#8 - Dogs and Sympathy: How the Former Use the Latter
I don't think it's an accident that dogs are born with big brown eyes - big, wet, liquid brown eyes that look into yours plaintively, then turn away at the right moment to pluck at your heartstrings. They're like howitzers - not as lethal but leveled with equal effect.
Make no mistake about it - the big wet nose, soft muzzle and the silky ears are all attributable to what Charles Darwin would have called the great, high scheme to ensure survival of one of Earth's fitter denizens, the dog.
My dog is pretty well fit to survive. At an early age I taught her to ride in the back of my pickup truck for the view and fresh air and have the freedom to walk around a bit. Little did I realize to what end she would employ this situation to gain a hold on me, the only creature between her and the top of the heap. Her usual ploy, while parked at the curb on Main Street in town, is to hang her mournful looking face over the side and bore her way into the heart of every passerby.
And it works so well that it has become a ritual whereby each pedestrian can be manipulated at will. "Look at that poor dog," they'll say as they stop for a little sympathetic conversation. If they have a doggy look, they're an easy mark for a prolonged head and neck massage. In the case of children, she can usually cajole a treat from them, such as their ice cream cone.
Being the driver of the truck, a lowly station, I'm often on the receiving end of a lot of abusive commentary: "That dog sure is looking sad today," or " You better be careful she doesn't catch a bee in her eye," or at the very least, "I don't think I'd make my dog ride in the back of a pickup truck." Little do they realize that dog is riding exactly where she wants to ride.
The same tactics come into play at her dinner time, which is generally just after ours and only because that way her plate will be garnished with all sorts of glorious, greasy, leftover tidbits.
That poor, pathetic, starving dog works her way around the table rudely and impatiently nudging arms with her big nose and laying a heavy paw on each knee in turn. Pretty soon I feel compelled to get up to prepare her nightly feast, generally meeting that descriptor in most respects.
Very often the poor dog manages a second after-dinner feast by simply fooling another member of the family into thinking the first has forgotten her as usual - often via a sneaky bit of dramatics aimed at my son who is usually looking for an excuse to put down his dish towel.
None of these dog tricks compares, however, to the manner in which she takes advantage of a houseguest to gain the ultimate in dog luxury: sprawling on the couch! This is something strictly forbidden, and she knows it, but she also knows we will not likely make a scene in front of company.
Her technique is outrageous. She simply maneuvers her 70 pound bulk between the coffee table and the couch and gently rests her chin on a polite knee. This is when the howitzers are most effective. They implore with a direct gaze, then coyly look away as if in hopeless despair. They twitch and they roll and they gradually burn their way into their guest victim's very soul. Then, without fail, comes the signal for her to begin phase two: a tiny pat on a cushion.
One paw at a time, over a period of minutes, finds its way onto the forbidden couch, and, of course, the great furry serpent attached to them very gradually slithers up there too, finally and with a smug look on her face, lounging across laps and pillows. The height has been gained - Dog Heaven!
By preying on man's compassion, the dog has appropriated all her heart desires: the best spot on the boat, the bed of my truck, handouts from most anybody, a spot by the warm stove and better - free medical care and not a worry in the world. Yup, when I see her stretched out on her sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, I know she's not done with me yet - poor thing.