In Other Words
Dogmata: what do you believe makes a good dog?
My dog, a shepherd cross, is an indoor/outdoor dog. The outcome of being an indoor/outdoor dog is an indoor/outdoor carpet of hair.
Like me, she spends most of her time inside, with the odd excursion out into the back yard. In winter she alternates between sweating it out in front of the fireplace and shaking off snowflakes in the back yard. If she were a bird she wouldn’t know whether to migrate or lay eggs. Come this time of year, she’s already been shedding for months—and this is only the tip of the hairy iceberg.
And yes, I’ve complained about her hairball tendencies before, but I just can’t shed the temptation.
But it could be worse. She could be a cat.
I love my dear dog, as evidenced by the patina on her well-patted forehead. Sadly, this affection is not universally shared by our friends, but that’s OK. She’s learning not to jump up. She’s learning not to gnaw on our friends’ children. She’s learning to be civilized. Of course, my definition of a “civilized dog” may differ from yours.
Is a civilized dog one that sleeps outside and keeps our property safe?
When we lived in rural Prince George, the occasional sleepless night would find me tracking a bear’s progress through the surrounding farms by the backyard dogs’ tag-team barking as it passed through their various fields and forests.
Or, is a civilized dog one that sleeps inside and keeps our hearts warm?
In PG, and here in Smithers too, I could lie in bed and hear the local coyote pack yip-yapping at the edge of the yard. Neighbourhood legend has it that if you’re a nice doggie minding your own business in the back yard, and a pack of wily coyotes spots you, one of them will come and pretend to be your special friend. She’ll invite you to the woods for a dance and before you can say woof! her friends drop by for dinner. Despite coyote’s taste for domestic game, their song is still one of my favourite sounds—but only when I’m snug under the covers with my dog curled up at my feet.
Apparently dogs and humans haven’t been best friends forever. Dogs were first domesticated in East Asia approximately 15,000 years ago (105,000 years in dog time). They caught on quicker than burrs on a bloodhound and soon became our number one pet. Interestingly, the process of domesticating dogs may have played a part in domesticating humans. Prior to inviting Rover over, we were masters of hunting and gathering. Having a dog that barked at intruders made it easier to defend a settlement.
In Before The Dawn—Recovering The Lost History Of Our Ancestors (Penguin Press, 2006), author Nicholas Wade says, “Dogs may thus have played an important role in early human history, especially if they helped make possible the transition from foraging to settled societies. People who settled down in one place would have been under constant risk of attack. It is perhaps significant the first settlements occurred at the same time as dogs were domesticated.”
And if that weren’t enough to chew on, how about this: Wade goes on to say, “Another way in which dogs may have altered early human societies is by disrupting the foragers’ taboo against private ownership of property. Dogs don’t belong to a community: they attach themselves to a master. Possibly they forced themselves into human societies as the first major item of ownership, paving the way for the concept of the property-based sedentary societies that were to follow.”
So the next time you chase your tail trying to pay the mortgage, throw your dog a bone and say thanks.
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