My Life as a Dog

According to Chinese astrology, I was born in the year of the dog. I believe that astrology of all flavors, whether Chinese, Babylonian, or Norse contains nothing more than silly deceptions. The sun, moon, and stars have absolutely no effect on who or what we are or what direction our futures may take. I’ve always dismissed astrology as simple nonsense no matter who supported it and even ceased reading Augustine’s “Confessions” when I learned that he began his investigations into human nature by studying astrology. I was not surprised that he would later write that man was fated to live in a state of “original sin” when he had previously accepted the notion that humankind was born with the pre-determined traits promoted by astrology. Unfortunately, he led the attack on the Pelagians, who proposed that men possessed a free will that allowed them to actively choose between good and evil action and were not fated to remain mired in original sin from which only God could independently release them. The concept of personal responsibility was suppressed for hundreds of years when the Pelagian leaders were defrocked and exiled, primarily due to Augustine’s influence. Also, don’t get me started about how today’s astrological signs relate to completely different dates in the year than when the Babylonians invented them.

Having said that, I do have to admit that I share a lot of characteristics with dogs. How can I know this? Well, I grew up surrounded by many of my father’s hunting dogs during my formative years in a small Adirondack mountain resort village. My father liked rabbit hunting, and we always had beagles hanging about.

Since both my parents worked during the day, the dogs and I were left unleashed and unsupervised to roam the forest and beaches of the village. During that time, I learned how dogs understand their world, and I believe that they, in turn, learned a bit about the human world from me. To this day, I can enter a room containing an unknown dog and know intuitively, as soon as we see each other, whether we will be fast friends or will ignore each other. (Intuition is unnecessary to translate a frightened or angry dog’s body language).

A dog will usually have very accurate intuitions when identifying mean people but are less accurate when sizing up harmless ones. He is usually wary, with an initial attitude of “I won’t bite you if you don’t pull my tail, or otherwise annoy me,” but is willing to give everyone a chance once they prove to be friendly.

The most common characteristic of dogs is their desire to move forward. They want to move, to sniff, to explore.  They are not, of course, tireless. They can be happy when curled up on a couch. Still, while perfectly comfortable relaxing in a warm and cozy home,  the rattle of keys or the swish of a walking leash will suddenly transform them from immobile lumps of fur into active, excited informavores.

Dogs will try to move forward no matter what the weather conditions. Cold and muddy feet or a wet and matted coat won’t stop most dogs. They don’t complain. They push on.

While dogs prefer walking because they want to investigate their surroundings thoroughly, they will readily jump in a car to see and experience things they can not on their own. They often do their best thinking while riding in a car, bus, or train, though they often forget what they were thinking about when they come to the next sight, sound, or smell. Their minds wander as much as their feet do.

Although dogs’ tails may wag happily when they are on the move, they probably are unaware they are happy due to their intense focus on the changing scene around them. They forget themselves and live only in the present as it manifests itself through the outside world’s smells, sounds, and sights. I, on the there hand, when passing through the world cold and hungry, am aware of my discomfort and feel it somehow justifies and pays for the good luck and well-being that life has provided me.

Dogs are always looking for something; even old dogs continue to search in their fading years and are still interested in everything they can physically encounter. Does a dog really know what he is looking for during these perambulations?  Does he travel to improve himself?  I doubt it. He will only know what he is seeking when he finds it.

He sometimes surprises himself, often coming upon the unexpected. He will usually stop to puzzle over creatures and places that he never knew existed.

For most dogs, the distinction between work and play is a fuzzy one. They are as happy chasing a ball as they are herding sheep. The common thread is that they want to stay busy. They hope that humans will keep them occupied, but if people don’t help out, dogs will think up things to do on their own. I once saw a beagle in a fenced-in yard pick up a tennis ball and snapping his head upward, throw the ball in the air, and then chase it as it bounced about.

Unfortunately, dogs often get into trouble when left on their own to find ways to stay busy. My father had a dog who learned to like to chase deer. The dog would sometimes be gone for days. He would come home only to eat and sleep until he became bored and would take off again. It’s unlawful for dogs to chase deer, and when the dog eventually didn’t come home anymore, my father theorized that a game warden probably shot him. Sadly, dogs are ignorant of the dangers they may place themselves in when trying to amuse themselves.

This dog’s obsession with deer illustrates one other major shortcoming shared by most dogs: their single-mindedness. They can only keep one thing in mind at a time. There are many things that dogs can obsess over, but they can only deal with them one at a time. They are not good multi-taskers. Sometimes that one thing is food. Dogs will usually try to eat anything, at least once.

Dogs are perfectly happy traveling by themselves, yet they are also sociable animals who will sometimes temporarily join up with others to explore specific locations or engage in group adventures. They may mysteriously disappear for days at a time, and then, just as mysteriously resume socializing.

My father had another hunting dog he rather presciently named “Lucky”. Lucky liked to chase cars, and as a result, he was run over by three cars and a dump truck during his abbreviated life.  I don’t know what Lucky wanted to accomplish by chasing cars, but he certainly didn’t achieve the results he expected. The first three times he was hit, he would hobble back from the road and crawl under our very low front porch. We’d leave food and water under the lip of the porch, but he made sure we never caught sight of him partaking of our offerings. He simply didn’t want us to bother him while he was convalescing.

After a week or two, he would come out completely healed though, unfortunately, no wiser. “Einstein” would not have been an appropriate name for him. He’d be back chasing cars as soon as he thought he could catch them again. I always admired Lucky for his Stoic attitude toward injury, if for nothing else. I’ve tried to emulate Lucky in this regard as much as I could. Although I’ve never hidden under anyone’s porch, I do try to withdraw from the world whenever I’ve been sick or injured. Both Lucky and I share opaque goals that motivate our activities that probably make no sense to anyone else. I’m not even sure why I travel. Sometimes I think I seek ancient wisdom that has been lost on my side of the mountains when rumor or advertising implies it can be readily located somewhere else. Sometimes I just want to find out if the bread tastes better there. Usually, I don’t know why I’m traveling any more than Lucky knew why he chased cars. It’s just what I do.

Lucky’s final “accident” ended with no resurrection.

“All our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death”

He died on the road and didn’t make it back to the porch this time. My family and I were the only lucky ones after this tragedy. If he had gotten under the porch we never would have been able to retrieve his body from the four-inch high doggy crawl space, and our lives would have been miserable for months.

Unlike Lucky, I have had an opportunity to become older and wiser. I no longer cruise into a city at 10:00 p.m. with no reservations for lodging and spend the night sleeping on a park bench or, if such an accommodation is not available, walk the streets until the tourist office opens the next day. I don’t even pack a tent and sleeping bag anymore unless I plan to spend no more than one night in the Adirondack mountains near my home. ( I have a difficult enough time falling asleep in a soft bed these days).

I may have changed a great deal since I was a young unsupervised dog, and might spend more time sprawled out on a comfortable couch these days, but I still retain a dog’s attitude towards the world at large. Despite creaky joints, I will continue to run away from hearth and home seeking, always seeking something. I will continue to roam the earth, or when tired, dig into my own mind, trying to capture or at least understand all the mysterious moments that life has to offer, which, luckily, will always lie just beyond my grasp.

                   I will end by describing my life in one word:

                                                 “Woof”