For the Love of Dogs

Animal behaviorists like to throw a big word around: anthropomorphism. It refers to attributing human characteristics to animals. The supposition is that animals are incapable of human emotion and decision making. So when humans say for example my dog is angry with me, an animal behaviorist would say that the human is projecting the emotion of anger on the dog--because a dog is incapable of feeling the emotion of anger.

If you have ever owned a dog you understand that that is a bunch of crap. Unequivocally dogs (at least) are positively capable of human emotion and unquestionably capable of decision making.

A bunny lives in my yard. She is quite pretty. Her lashes are so long I suspect she wears mascara. And she has a coy way of wriggling her nose and batting her sepia colored eyes. Her coat is tawny with blond highlights. Her plush tail is a rich shade of winter white. My goldendoodle Cosmo has a crush on her. For the entirety of the summer he would gaze at her through the window and say Ohh Ohh Ohh. And then he would run to the back door and ring the bell that hangs from the door handle to signal me that he wanted to go out to meet her. But I never let him out when I saw the bunny. I would tell Cosmo that the bunny did not want to be his friend. Bunnies do not like to court adolescent puppies. She wanted to be left alone—like Greta Garbo. And Cosmo would sulk off and fold his paws around his chest.

The other day when I let Cosmo out I watched him sniff around the shrubbery near my back window. And as Cosmo poked his nose through the branches he found himself nose to nose with the bunny. It startled him to such a degree that he jumped back a foot or two and sat upright to recover and develop a plan. But the bunny, upon becoming nose to nose with Cosmo, speedily hopped away into the neighbor’s yard. And by the time Cosmo noticed her quick speed he was left on the other side of the fence. He was dejected. But he decided to try and win her affection. So since then, several times a day Cosmo takes one of his favorite toys and runs to the spot where he met the bunny and leaves the toy there. Then he waits by the window hoping to entice her to see his gifts. His red ball and smokey bone is the canine equivalent of roses and chocolate. Yet sadly, days later, his love remains unrequited.

As a dog mother it is difficult to witness your dog child engaged in a love that will never be returned. Because while that bunny is so very beautiful, she is not good enough for my dog son. My dog son deserves some one better—Cosmo deserves a partner who will love him for the sensitive pup he is—not a canine to be toyed with or teased. So every day now I pick up those toys—they are wasted on that full-of-herself bunny. And then I give Cosmo some Frosty Paws ice cream—because dogs may not eat Hagen Daas out of the container with a spoon like humans can—just to soothe his broken heart.

And if an animal behaviorist lived in my house and watched all this he would be forced to conclude only two things: either I need therapy or there is no such thing as anthropomorphism. I choose to believe that he would conclude the latter. Dogs are people too.