Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs

by Suzanne Clothier

  Understanding that a dog's responses are always honest ones is easy to accept intellectually. Bringing that understanding to bear in the moments of day-to-day life is something else altogether, particularly since so many of our daily interactions are dishonest or only partially trustworthy simply because they are interactions with other humans. Even if we practice what we preach, it takes a long time for our belief in a dog's honesty to sink deep into our bones. As . Allen Boone discovered, it is possible to open yourself to new ways of seeing and conversing with animals, but to do so requires that we work to resolve the stumbling blocks within ourselves. When we clear away the blinders we have placed on our own eyes, we see standing before us animals who offer us the amazing gift of honesty in their communications with us. Accepting this gift opens a new world of possibility in our relationships with our dogs. Now Is a good time Dogs offer us another gift that, like their truthfulness, is a double-edged sword: the gift of immediacy. What they have to say is said honestly and in the very moment it needs to be said. In their immediacy, dogs are like young children. Whether unhappy or ecstatic, they don't wait for weeks to tell you about it. (and like honesty, this isn't out of choice-it's just the way it is with dogs.) What a dog feels, he tells you. Right then. Not a few hours later, or a year. From the moment you even think about putting on your shoes, grabbing a coat and reaching for the leash, the dog tells you how thrilled he is that you're going for a walk together. At every step of the walk, the dog tells you how much fun he's having, and how very glad he is to be with you. One of the great pleasures of being with dogs is their spontaneous expression of what they are feeling. A dog never needs to say "I may not tell you enough but. . ." That's a phrase humans need, especially adult humans. You would think in a society that wants instant gratification and immediate feedback, this quality of immediacy would be welcomed. But immediacy requires an equal response. This is not always convenient. No matter what else may be going on, you cannot tell a sobbing two-year-old to stop crying and promise her a thoughtful discussion later about balloons and their tendency to drift away once the string is released

  from a small hand. The loss is now, and the upset child needs attention now. No mother dog ever told her puppies: "You just wait until your father gets home" or "We'll discuss this later." Whatever needs to be dealt with is dealt with at the moment the need arises. Dogs do not understand delayed responses-it's just not part of their world, though it certainly is part of human experience. To be successful in communicating with dogs, therefore, we need to really understand what that means in a practical, daily sense, and not just in theory. In canine culture, responses are as immediate as the communication that prompted the response. There are benefits to delayed responses, such as allowing us to gather our thoughts, deal with our own emotions and not act impulsively or hurtfully. But most of us have learned that delayed responses can also be hurtful or at the very least surprising. Few things are as destructive to a relationship as long-held resentments or hurt unexpressed, sometimes stewing and festering for years before erupting in painful and shocking ways that can do serious damage far beyond the scope of the original cause. In our relationships with dogs, delayed responses to a dog's actions can create very serious problems. With a human friend, we might simmer slowly for a few hours before pointing out that something they did or said hurt or upset us; a discussion at that point can be helpful, since our human friend is able to go back in time and understand that it is the past being discussed. But we cannot do this with a dog-yelling at a dog who chewed up your best loafers hours or even minutes before you walked through the door and discovered the dastardly deed is not only useless but very confusing and even frightening for the dog. Dogs draw very straight lines when connecting the dots in life. Faced with a place mat meant to entertain bored children at a diner, a dog would not bother to search out the convoluted path from Start to Finish-they'd just draw a line that went directly from one to the other. In terms of our relationships with them, dogs believe that however it is we are acting, whatever it is we are doing is directly connected to that moment and to their own behavior in that moment. Thus the dog who merrily greets his returning owner and is promptly yelled at or met with an angry face does not think, "Oh, I'll bet she's not happy I ate those new Nikes a few hours ago The

  dog may simply tiptoe away, unsure of what provoked your (to him) inexplicable wrath. Or he may draw a straight line from Angry Owner to Greeting, and assume that you are angry that he's approaching you. In contrast, expressing your displeasure when you actually catch the dog in the act of chewing on your new sneakers allows him to do a little simple dog math (if you do this, this happens) and reach the proper conclusion: Shoes do not constitute an appropriate food group. There's a lot to recommend an approach to life where everything happens in real time, so to speak. Imagine having a friend let you know at the very instant things between you went out of balance. We trust our closest friends to tell us that there's a bit of toilet paper stuck to our shoe or some spinach in our teeth. The world would be a far different place if our trusted intimates could also help us maintain more than our physical decorum. It would be good to have someone let you know that your emotional zipper needs adjusting, but such friends are rare. Coupled with the understanding that your friend would always be truthful, this would provide an amazing freedom in which to develop a profound relationship. Dogs do let us know our mental flies have come undone, though we don't always care to hear the message. You can't talk about it later when a dog tells you something is wrong. Right there, in that moment, when things have slid off balance, when communication is most essential (but also most often missing), the dog needs an answer, a resolution to the conflict. Without ego, a dog stands before you without caring about who is watching or what they might think of you or him. He doesn't care that the clock is running or that the competition is lost or that the neighbors are looking on. He only cares about what is happening between you and him, and more than anything, he wants it to be right again. This does not feel good, this anxiety, this fear, this strange behavior from someone he trusts, someone he depends upon to lead the dance. And so he tells you in every way he can, his eyes troubled, "Something is wrong." To hear him, we need to quiet the roar of our ego and silence the critical voices eagerly reminding us that the clock is ticking, that people are watching, that we look like fools, that we do not belong here, that we are failures. When we hush our own minds, we can hear the pure sweet sound of a dog urging us to make

  this right. Now. And when we learn to do this with our dogs, it spills over to other relationships. When we hush the noise in our own minds, we remember that life is short and that the connections with those we love are precious; to live most fully, we need to address disconnections and distance between us and those we care about as quickly as we can. As our dogs remind us every day, now is always the best time to make things right. Like his honesty, a dog's immediacy is a double- edged sword that cuts both ways. Incapable of deceit, unable to understand the future, the dog lives in the now and expects that we will meet him there. I once heard a psychologist discussing parentstch relationships. She pointed out that one of the greatest gifts any parent could give a child was simply to be genuinely glad when the child came into the room. Thinking about this, I realized that this is the gift our dogs give us over and over. If I step out to pick a few sprigs of parsley from the herb bed just at the edge of our front steps, I return to cheerful greetings and wagging tails. My dogs are glad to see me though I was gone only a moment. I thought about my own son and wondered how many times he had seen a clear welcome on my face when he came into view. With shame and regret, I thought of how many times I had greeted him or John or anyone else I loved with less than gladness. Looked at one way, it is easy to sneer at the dog's glad greetings as the product of a dim memory or a simple mind. But I know my dogs have very good memories and that they are intelligent beings. I'm not willing to discount this gift of immediacy; it grounds me in the reality of here and now. And I'm definitely not
willing to dismiss the gladness in my dogs" eyes when they greet me. If Robert Frost was right, and home is the place where they have to take you in, then may home always contain a dog who loves you so you are sure of one glad greeting at least.

  what I really meant to say was ... The Greatest problem in communication is the Illusion that it has been accomplished. daniel . davenport

  though i'm sure somewhere in the Dog Trainer's Ten Commandments there is a warning against the sin of coveting thy client's pup, I just couldn't help myself. Truth be told, I coveted Dodger, an eight-month- old mixed breed with astounding eyes and

  considerable intelligence. His owner Jennifer told me that Dodger was "hyper," an awfully vague description that further questioning proved to mean he was easily excited at certain times, such as when she went to unhook him from his dog run and bring him into the house. She was also concerned that he was possibly aggressive, since in his excitement he frequently grabbed her hands and legs with his mouth. In the last two weeks, Jennifer had found herself not even wanting to bring the dog into the house. She was afraid and upset that the family companion she had hoped for was slowly turning into an unmanageable monster who weighed sixty pounds and was still growing. She knew Dodger wasn't stupid or mean. In fact, he had done very well in training class, quickly catching on to every new exercise and working well for her at home once she had him calmed down and on leash. But his increasingly fierce behavior deeply worried her. As we talked, I turned Dodger loose in the room, watching him as he explored. After a few minutes, he had thoroughly investigated the room and, finding it rather dull, returned to sit next to Jennifer, following the conversation with his remarkably intelligent eyes. Each time his name was mentioned, his ears perked up slightly and his tail wagged, but when nothing more was directed his way, he resumed his post as attentive listener. A few more minutes passed and, now growing bored, Dodger decided to leap up and visually confirm what his nose had already told him: There was some particularly delicious food on the table. As he placed his front paws on the table's edge, Jennifer scolded, "Dodger!" Instantly the dog's head swiveled toward her, alert, ears up, tail wagging. I noted how responsive this dog was, and how willing he was to forego the attraction of food for an interaction with his owner. "Dodger, get off!" Dodger's tail wagged harder, but his front feet stayed right where they were. Pushing back her chair, Jennifer reached for the dog, trying to push him off. In Dodger's eyes, there was an unmistakably gleeful light. Rolling his head back and to one side, he responded with a paw slap toward Jennifer, his tongue lolling goofily out of the side of his mouth. She shoved him again, and again the dog waved his leg at her, slapping a big paw down onto her forearm. She moved

  closer, trying to grab him gently by the collar, and as she did this, Dodger grabbed her arm in his jaws. Now able to dislodge him from the table edge, Jennifer found herself half kneeling in a wrestling match with the puppy, who alternated between wrapping his paws around her arms and grabbing at her with a wide-open mouth. The entire time, Jennifer was keeping up a string of increasingly louder and more breathless commands: "Off! Dodger, sit. Stop that. Off! Sit. Sit!" Finally, Jennifer was free and sat back in her chair looking flustered and exasperated. Dodger stood watching her hopefully, his tail wagging happily. "Do you see what I mean? That's what happens." Knowing that the scene would be repeated, I quickly told Jennifer that the next time the dog did that, she should sit still and say nothing. I would handle it. Before I could say another word, Dodger heard an imaginary bell signaling Round Two and, with a gleeful look directed at Jennifer, put his front feet on the table again. Immediately, I gasped as if shocked beyond all belief, and Dodger, surprised, dropped back to the floor. The moment his feet hit the ground, I quietly told him he was a good dog. He wagged his tail in agreement. For a few seconds, he looked back and forth between me and Jennifer, puzzled by the silence. Then sky the bright idea crossed his mind: He could start the party again by putting his feet on the table! Once again, paws on the table, another horrified gasp from me, followed by silence. This time, he kept his feet on the table, turning his head to look at Jennifer and then me. Clearly written in Dodger's expression was puzzlement-this was not working the way he had thought it might. Another idea flashed into his mind, and he noisily slapped both paws on the table edge, looking at us for reaction to this. Disappointed when we did not move or speak, he sighed and settled back to the floor. Instantly, I told him he was a genius, something he already knew but enjoyed hearing anyway. Tail wagging, he immediately leaped up on the table but, hearing my gasp, froze. He stared at my face for a long moment, and then, in slow motion, he sank back to sitting on the floor, his eyes never leaving my face. The instant all four feet were on the floor, I praised him. "I've got it

  now!" was written all over his face as he came to bury his head in my lap for some much-deserved loving before he voluntarily lay down with a satisfied sigh. I gave him a chew toy, and he settled down to amusing himself quietly. Jennifer was speechless. Her "hyper" puppy was lying quietly at our feet, and I had never once touched him, nor had he tried to "attack" me. Dodger was not aggressive, or even hyper. He was simply responding to Jennifer's communications. To his doggy mind, her shoving and breathless verbalizations were an invitation to play. He quite correctly read the gentleness and lack of threat in her behavior, as I had when the first wrestling match occurred. (if she had been angry or threatening, I would have intervened on behalf of both woman and dog.) Like many dogs, Dodger enjoyed wrestling games with people, since they mimic the often-fierce play dogs use with each other. As he would do with another puppy or dog, Dodger had slapped her with his paws and grabbed her hands and arms, but very gently. Far from dissuading him, Jennifer's attempt to push him away was an enjoyable activity, a game for the dog. What Jennifer intended to convey was "No, don't do that!" But only her words said that, and only to someone who understood English, which Dodger did not. All of her actions invited play, and the puppy was glad to oblige. As the old joke notes, "Ah, your lips are saying no but the rest of you is saying yes, yes, yes!" What was missing from the conversation was any clear way for Dodger to understand what Jennifer really was trying to tell him. Though without question her tone of voice was disapproving, nothing else in her communication gave the puppy the idea that he was wrong. A fair canine interpretation of this whole message might be that the "disapproval" in her tone of voice was nothing more than mock growling, part and parcel of canine play. Dogs interpret messages in context, weighing all signals together to arrive at their interpretation. The clear delight in Dodger's goofy, playful expression was a tip-off that he found the entire process quite enjoyable. When Jennifer understood how her actions were sending the opposite of what she meant to say, she was able to use her body like a switch to turn Dodger on or off depending on what he was doing. If she did

  not like what he was doing, she verbally indicated her "shock" with a dramatic gasp or her displeasure with a short, curt phrase and absolute stillness in her body, messages Dodger understood quite clearly. From his canine perspective, there was no invitation to play in those gestures. Dodger quickly figured out which behaviors resulted in Jennifer shutting down and disengaging from him, and which behaviors earned him her attention and praise. (simple dog math: If you do this, this happens.) The language of Dog is not unlike our own human language. It is filled with nuance and subtleties, the sum of which-examined within a given context-provide a total communication. Like our dogs, we can communicate volumes without uttering a word, though doing so with great clarity requires awareness of our own bodies and the subtle meanings behind gestures. Ask any man about the Look and you'll be talking to someone who understands that when a woman's eyes get sharp and narrowed and the corners of her mouth grow a bit tight, there's been a shift in the winds and wise men ought to take heed. (all those mirrors at the perfume and makeup counters? They're just for perfecting the Look, and those smiling salesladies are actually instructors; the Look requires diligent practice to master.) Even if the t
echnology were possible, there would be no point in Dog Radio. Though verbal communications are part of the dog's language, it is rare that dogs communicate solely through verbalization. To the best of my knowledge, communications that take place between dogs who are not in visual contact are limited to simple phrases. For the dog talking to another dog, purely verbal communications are not terribly precise or useful for sending complex messages. In canine language, verbal communications without the accompanying visual cues are useful only for transmitting simple messages: "Where are you?" "Hey look, someone's here!" "Go away!" "I'm hurt." "I'm lonely." A rough analogy might be what we could communicate using a brief telegram-a crude message lacking nuance or complex themes. In reasonable weather, our back door stays open so that the dogs can come and go as they please into the large fenced yard. Often, while we watch TV, one dog will slip out without the others noticing (or perhaps

  they simply don't care), and while investigating the yard, will discover a deer tiptoeing past in the field or hear the coyotes singing up on the ridge behind the farm. The alarm is then sounded, a long, strung-out series of woo-woo-woo-woo-woos mixed with a few definitive woofs, a vocalization meant to alert the others in the pack that something's afoot but at a distance, not an immediate threat. were This is different from the very specific, brusque warning barks that warn someone approaching the house that they'd best have an invitation.) The reaction from the pack is an electrified response, and all dogs leap to their feet and shoot out the door to investigate. Once outside, they too can look and listen and smell and know what the alarm-sounding dog was talking about. The dog understands communications from us as a whole picture that includes all of our nonverbal messages as well as our spoken ones. Far beyond learning what exact words and phrases mean, dogs listen carefully to the whole picture of what we are telling them. The canine language is an elegant and precise one, where context and congruity- and not the spoken word-reign supreme. What sets a skilled trainer apart from the average (and often frustrated) dog owner is the congruity and clarity of their communications with the dog. This does not mean that they say "Sit" or "Heel" with better elocution. The difference is that the message they send is clear, with total congruity in their tone of voice and their whole being-mind, body and spirit. Endless books primly advise us that dogs don't really understand what we're saying. While it is true that a dog does not learn the meaning of words in the sense that he can use them correctly in a sentence, he does certainly learn the names of things. There are those who snicker as they point out that a dog could learn to sit when he hears "frump" and point to this as proof of the dog's stupidity. Of course, if these folks were learning another language and their teacher decided to teach them how to say "Your mother is a pig" when what the folks thought they were learning was "Thank you very much!" . . . You get the point. Dogs quite agreeably work hard on figuring out what we mean by the torrent of words that pour forth from our mouths every day-and they wisely discard most of those words as meaningless to them.