Conversations with dogs.
I remember someone catching me talking to a duck. Not when I was a child, but just in the last decade. I didn’t talk duck until I was an adult.
I was sitting on the lake shore chatting to this mallard as it bobbed around. I don’t recall what I was saying. Probably something like, “The water looks nice, or you’re a fine-looking duck.”
I heard a man laugh. I turned to look at him. He said, “Who do you think you are, Dr. Dolittle?”
“As a matter of fact, I’d love to be Dr. Dolittle”, I replied, a bit defensively. Because although I’ve been talking to animals for as long as I can remember, I don’t usually carry on conversations when people are present. It’s awkward.
When I am alone it’s more like a chat I would have with a friend. Before you start looking up the number for the local psychiatric ward… I am not going to tell you they talk back. They don’t vocalize. But I feel, or I imagine I feel what they say. And maybe it’s pure imagination. But it is comforting, soul-soothing, feels natural and enjoyable. And often, funny.
Like this recent interaction with two dogs. Bella and Luke. (not their real names)
Bella is a 10-year-old rescued greyhound, and Luke is her roommate, a 10-year-old Whippet.
I arrived at their home to hang out with them for three days while their family was away. I had been there a few weeks earlier for a meet and greet. So, I was not a complete stranger entering their home on the first day of my stay.
They stopped barking as soon as I opened the door, apparently remembering we’d met before.
“Hey you two”, I greeted them. “Ready to hang out with me?”
“You’re here for a while, aren’t you?” Bella replied as she wagged her whip of a tail.
Luke looked at me and slunk back to lie down. “Fine, you’re here. But I don’t have to like it. I’m just going to stay in bed”
Bella looked at him and back at me. “Don’t mind him. He’s weird. Mom calls him an asshole.”
Bella continued. “Read the notes. Make yourself comfy. There’s three pages.”
Now some pet parents leave me a page; some just put sticky notes on the food bin with timing and portion instructions. Some people send a text with details. Some send emails. Rarely do I get three pages. But it was a good read with a few references to Luke being an asshole, their unique personality traits and preferred spots inside and out. And ending with “we usually try to comply with all their wishes.”
The next three days were delightful as I got to know them better, attempted to comply with their wishes and have a conversation or two. Luke dropped his frosty demeanor on the second day. He demonstrated his acceptance by displaying his extensive toy inventory, one piece at a time. “What about this one? Like it? It’s my favorite. No, wait. I’ll go get my other favorite.”
There were a lot of favorites.
Bella, an absolutely beautiful soul, is enjoying being a pampered pet. Rescued from the grueling dog racing circuit, she now approaches every moment leisurely and in her own, indolent, gentle way…with the occasional zoomie or spinorama spontaneously thrown in.
It’s like spending time with an elegant and beloved nana who sweetly listens to your stories, nods off sometimes while you are speaking and then without warning hoists her skirts and does a jig.
One day I held the door open for her to go out. I knew this was her wish because she rose from her bed, looked at the door, and then looked at me. I went and opened the door and waited for her to approach. I watched a large fly zoom in and urged Bella to hurry up a bit.
“She raised her eyes to me, “Patience, please. I’m not built for speed.”
“Dude!…That’s exactly what you are built for!”, I retorted.
Her tail wagged. I think she recognized the irony.
She also had the questionable wish of not wanting to poop in one spot. She would hover her delicate frame and make a deposit. Then move to another part of the lawn in quasi-squat form and make a second deposit and then a third, like some nefarious asset scatterer.
She would side-eye me with an apologetic look. “I understand this creates extra work for you, but it’s just the way I like to poop. And I’m quite prolific.”
Although Luke had come to accept me, he kept to himself throughout most of the day. I would often have to look for him in the bedrooms. Sometimes he would be totally buried in the cushions and sheets, having created a cave for himself. I would only see the Whippet snout poised like a snorkel from the depths of the bedding.
When I removed several pillows to make sure he was ok, he was annoyed.
“Unless it’s an emergency, my mom is home or it’s mealtime or you have a treat, please leave me alone. I don’t need another friend. If you want to play fetch, I might be up for that later.”
This was probably the most relaxing dog sitting gig I’ve had. They required no walks, grooming, or medication. Just a food provider. I am sure that if they had thumbs, they would be just fine on their own.
Although it’s true that in those three days, they never uttered a word.
Somehow, we still had some lovely, memorable conversations.
