard of CAT scans? Well, she was into Lab reports.
She was also a master at getting your attention, no matter what you were doing. Stage one was to sit there looking depressed until someone took pity on her. Failing that, stage two was to flop on the floor, on her back, with all four paws in the air — as though she’s been hit by a car. A variation on this theme was to flop in a doorway, so you have the choice of paying attention or tripping over her.
If neither of those things work, she simply joined in whatever you were doing. Typing? Paws to the keyboard. (You have no idea how many times I’ve deleted the word RTYU@!*GOIG from my emails). Sweeping? She’d step on the dust bunnies for you. And I found out the hard way that she liked to help with redecorating the house. “Help,” of course meant stepping in the paint tray to leave little blue feetie prints all over the floor, or to lean on the wet walls to leave furry patches at dog level.
Rusty and Taffy knew that jingling car keys mean a potential car ride; but that car rides that turned left at a particular intersection meant they were going to the vet. They knew that ‘okay, talk to you later’ means you were getting off the phone and are available to play; and that 8 o’clock on Mondays was a good time to sneak onto the couch because everyone is distracted by the latest episode of Star Trek.
My current dogs are just as clever. Ginger knows that if I put on the kettle, it’s because I’m making my husband a cup of tea for a Zoom meeting that he’ll take in our bedroom. She’ll follow me in to jump on our bed, the best napping spot in the house. Sasha only watches out the front window for our kids on weekdays at two p.m.; even if they’re away on the weekend, she knows a bus will not be involved. And they are both keenly attuned to the way a spoon clinks when you’re finishing a bowl of cereal. We call it ‘end of bowl noise’ and when you make it, they’re both ready to help clean up any spare milk you might have to share.
One of these days, I suspect I’m going to come home early and catch them surfing the internet for the latest canine news, posting cat memes, and plotting . Who knows? Perhaps “WWW” actually means woof, woof, woof.
Image credit: Midjourney