Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know (37 page)

Yawning dogs aside, there is a limit to the science here. Science is quite intentionally not looking at the very feature that is most important to dog owners: the feel of the relationship between person and dog. That feel is made up of daily affirmations and gestures, coordinated activities, shared silence. It can be deconstructed somewhat with the dull butter knife of science, but it cannot be reproduced in an experimental setting: it is importantly non-experimental. Experimenters often use what is called a
double-blind
procedure to assure the validity of their data. The subject is always blind to the point of the experiment, and in a double-blind the experimenter is also blind to which subject's data—one from the experimental group or the control group—he is analyzing. In that way, one avoids inadvertently seeing a subject's behavior as fitting in just a little more tightly with the tested hypothesis.

Dog-human interactions, by contrast, are happily double-seeing. We have the feeling of knowing exactly what the dog is doing; the dog may, too. What we think we see is not the stuff of good science, but it is the stuff of a rewarding interaction.

The bond changes us. Most fundamentally, it nearly instantly makes us someone who can commune with animals—with this animal, this dog. A large component of our attachment to dogs is our enjoyment of being
seen
by them. They have impressions of us; they see us in their eyes, they smell us. They know about us, and are poignantly and indelibly attached to us. The philosopher Jacques Derrida ruminated on his cat seeing him nude: he was startled and embarrassed. To Derrida, what was startling was that the animal reflected his image back to him. When Derrida saw his cat, what he saw was his cat
seeing him,
in nakedness.

Pump changed my own umwelt. Walking through the world with her, watching her reactions, I began to imagine her experience. My enjoyment of a narrow winding path in a shady forest, lined with low bushes and grasses, comes in part from seeing how Pump enjoyed it: the cool of the shade, of course, but also the
pathiness,
allowing her to zoom along unchecked, stopping only for rousing scents along the sides.

I now see city blocks, and their sidewalks and buildings, with their investigatory sniffing possibilities in mind: a sidewalk along an uninterrupted wall without fences, trees, or variation, is a block I'd never want to walk down. Where I'll choose to sit in the park—which bench, what rock—is based on where a dog at my side would have the best panoramic olfactory view. Pump loved large open lawns—to plop down in, to roll repeatedly in, to sniff endlessly—and high grass or brush—to lope regally through.
I
came to love large open lawns and high grass and brush in anticipation of her enjoyment. (The interest in rolling in unseen smells remains elusive …)

I smell the world more. I love to sit outside on a breezy day.

My day is tilted toward morning. The importance of mornings has always been that if I awoke early enough, we could have a long, off-leash walk together in a relatively unpeopled park or beach. I still have trouble sleeping in.

It is a very small bit comforting to realize how deeply she is in me, even over a year from the day when she was also aside me, willing to submit to a tickle of the dense curls under her chin as she rested it on the ground for the last time.

Sitting with a dog on my lap, considering what we know about dogs' abilities, experiences, and perception, I feel partway to full dogness myself. Also, right now, I am covered with dog hair.

Even without getting coated with fur, the knowledge of dog science brings us closer to an understanding of, and appreciation for, dog behavior: how it arises from the ancestral canid, from domestication, from their sensory acuteness, and from their sensitivity to us. With any luck it will get under your skin and you will see the dog from the dog's point of view. Along the way, here is a smattering of ideas of umwelt-ful ways of relating to your dog, of interpreting their behavior, and of considering them in our lives.

Most of us would agree that we go for walks with dogs for the dog's sake. It is for Pump's sake that I woke early every morning, to catch a permitted off-leash walk in the park; for her sake that I came home during the day to circle the block with her; for her sake that I shod myself before bed and sleepwalked a walk. Yet dog-walks are often not done with the dog's sake in mind, but strangely playing out a very human definition of a walk. We want to make good time; to keep a brisk pace; to get to the post office and back. People yank their dogs along, tugging at leashes to get noses out of smells, pulling past tempting dogs, to get on with the walk.

The dog doesn't care about making good time. Instead, consider the walk your dog wants. Pump and I had a good variety. There were the smell walks, where we made zero progress but she inhaled untold purple, mesmerizing molecules. There were Pump's-choice walks, where I let her choose which way we went at every intersection. There were serpentine walks, where I restrained myself instead of her as she weaved on leash from my left to my right and back again. As a younger dog, she tacitly agreed to go on runs with me when I agreed to occasionally stop and circle around her as she circled around an interesting dog. As she got older, there were even non-walking walks, where she lay down, and just stayed put until she was ready to move on.

Teach your dog the things you want in a way he can understand: be clear (about what you want him to do), consistent (in what you ask and how you ask it), and tell him when he has got it right (reward him straightaway and often). Good training comes from understanding the mind of a dog—what he perceives and what motivates him.

Avoid the missteps common to those who have the classic idea of what a dog should do: sit, stay, obey. Your dog is not born knowing what you mean by
come
here.
You must teach it explicitly, in small steps, and reward him when he actually comes. Dogs are attuned to tiny cues from you, cues that may be the same when you call
come
as when you say
go away!:
a tone of voice, a body posture. It is up to you to make your request specific and distinctive.

Training can take a long time; be patient. When even a "trained" dog does not come to calling, too often people chase him down and then punish him—forgetting that from the dog's point of view, the punishment is linked with your arrival, not his earlier disobedience. This is a quick, effective way to get him to never come when you call him.

When
come here
has been learned, a good argument can be made that there is little else by way of commands that an ordinary dog needs to know. Teach them more if you both enjoy it. What a dog most needs to learn is the importance of you—and that is something he is born to see. A dog who cannot "shake hands" on command is just a little more doggy. Make clear what behaviors you dislike and be consistent in not reinforcing them. Few celebrate a dog who jumps at people as they

Let him roll in
whatever-that-thing-is
once in a while. Endure some traipsing through mud puddles. Walk off-leash when you can. When you cannot walk off-leash, do not yank him along by his neck, ever. Learn to distinguish a nip from a bite. Let approaching dogs smell each other's rumps.

Why does he do that?
I am asked almost daily. Many times my only answer can be that not every behavior a dog does has an explanation. Sometimes when a dog suddenly flops on the ground and looks at you, he is just
lying
down
and
looking
—and nothing more. Not every behavior signifies something. Those that do mean something should be explained by taking into consideration the natural history of your dog—as an animal, as a canid, and as a particular breed.

Breed matters: A dog that stares down invisible prey or slowly stalks other dogs may be presenting very good "eye" behavior for a herder. So too with the dog who is aggrieved when one person leaves the room or who nips at everyone's heels as they wander down the hallway. Freezing at movement in the bushes slows down your walk, but it is very good pointing behavior. A bred dog with no task may be agitated, restive, keyed up: a drifter, not clearly driven to any activity. Give him some. This is the great science behind "tossing a ball": a retriever is made happy just to do it, over and over. He is fulfilling his capability. On the other hand, if your dog has a short nose and has trouble breathing, don't assume he can run with you. That same dog, with his near, central vision, may not care for the game
fetch,
while a retriever with a wide visual streak may care only for it. Give your dog a context to play out his innate tendencies—and indulge him a little staring at the bushes now and then.

Animalness matters: adapt to your dog's capacities rather than simply expecting him to adapt to our strange notions of how to be a dog. We want our dogs to
heel
—I have seen people turn furious when their dog does not—but dogs may be more or less prone to walk close to, and in step with, their social companions. Retrievers do, but sporting breeds might not (both will keep an eye on you). Also, most dogs exhibit handedness—
pawedness
—so while we shunt them to our left, as every training class has us do, we might be disadvantaging some dogs more than others (and leading to inevitable frustration if the good smells are all on the right side of the path). It would be a shame to punish a dog needlessly because we simply do not know his nature. Not every dog needs to heel in the same way: the essence is simply being safe and manageable.

Canidness matters: Your dog is a social creature. Do not leave him alone for most of his life.

One of the best ways to see your dog's capacities and interests is simply to provide a lot of possible things to interact with. Wiggle a string in front of your dog's nose along the ground; stash a treat in a shoebox; or invest in the many creative dog toys that are marketed. A rich set of things to burrow into, nose, chew, bob, shake, pursue, or watch will engage your dog—and keep him from finding his own burrowable and chewable objects among your possessions. Outside, agility training or some simulacrum obstacle course is a well-defined way to engage and interest many energetic but driven dogs. But interest can be spiked simply by a weaving, smell-laden path, or the unexplored reaches of a field.

Dogs like both the familiar and the new. Happiness is novelty—new toys, new treats—in a safe, well-known place. It can be cure for boredom, too: the new requires attention and prompts activity. Hiding food to be searched for is one example: they must move around to explore the space, using nose and paw and mouth together. You need only watch the exuberance of an agility dog on a new course to see how good
new
is.

In youth, but even throughout their lives, dogs are constantly learning about the world, like the developing child. Games that children find mind-bogglingly fun work with dogs too. Peekaboo, disappearing around the corner or under a blanket instead of behind hands, is especially fun when dogs are learning about invisible displacement, that objects continue to exist when you can no longer see them. Dogs are astute perceivers of associations, and you can play with that: ring the bell before dinner, Ivan Pavlov found, and the dogs anticipate dinner. You can connect bells—or horns, whistles, harmonica, gospel music, just about anything—not just with food, but with people arriving, or the time for a bath. Make a string of associations—and treat your dog's actions as adding to that string. Play imitation games, mirroring what your dog does: jumping on the bed, yelping, pawing the air. Note your dog's current skills, and try to stretch his ability. If he seems to know
walk
or
ball,
start using words that make more subtle distinctions:
smell walk
and
blue ball; evening smell walk
and
blue squeaky ball.
And at any age, play with your dog as a dog would. Choose your play signal—play-slap your hands on the ground, mimic panting close to his face, race away with looks back at him—and play. Treat your hands as he does his mouth and grab head, legs, tail, belly. Give him a good toy to hold on to, or be prepared for some nips. Watch as your own tail may begin to wag.